(To go straight to my ‘Dear Daughter’ letter, scroll to the end 💕✒️)
There’s something in the air…
In the build up to this International Women’s Day, there’s been something special in the air. Three things in particular have come together for me: one from my actual physical world, one from the world of BBC podcasts, and one from this beautiful Substack world. Three floating daisies that have been gathered to be woven into a powerful, yet delicate chain.
My first daisy is that in my ‘real’ world I had the honour of attending a truly special event at the Royal Albert Hall in London this week called ‘Letters Live’, in aid of the Women’s Prize Trust. The Women’s Prize Trust is a remarkable charity devoted to creating equitable opportunities for women through books. Supporting women writers at all stages of their writing lives, and opening up opportunities for readers to have access to ‘the power and magic of books written by women’. Forging ‘pathways into reading and writing for the storytellers and book-lovers of tomorrow’. Helping women to have a voice, and to be heard.
‘We believe that books by women can change the world, for all of us’
(Women’s Prize)
At the event, letters were read out on a variety of subjects by performers from Sara Pascoe to
, Tony Robinson to Damian Lewis, Harriet Walter to Kate Mosse and so many more. The subjects were heartfelt, raw and true, written to and from people such as Charlotte Brontë, Sharon Horgan, Agatha Christie, Marilyn Monroe, Louise May Alcott and Virginia Woolf, giving an insight into their lives that only a written letter can. From the raucous self-penned opener of ‘Bloody Motherfucking Asshole’ sung by Martha Wainwright (that woke everyone up!!), to the heartbreaking midpoint letter written by Alexei Navalny and so poignantly delivered by Benedict Cumberbatch, to the beautiful close, it was such a gorgeous reminder of the power of the simple letter. Here is a flavour of the sentiment:‘There is no easy road to successful authorship’ (Louisa May Alcott to a young woman starting her own career in writing)
‘I hope you will never get this letter’ (Martha Gellhorn’s 1966 letter to her mother in case she didn’t return home from covering the Vietnam War)
‘If your convictions are worth anything, you should be ready to stand up for them’ (open letter from Alexei Navalny)
‘My child was perfect’ (a mother to the obstetrician who advised her to abort her Down’s Syndrome baby (she didn’t))
‘Gentlemen, I just don’t belong here’ (Ursula Le Guin to the editor of a science fiction anthology which featured no women)
‘It was hard to wrestle those reins out of your hands!’ (Sharon Horgan to thank men for looking after things for us for so long…)
And perhaps my favourite:
‘This is not a letter, it is my arms around you for a brief moment’
(Katherine Mansfield’s letter to her brother serving at war - her last letter to him as he was killed two months later)
The power of a letter
It reminded me how beautiful it is not just to write a letter, but to receive one. I have one remaining friend who I correspond with pen to paper, in long form, and even then it’s not more than once a year. Every time we write to each other however, something magical happens. Enter daisy number two…
Whilst considering all of this, my podcast app popped up with notification of the new series of one of my favourite ever podcasts which has come back on air this week after a break (hello Universe - I hear ya!): Dear Daughter - a collection of letters written by older women to create a ‘handbook to life’ for young women everywhere. I fell in love with this podcast some time ago, created as it was by a development sector worker in Kenya named Namulanta Kombo. As her own daughter started to grow, Namulanta was inspired to create her a ‘handbook to life’ by gathering wisdom and advice through letters written from friends and family. Letters that would…
…amuse her, teach her, make her think, spark interest but ultimately comfort her in the realisation that she is not alone. They would show that though her feelings are unique to her, our experiences are shared.
(Namulanta Kombo)
This idea evolved into a podcast, and contributors can submit letters from anywhere in the world to a ‘daughter’ of the world - perhaps it’s to their actual daughter, perhaps not. Maybe they don’t have a daughter at all. Sometimes the ‘daughter’ is known to them, sometimes unknown; letters are written to to the daughters that are not yet born, and to those that have passed. The podcast is heartwarming, touching, hilarious, wise. Women sharing knowledge on everything from marriage to g-strings, sex to self-doubt, faith to bullying, and how to follow your dreams whilst remembering your roots. When I listen, I feel like the letters were written to me by a thousand mothers.
Each episode is an absolute gift, and some time ago it inspired me to write a letter to my own eldest daughter. One that has sat buried in my laptop ever since.
And that brings me to the third daisy which is the one that has enabled this chain of connected ideas to form a perfectly imperfect circle.
Here on Substack, fellow creatives including the magical
and have invited all of us to ‘make a daisy chain flower crown’ for International Women’s Day by ‘joining our words across the world.’It is the most beautiful invitation to:
‘talk more of our soul whispers as we make daisy chains for the girls and women who walk behind us, beyond us and alongside us.’
And with that, it all came together: The power of letters, Dear Daughter, and making daisy chains for the girls and women who surround us. It is time for me to publish my own ‘Dear Daughter’ letter, the one I wrote a year ago, not just to my own daughter, but to all the young girls on the cusp of womanhood, especially those who may not have had the easiest start in life.
I wrote this for you 💕
Dear Daughter
Dear daughter
As I watch you on the beach, on the cusp of adulthood in that magical and exquisitely painful state of transition between what you were and what you will become, I want you to know how amazing you are. You’re at the point in your life where you sometimes still crawl into my bed at night because you’re scared of death and can’t comprehend the magnitude of your existence on this earth; whilst on other nights you sneak in late, slightly drunk telling me how much you love me, and asking for fried chicken - although you are a vegetarian. Stuck between beer and sweets. Where the growth of your limbs and shaping of your body are happening in and around you, and you don’t have the slightest grasp of your astonishing beauty, both inside and out.
I know you will ride out this phase, as I watch you navigate it with grace, glory and wonder. From the moment you nearly died at birth, I have held you and your fragility, whilst believing in your inner strength and fight. You didn’t howl your way into this world, you quietly battled and found your path. Silenced by tubes and an incubator, you always let me know with those fiercely bright eyes that you were going to be ok.
Sixteen years later, I see you dancing in the sea, giggling like a girl, adapting to the body of a young woman, and I connect with the wise woman behind your eyes and in your soul. You are simultaneously you, me and all the generations that have come before. This may be one of our last family holidays together as the pull towards your friends and your future becomes ever stronger, but I think probably not. You always have a place here.
I love that your baby sister is your superpower. That despite it sometimes not being ‘cool’, she is always, but always your number one. You are part of the same whole, and nothing can ever change that. Fight FOR each other more than you fight with each other. Hold onto that for the rest of your life.
You have reached a stage where you seem happy most of the time, which makes my heart sing, but it also makes my heart hurt, because I can’t control the sadness and pain you will inevitably encounter. Remember the words my dad always used to say to me: when the difficult times come, just wait ten minutes and they will pass. If they don’t, wait another ten.
Know that you can’t control how other people act towards you, you can only control your reactions to them. Sometimes people don’t make sense, or may act in a way that is not kind, fair or just, but that is not down to you. You will know what is right and what is wrong, and don’t EVER stop believing in your own worth.
I ache and delight in equal measures as you ever so slowly begin to slip through my fingers, but you will never fall out of my embrace, and my heart is yours for eternity. How wonderful it is that others will discover how it feels to be held by your love.
Continue to fly my child, you were born with angel wings.
Love,
Mum x
(Photo is of my actual daughters)
Happy International Women’s Day to all you glorious women. We are connected in our hearts through our thoughts and through our words. Together we can fly x
Who would you write a letter to today and what would it say? I’d so love to hear.
Love & lemons 💕🍋
Em xx
This is so beautiful, Emma. I love these three daisies you've gifted us with.
Stunning. What incredible words to weave for your daughter and that event sounds totally epic! Thanks for taking part today Emma!! ✨🌼✨