What If I Don’t Know What to Say?

Jun 17

A Blank Card Survival Guide (for When You Want to Write Something That Matters)

Writing something meaningful can feel like trying to do yoga on a frozen lake.
Noble intention, zero traction.

Especially when you’re writing legacy messages, those letters or cards meant to outlive you. You want your words to land like a warm hug, not like a motivational poster from 1998. You want to be remembered as real, not robotic. Loving, not lecturing.

But what if... you don’t know what to say?
What if you’re staring at a beautiful blank card and all your brain can do is panic-type “Dear [insert name]… I like sandwiches”?

Breathe.
You’re not alone.
And you’re not bad at this.
You’re just trying to say something that matters, and that’s hard. But not impossible.

You don’t have to be profound.

You’re not writing to win a Pulitzer. You’re writing to connect. To be remembered. To pass on something that feels like you.

So if your first instinct is “But I’m not a writer!”, cool. That’s fine. You don’t have to be.

Just write the way you talk. Not how you wish you talked. Not how a therapist might talk. Just you.

Example:
If you wouldn’t say “Dearest child, as I gaze upon the tapestry of my existence…”
Maybe go with:
“Look, I’ve made a lot of weird choices. Here’s what I’ve learned so far.”

Feel stuck? Start small.

The blank page is terrifying because it’s infinite. So shrink it down. Pretend you only have to write one sentence.

Start with something true, something simple, something tiny:

“I’m not sure how to start this, but I love you.”
“This card has been blank for days. But I’m thinking of you.”
“Here’s a story I never told you, but I think you’d like it…”

Boom. You’re writing.

**Forget “the right thing”, write a real thing.**

So many people freeze up because they’re afraid of saying the “wrong” thing.
Guess what? You might. (We all do sometimes.)
But silence? Never says the right thing.

Your imperfect words are infinitely more meaningful than a perfect nothing.

So instead of crafting the exact phrase that unlocks emotional enlightenment, try being real:

“I don’t have all the answers, but I have some stories and a lot of love.”
“You probably won’t follow all my advice. That’s fine. I didn’t either.”
“I just want you to know: you matter to me. That’s it.”

Prompts are your secret weapon

If the brain won’t start, don’t try to force it into a sprint. Use these prompts to gently crack open your memory vault:

📝 Prompts for Legacy Letters:

“If I could bottle up one lesson for you, it would be…”
“Here’s one thing I learned the hard way (so maybe you don’t have to)…”
“You probably don’t remember this, but I do…”
“When I think of you, I smile because…”
“This one memory still makes me laugh…”
“Here’s what I hope you always know, even when things get tough…”

Pick one. Write a few messy lines. Don’t overthink it.

Don’t write for applause. Write for them.

You're not writing for a viral post or a legacy podcast. You're writing for one person (or a few). People you love. People who will miss you one day.

So write like you’re sitting next to them.
Not across a podium. Not from a pedestal.
Right next to them. Cozy. Honest. Present.

Say the things you’d regret not saying.
Say the things you hope they remember.
Say the things that feel scary, but real.

Embrace the weird stuff too

Your quirks are part of your legacy. Don’t sand them down.

Write about how you danced to '80s ballads while cleaning. Or how you were irrationally passionate about cinnamon toast. Or how you always cried during dog commercials.

These things? They’re gold.
They’re what people will remember.
They make your message human, not manufactured.

You can always come back to it

Legacy writing doesn’t have to happen in one perfect burst of brilliance. You can:

Write a few lines today.
Come back tomorrow.
Edit, scribble, doodle, cry, laugh, repeat.

Your writing doesn’t need to be finished in one sitting. It just needs to be started. (And if it never feels “done”? That’s okay too.)

Your words matter. Even if they’re messy.

Don’t let the blank card win.
Don’t wait for the “perfect time” or “perfect words.”
They may never come.

But you can.

You can show up.
You can say “this is hard, but I’m trying.”
You can leave something behind that feels like love with edges, not fluff.

So take a deep breath. Pick up your pen.
And just start.

❤️ We get it

If you’re sitting there with a blank card, frozen and unsure?
That means you care.
That means your heart’s in the right place.
That means your words will come, imperfect, beautiful, and completely yours.

Legacy isn’t about being eloquent.
It’s about being real.

And guess what? You already are.