Seven Years of Writing Letters
by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft
I wrote my first letter to a stranger when I was still living in London. It started with a charity called From Me To You, and a simple idea: write a letter to someone with cancer. Someone you would never meet. Someone who might be spending their days in a hospital ward, far from ordinary life, wondering whether the world outside still thought of them.
I didn't know what to say, which I think is true of most people when they begin. You sit with the blank page and feel the distance between your ordinary Tuesday and the life of the person on the other end — and then you decide to cross it anyway. You write something real. Something human. You seal it and let it go.
That feeling never left me.
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When we moved to Perth, I brought it with me. Through Vinnies and my beloved St Anthony's church, I began to see what I had perhaps known but not quite named: loneliness is not a rare condition. It lives quietly in our own communities, on our own streets, behind doors we walk past every day without knowing what is on the other side of them.
So in October 2019 — seven years ago — I held the first letter writing session. A small group and a table. Some paper, some pens, some stamps. The idea was simple: write a letter to someone in a nursing home or a hospital. Someone who might not receive much post. Someone for whom a handwritten envelope arriving in the morning might be the brightest thing in a long week. That’s how I came up with the simple name: Write A Letter, Send A Smile.
The group was little, but so eager. So willing. That willingness surprised me, and then it didn't — because I think most people want to do something good. They just need a door to walk through.
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Then COVID happened and in a matter of minutes, there were so many people who could not be visited. Wards were closed and aged care homes were closed. The distance between people grew in ways that felt almost physical — you could feel the gap widening, the silence deepening. And I thought: I cannot knock on a door, I cannot sit beside someone in a ward, but I can still drop an envelope in a post box.
So we kept going. Sometimes there were only one or two of us at the table. But we were there. And the letters went out. And somewhere, in rooms we would never see, people opened envelopes and read words written by strangers who simply wanted them to know they were thought of.
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Seven years on, we have had a meeting every single month without exception. We deliver letters to nursing homes and hospitals. We have a warm, dedicated group of volunteers — adults and children alike — and the sessions have become something I hadn't entirely anticipated: a kind of quiet therapy for the writers as much as for the recipients.
When you sit down to write a heartfelt letter to someone you have never met, something happens. You stop thinking about your own worries for a while. You focus outward — on what this other person might need to hear, what small warmth you can offer across the distance of a page. Writers leave the sessions lighter, I think. There is a reason for that. Kindness, it turns out, is good for the one who gives it too. My heartfelt thanks to all our fabulous volunteers — Thank You for helping me deliver letters for seven years!
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And then there is Scarlett. Scarlett is ten years old now but started writing with us when she was three. She comes to our sessions with the particular seriousness of a child who has decided that something matters. One day, she went to her teacher and said: I need more letters. Can the whole class do it?
Her teacher said yes. And then other classes followed.
One ten-year-old girl, one quiet request — and a whole school writing letters to strangers. If you want to know what this programme has taught me about human nature, it is that. The impulse to reach out, to do good, to connect across distance — it is in us from very early. It just needs someone to show it the way.
When Anya came to our lives, the group was already strong and well established. She joined right in and hasn’t missed one session since. She loves it – the group, the atmosphere and the activity itself. She is the expert of decorating envelopes, including drawing pictures and adding stickers on. She also looks after all our youngest volunteers, and with joy, too.
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When people see me walking into a nursing home, they ask: do you have a letter for me? And I think about how much is contained in that question. The wanting to be remembered and the knowledge that somewhere, someone sat down and thought of you.
We are not as disconnected as we sometimes feel. We are one letter away from each other, always. We just have to write it.
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A Moment of TAG
The TAG Method — Thanksgiving, Appreciation, Gratitude — is my way of moving through life with intention. Here is how it meets a story like this one:
Thanksgiving — Take Action
Write a letter this week. It doesn't have to be long. It doesn't have to be perfect. It has to be real — a few honest sentences to someone who might not expect to hear from you. A friend you've been meaning to reach. A relative who lives alone. A stranger, if you are brave enough. Post it. See what happens.
Appreciation — Build Awareness
Notice, this week, how many people around you might be quietly lonelier than they appear. The colleague who always says 'fine.' The neighbour you wave to but never stop for. Appreciation is seeing what is actually there — and sometimes what is there is a need we are exactly placed to meet.
Gratitude — Feel It
Think of a time someone reached across a distance to let you know you were thought of — a card that arrived on the right day, a message out of nowhere, a voice on the phone when you needed it. Let yourself feel grateful for that. Those moments are small and they are enormous, and someone chose to make them happen.
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If you'd like to know more about Write a Letter, Send a Smile, you can find an earlier post about it You Never Know The Difference You Make.
And if you are in Perth and would like to join us one Friday — we would love to have you at the table.
Our next letter writing session will be on Friday, December 4th and it will be the Christmas edition! Write a Letter Invitation | Agnieszka W.
In two weeks, come back and find me here. I'll be writing about the older I get, the more I understand — a reflection on the things that only time teaches. I think you'll recognise yourself in it.
With love and gratitude,
Agnieszka
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