Letter to my future self example (when you’re in the middle of hard things)
It’s 2 AM and you’re sitting in the dark. Maybe it’s your kitchen table. Maybe it’s your car in a parking lot. Maybe it’s your bed and you just can’t sleep because your brain won’t stop replaying everything that hurts.
You can’t see the other side of this. You don’t know when it gets better. You don’t even know if it gets better.
But somewhere in you, there’s a tiny voice asking: What if I need to remember this? What if future me needs to know I made it through?
This is a letter to future self example you can use when you need a witness. And if you want something you can copy, I’m also sharing a letter to my future self example below.
Related reads
- A letter to my future self (and why you need to write one too)
- Acting like your future self today: Stop waiting to feel ready
- Future self morning routine: Small daily habits that shift your identity faster
- How to close the gap between who you are and who you’re becoming
- 30 self improvement challenges you can start today
- Self discovery evening journal prompts: The questions that reveal who you really are
Why write a letter to your future self when life is hard?
Because right now, everything feels permanent. The pain. The confusion. The heaviness. Your brain is telling you this is how it’s always going to be. A letter to your future self interrupts that story.
It gives your feelings a safe place to land. You don’t have to fix them or explain them or make them make sense. You just put them on paper.
It turns chaos into a story with a beginning, middle, and hope. Even if you can’t see the ending yet. Even if you’re not sure there is one.
It creates proof you survived. Later, when you’re on the other side, you’ll have evidence. Not just that you made it through. But that you were brave enough to document the middle.
It lets you hope and hurt at the same time. You don’t have to choose. You can say “this is terrible” and “I think I’ll be okay eventually” in the same breath.
You are allowed to hope and hurt at the same time. The letter holds both.
Before you write: A quick setup (make it easy)
Don’t overthink this. Just set it up so you actually do it.
Choose a future date
Three months from now. Six months. One year. Whatever feels far enough away that things could be different, but close enough that you can imagine getting there.
Pick a method
- Notebook (if you want it private and physical)
- Notes app on your phone (if you write better on a screen)
- Email to yourself with scheduled send (if you want it delivered automatically)
- Sealed envelope with a date written on it (if you want the ritual of opening it)
Set a timer
Ten to twenty minutes. Not two hours. Just enough time to get it out without overthinking.
One rule: Write messy. Don’t edit.
This isn’t for anyone else. Grammar doesn’t matter. Spelling doesn’t matter. Just write what’s true.
Too tired to write a full letter? Do this instead (5 minutes):
- Today I feel…
- The hardest part is…
- One thing I’m doing to cope is…
- Future me, please remember…
- I hope you feel…
That’s enough. You still showed up.
Letter to my future self example (full sample you can copy)
Who this is for: Anyone feeling stuck, overwhelmed, burned out, unsure, or in a life transition.
When to use it: When you can’t see the other side but you need to believe there is one.
Dear future me, I’m writing this on [today’s date], and I don’t know if you’ll remember how bad this felt. I hope you don’t. But I also hope you do, because I need you to remember that we survived this.
Where I am right now:
I’m tired. Not just physically. Tired of trying so hard. Tired of feeling like I’m barely holding it together. Tired of pretending I’m okay when I’m not.
I miss feeling steady. I miss knowing what I’m doing. I miss the version of me who didn’t have to fight just to get through the day. I’m scared this is permanent. That I’ll always feel this heavy.
That I won’t figure it out. That I’m falling behind everyone else who seems to have their life together.
What I’m carrying:
Uncertainty. Shame about not being further along. Fear that I’m doing it wrong. Loneliness, even when I’m around people. Exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.
What I’m doing to survive today:
I got out of bed. I ate something. I drank water. I showed up to work even though I wanted to stay home. I texted a friend. I didn’t spiral as long as I could have. I let myself cry in the shower instead of holding it in.
I’m still here. That has to count for something.
What I need you to remember:
This pain is real. It’s not dramatic. It’s not weakness. It’s real, and I’m allowed to feel it. I didn’t fail. I’m in the middle of something hard, and being in the middle doesn’t mean I’m doing it wrong. I am still worthy. Even when I’m struggling. Even when I’m not productive. Even when I can’t see the point.
What I hope is true for you:
I hope things are lighter. Not perfect. Just less heavy. I hope you have more peace. More steadiness. More people who actually get it. I hope you figured out what you needed. And that you let yourself have it without guilt.
Questions for future me:
- What changed? Was it one thing, or was it a hundred tiny things that added up?
- What helped most? What did I waste time on that didn’t matter?
- Who showed up for us? Who did I learn I could count on?
- What did we learn? Not the lesson I’m supposed to say. The real one.
Promises I’m making:
- I’m going to call someone this week. Not to fix anything. Just to hear a voice.
- I’m going to go outside, even if it’s just to the mailbox.
- I’m going to ask for help with at least one thing.
- I’m going to keep one routine, even if I let everything else go.
Closing:
If you’re reading this, it means we made it. We didn’t quit. We kept going even when we didn’t know if it would get better. Thank you for not giving up on us. I’m proud of you. And I hope you’re proud of who we were in this moment, too.
With hope, [your name]
[today’s date]
How to personalize this letter (so it feels like you)
The example above is general. Here’s how to adapt it for your specific struggle:
If you’re feeling stuck or lost:
“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life right now. Everyone else seems to have a plan, and I’m just… here. I keep waiting to figure it out, and it’s not happening yet.”
If you’re going through a big transition:
“Everything is changing and I don’t know who I am in this new version of my life. I miss the certainty I used to have. I’m trying to trust that I’ll find my footing, but right now I just feel off balance.”
If you’re dealing with burnout:
“I’m so tired of pushing. I’ve been running on empty for months, and I don’t know how to slow down without feeling like I’m falling behind. I need you to tell me I figured out how to rest without guilt.”
If you’re struggling with self-doubt:
“I keep second-guessing everything. Every decision feels impossible. I don’t trust myself right now, and I’m scared I’m making all the wrong choices. I hope you learned how to trust yourself again.”
If you’re feeling lonely or disconnected:
“I feel like I’m going through the motions but not really connecting with anyone. I miss feeling like I belong somewhere. I hope you found your people. Or at least one person who really gets you.”
If you’re rebuilding after a setback:
“I thought I was further along than this. Starting over feels exhausting. I’m trying to believe this isn’t failure, just redirection. I hope you can see that now, even if I can’t yet.”
Pick the lines that fit. Add your own. Make it real.
Sentence starters (for people who feel stuck)
If you’re staring at a blank page, start with one of these:
- “Right now, I feel…”
- “The hardest part today is…”
- “I keep replaying…”
- “I need you to know…”
- “I’m proud of myself for…”
- “Please don’t forget that…”
- “When you read this, I hope…”
- “The thing I’m most scared of is…”
- “What I miss most is…”
- “One thing that would help right now is…”
- “The next small step is…”
Write one. Then another. Let it build.
What to do after you write (important part)
Read it out loud once (optional but powerful)
Hearing your own voice say the words makes them real. You don’t have to. But if you can, try it.
Put it somewhere safe
Sealed envelope. Password-protected note. Email draft. Somewhere you won’t lose it but won’t accidentally stumble on it before you’re ready.
Decide how you’ll “deliver” it:
- Scheduled email: Use a service like FutureMe.org or just schedule-send to yourself
- Calendar reminder: Set an event for the date you want to open it
- Physical envelope: Write “Open on [date]” and put it in a drawer
Add one gentle next action
Don’t just sit with the heaviness. Do one small thing that helps: Text a friend. Take a shower. Go for a walk. Eat something. Watch something that makes you feel less alone.
A small action can help your body come down from the emotion.
When to revisit it (and how to respond)
Open it on the chosen date
Set aside twenty minutes. Make tea. Sit somewhere quiet. Read it slowly.
Write a short reply from future you back to past you
“You were right. It did get better. Not the way you thought, but it did.”
“You didn’t know this yet, but [thing that helped]. And [person] showed up in a way you didn’t expect.”
“Here’s what helped most: [the thing]. Here’s what didn’t matter as much as you thought: [the thing].”
“I’m proud of you for writing this. For not giving up. For believing there could be another side even when you couldn’t see it.”
Save both letters together
This is your proof. Not just that you survived. But that you grew. That you were brave enough to hope when hope felt impossible.
You don’t have to see the whole path to take the next step
You’re in the middle of something hard. You can’t see the end. You don’t know when it gets better. But you can write a letter. You can document this moment. You can tell your future self: I was here. I was struggling. And I kept going anyway.
That’s not nothing. That’s everything.
What to do next:
Copy the letter to future self example from this post. Change what needs changing. Set a timer for ten minutes. Write.
You don’t have to believe it will help. You just have to try.
Then come back here and leave a comment with one word you want your future self to feel. Peace. Steady. Safe. Free. Light. Whole.
That word is your anchor. Write toward it.
