What I Wish I Could Tell My Clients (But Don’t)

Most of the people I write for aren’t writers.

They’re teachers, lawyers, engineers, creatives - people who do things with their hands, their hearts, their whole lives. People who are articulate in their own way, in their own world, but who have never had to sit down and put language to love - at least not in a way they’ll say out loud, in front of a room. And then suddenly, they’re asked to do just that.

They’re asked to write wedding vows. Or a speech. Or something they’ll say at a ceremony or a dinner table, on a day that already feels like too much. Something emotional, honest, meaningful, and clear enough to say with confidence in front of the people who matter most.

It’s no wonder they find it overwhelming.

Some come to me after staring at a blank page for weeks. Others arrive with drafts they hate, or voice notes they’ve recorded in the car because that’s the only place they could think. Most of them - regardless of how thoughtful or loving or brilliant they are - apologise before we even begin.

“Sorry, this probably doesn’t make sense.”
“Sorry, this is a bit of a mess.”
“Sorry, I’m not good with words.”

But what I hear - always - is: I care.
What I see is someone trying to get it right. And that’s never a bad place to start.

What I wish I could tell my clients - not just once, but repeatedly - is that this isn’t a test. You’re not expected to arrive with a perfectly structured, eloquent draft. You’re not failing if it doesn’t flow. You’re not behind if all you have are notes in your phone and a tight feeling in your chest that says this matters more than I can explain.

That feeling? That’s what we work with.

The truth is, writing wedding vows or a wedding speech isn’t really about writing. It’s about meaning something - and then shaping that meaning into words that feel like you. And “you” doesn’t need to sound poetic or polished or particularly impressive. The best vows I’ve ever written were simple and true. The best speeches? Unrushed. Slightly imperfect. Unmistakably personal.

What I wish I could tell my clients - especially the ones who overthink, especially the ones who feel like they need to prove something - is that you don’t need to be funny. Or profound. Or emotionally bulletproof. You just need to be honest, in your own tone of voice. That’s what makes people cry. Or laugh. Or lean in. Not perfection, but recognition.

You don’t need to summarise your entire relationship. You don’t need to show off. You don’t need to sound like anyone else. You need to say one true thing well - and trust that it’s enough.

I also wish I could tell you how much I care. I care more than I say. I carry your stories around while I’m walking to the shop or folding laundry. I rewrite your lines in my head while I wait for the kettle to boil. I test them out loud, reading slowly to see if they’ll hold in a shaky voice. Not because I’m chasing perfection, but because I want them to land - with your partner, with your family, with you.

This work isn’t about being clever. It’s about being clear. And feeling safe enough to say what you really mean.

So no, I don’t say all of this in our emails. I don’t include it in your feedback doc. But it’s there, underneath every edit, every follow-up, every draft I send. It’s there in the way I keep rearranging your sentences until they feel effortless. It’s there in the way I hold space for what you haven’t quite said yet.

You’re not too late. You’re not bad at this. You’re not behind. You’re just feeling it all at once - and that’s allowed.

That’s what I wish I could tell my clients.
And maybe now, I have.

- S