Back in March, I went to see Stacey Dooley talk about her book Dear Minnie: Conversations with Remarkable Mothers.

The whole evening stayed with me for a long time — maybe because it felt like such a rare and beautiful thing. In the book, Stacey invited a collection of women to write letters to their children. Honest, loving, brave letters. Some were funny, some were raw, all of them were deeply moving.

There were stories about childhood moments — the cuddles, the tantrums, the “I love yous” at bedtime. Some mums wrote about the hard stuff: their fears, mistakes, and hopes for their children’s futures. Others simply wrote what they hadn’t said out loud: how proud they were, how much they had learned from their kids, how fiercely they loved them.

It got me thinking: when do we stop and write to our kids? Properly write — not just a birthday card or a quick text, but an actual letter.

And then I realised… I don’t think I ever have.

So I’ve decided, I’m going to write one. My daughter turns 18 this month — 18! How did that happen? It’s such a milestone, and while she’s off creating her own life at university, I want to gift her something that lasts longer than a party balloon or a takeaway pizza. Something she can read when she needs reminding of how loved she is, how much she’s grown, and how proud we are of her.

Because wow, what a year she’s had. In just twelve months, she’s passed her driving test, started driving (which still makes my heart jump a little), left college, sat her A levels, and moved out of her childhood home into university life. She’s done all of that with strength and sparkle — and while I’ve told her in passing, I haven’t really told her.

There’s another reason too. My mum’s not here to celebrate with us. She would’ve been bursting with pride, probably tearing up in the corner and insisting we get photos of every moment. And I want my daughter to know that — that even though her nana can’t say it herself, I know exactly what she would’ve said. And it would’ve started with: "You are everything we hoped for and more."

So I’ll write that letter. I’ll tell her about the things I remember from when she was small, and all the things I’ve noticed lately. I’ll tell her how she makes me laugh, how she makes me think, how she’s already making her mark in the world.

Because sometimes the most important words are the ones we forget to say out loud.