Letters to Love

Welcome to the boat.

I’ve been writing these letters for over a year now.

When I first started, I didn’t know who I was writing to or where it was heading, now there are almost 800 of you and that number climbs every day.

Recently, I told myself we weren’t going to talk about love for a while. I tried to branch out, to force myself to write about something new. But the thing about writing is that sometimes waves arrive without warning. One moment there’s nothing, and the next, words are flowing with ease. That’s what happens to me when I write about love. It opens a box I am unable to close.

What’s more, when I write about these things is when you write back the most to tell me you see your own reflection in my words. This tells me the pull I feel toward this work is real. I’ve never measured its value by numbers, only by the kind messages you leave, the ones that say something resonated, helped you carry grief more gently, or made you feel a little lighter.

So… welcome to ‘Letters to Love.’ Your new column.

You’ll receive them as you always did, on a Sunday morning, like a quiet conversation between us, under the covers with a hot coffee.

I’ve always called these pieces letters, even when I wasn’t sure who I was writing to. Over time, I’ve realised they were all reaching toward the same thing — love. Not just romantic love, but the kind that lingers in grief, grows through heartbreak, shows up in quiet resilience, and returns to self. I’ve decided to honour that now, to name it.

This space has become a place for love letters, to the past, to hope, to healing, and this time, to the version of ourselves learning to stay in the boat, even when no one else is climbing in.

Welcome to the first letter under the new name.

Welcome to the boat.

Not too long ago, I was taking a walk by the beautiful Canalside near my home, overlooking the brightly coloured boats and the peaceful blue that housed the ever-dependable spring delivery of yellow ducklings. The bright morning sun was dancing on the water, but my heart was shattered. I was on the phone to my grandma who has always held great hope for my love life, despite the constant disappointments and all the times my grandad would jokingly say ‘Ruth… we’re never going to get rid of her!’

This is something I will always be grateful to her for.

Over the phone her familiar, soft voice said ‘I really liked him, I know you did too, is there nothing you can do?’

‘Grandma…’ I said with a firm but cracking voice.

‘He’s not in the boat with me.’

Here’s what I’ve seen in the long standing couples I was raised around: they communicated, and they extended extraordinary grace to each other- regularly. Not to say they tolerated bad treatment, but they let go of things and chose love, often.

This planted a belief within me that if I only communicated enough, explained enough, showed love despite being let down enough, everything would somehow work out. It’s taken me almost three decades to realise I was missing a key element — both people were in the boat.

I went on to explain to her that I was capable of so much, but not if someone chooses not to get into the boat with me.

This is not to criticise people who don’t get in the boat with us, they have their reasons, I’ve dived out of enough boats myself to know. I’ve even sat in the wrong boat bitching about the person I love with my friends.

So here we find ourselves, solo in the boat. What do we do now? How do we navigate this journey alone that we planned for two?

Embarking on a journey that you envisioned for two is not easy, it’s hard rowing alone at times, but you can have the same adventure. It can be tempting to avoid certain destinations, because you wanted to reach them with someone else. I have encountered women who won’t go on certain trips because they wanted to save that place to see with a future partner, or don’t enjoy nights out with their friends unless they meet a potential match.

Treating single life as a waiting room is a sure fire way to be miserable. What’s more, you are not in your boat alone waiting to be chosen, you are the chooser.

You can still live a juicy, abundant, fun, meaningful and adventure-filled life, whilst on your own.

Admittedly, the path to wholeness as a single woman is not as clear cut. We were all raised to plan our weddings and not our lives. We remember overhearing the way people talked about the single aunt, and how she was pitied and painted as off the beaten track. We didn’t have access to examples of choicefully unmarried women like Oprah Winfrey and Tracee Ellis Ross just yet.

These women have had to do the work to figure out what makes a life meaningful to them.

After all, your life is yours. That sounds like a simple sentence, but it’s worth reading a few times. In my experience, most women don’t start to really live this concept until much later in life, if ever.

So here is how you will figure out which direction to steer your boat in: What would you do if you knew for sure that nobody was coming?

What career path might you pursue?

Where would you travel?

What hobbies would you try?

What would you plan with your friends?

Where would you live?

What would you wear? How would you spend your money and your time?

Who would you become?

Become her.

For the first time in my adult life I have accepted that I am setting sail alone, and it feels like I can finally breathe. You just need the courage to keep moving, on your own terms.

I have attached a talk for you here between Oprah Winfrey and Tracee Ellis Ross — this conversation gave me faith that I am more than capable of navigating my own boat, in case you still need some convincing.

In the meantime, I’ll be here on Sundays, sending these messages in a bottle, from my boat to yours.

I hope you’ll join me for the journey,