love letter to your face

A gentle invitation to see yourself with softer eyes.

A Self-Care Ritual for Radical Beauty

How often do you pause to really see your face—not to critique it, but to honor it.

We spend so much of our lives speaking harshly to ourselves in the mirror, noticing every perceived flaw, comparing and correcting. But what if you spoke sweetly and honestly instead? What if your inner dialogue became a space for tenderness, reverence, and self-recognition?

Your face tells a story of where you’ve been and who you are becoming. It holds memory, emotion, resilience, and love.

Writing a love letter to your face is a radical act of beauty, compassion and transformation.
This isn’t about vanity—but deep self-love. A chance to notice yourself fully and embrace what makes you uniquely you.

I’m so glad you are here.

Let’s talk sweetly to ourselves

I’d love to witness your story.

You're invited to submit your love letter—in any form that might take—to be part of our growing online collection. Maybe your love letter takes the form of a poem—or perhaps words feel out of reach, but a drawing or painting says what you mean.

Select submissions may also be featured in a future printed version of this project.

Let your voice and your beauty be seen.

 

submit your love letter

This is your invitation to pause. To sit quietly with your face--not to critique, but to truly witness yourself with tenderness and reverence. Our faces carry so much: joy, grief, love, resilience. We often speak to ourselves with criticism or comparison. But what if we began to speak sweetly instead? This ritual is an offering of love to the self. A slow beauty moment to come home to your own reflection.

You may write directly on the form or upload a PDF or image file of your letter and / or artwork.

Thank you for participating in this project.

  • Nicole

    Dear Face,

    I haven’t always been kind to you.

    I’ve taken you for granted. I’ve cried over you—believing, at almost every stage of life, that you weren’t quite good enough.

    I’ve always liked my eyes, and yet I fixate on how the left is more almond-shaped while the right is bigger and rounder. My nose—too squishy, not elegant enough. People have commented on my cheeks, the roundness of my face. I’ve been called unusual, beautiful, amazing—but "unusual" and "amazing" have always felt vague, slippery. What does it mean to be remembered for an unusual face, especially when I already feel unconventional?

    I’ve struggled to look at you some days. Too asymmetrical. Too many moles, or maybe not enough. That little dip in my chin—does anyone else have one like it? I’ve prodded, hidden, contorted, wished you were just a little bit different.

    I have never quite believed I am beautiful.

    I saw only imperfection: soft cheeks, no sharp angles, a lack of bone structure—how could anyone find that beautiful? And now, here I am at 50. I look at you and I see everything I used to critique, plus the new—lines, softening, a sense of longing. I look at photos from a decade ago and think: I should have loved you then. I should have spoken sweetly to myself.

    But still—thank you. Eyes that open each morning: thank you. A nose that takes in the scent of gardenias, home-cooked meals, and the breath of my lover: thank you. Ears I hide, thinking them too elfish, that let me hear Miles Davis, Alice Coltrane, and my children’s laughter: thank you.

    Why don’t I marvel at this more often?

    I am alive. Expressive. Connected. Present.

    My dear face, you’ve led me through it all—to the people who love me, to the life I get to live.

    I’m sorry for the disappointment I’ve projected onto you. I want to love you now, especially now, as I grow older.
    I want to love every wrinkle, every change, every story written across your surface. I want to look at others with the same tenderness.

    And most of all, I want to look at you with reverence.

    With love,
    Me

i think you’re beautiful.