What a handwritten card can hold

I still remember the first handwritten note I received from my marketing director. It was a small Christmas card that said

“I know how hard this year was for you. Thank you for all you have done.

Hang in there - I know you will keep shining.”

The words seemed so simple, almost trivial - but at the time, they meant everything to me.

I had recently moved from a small local organization into the European headquarters. I felt lost in a team so large that I sometimes wondered if my presence there mattered at all. The project I had been leading - the only project - had been rejected and rescoped three times by the leadership team. I had been crushed every time, started to doubt myself, wondering if it was me who was the problem.

The thing was - I had moved countries for this role.
Left friends and family behind.
Committed to a long-distance relationship.
I remember wondering whether any of it had been worth it.

Holding that card in my hands, I felt how the words landed. I felt seen in my struggle. More importantly, the note held hope for me at a time when I couldn’t hold onto it myself. She saw a version of me that I couldn’t see. And in her words, I could feel her unwavering belief that things would get better.

That was the moment I knew:

If I ever had people in my care, I wanted to help them feel seen in the same way.

A ritual of seeing

Since then, I have written handwritten Christmas cards to every person in my team every year.  What began as a small gesture for three to four people slowly grew into a  stack of up to fifty cards, written over several weekends across November and December. The year-end pressure was always the same. Some years, the prospect of writing these notes has felt too much amidst milestones, gatherings and family obligations. The temptation to either skip it entirely or write something generic was real.

But every time I considered it, I remembered how that first card had made me feel. It grounded me. It helped me sit down in peace, take a breath, and think about each person.

What had stayed with me from the year?

A moment of courage in a meeting.

A time they lifted someone else up.

How they leaned into learning something new that had felt scary at first.

How they have picked themselves up and persevered after a major setback.

A difficult decision they made because it was the right thing to do.

How much they have grown – sometimes without realizing it.

Or simply how they showed up through the year, while carrying hardships no one knew about.

At first, I thought I was writing these cards for them. But over time, I realized it had become a ritual for myself. A quiet moment to truly appreciate how every person had contributed to our year, in ways big or small. I wanted them to know that their effort mattered.

That they mattered.

How It Matters

Writing these cards brought me a deep sense of joy and fulfillment. But what made it truly meaningful was to witness how they were received.

Some shared the cards with their families and loved ones — a small but real token of recognition from a world where personal appreciation is often rare. Some told me they went to a quiet place in the office to read the card in peace, so they could take in every word. Some confided that in more than twenty years of service, they had never once received a handwritten thank you — and how much it meant that someone took the time. Some thought it was a one-off and were surprised to receive one every year.

I heard of cards pinned to fridges, tucked beneath Christmas trees, kept in drawers, even framed.

I still keep the card I received all those years ago in a small memory box - a reminder of how much it meant to feel seen when I needed it most. The reason I still write these cards today.

Every time my hand starts cramping from all the writing, I pause and remind myself why I do this.

To give people a proper thank you.
To help them feel seen - at least once a year. And then I shake out my hand and pick up the pen again.

The Heart of It

Because being seen - even once - can stay with a person for years.
Sometimes, it is all someone needs to hold on to hope.

A handwritten note is small.
But the humanity behind it never is.