The Case for Cursive

Why learning script handwriting is still relevant.

My son routinely brings home classroom work like math exercise sheets and small independent projects throughout the year. Earlier this year, I guess midway through, he brought home a page practicing cursive letters and I was really excited that he was finally learning cursive in school. It was something I had learned in 3rd grade and I quite honestly believe it had a life changing impact on me; I just loved the freedom in the flow of the pencil opposed to the seeming rigidity of the standard print. I found a lot of creativity in developing my handwriting style from a mix of print and cursive alphabets, and I was excited for him to have that opportunity for self-expression and discovery.

Well, that was all I saw of that until the end of the year, just a couple of weeks ago, when he brought home his end of the year work. There could not have been more than 5 pages of cursive letter practice, a couple rows of each letter maybe. I asked if this was it, if this was all the practice he had had with writing script, and he said yes.

I am kind of apalled, so here is my plea for strong cursive education and emphasis on handwriting development.

The state of technology is irrelevant here.

Cursive is often filed away in the category of charming-but-useless skills—right next to calligraphy, shorthand, and other documentary arts like cartography and architectural drawing. It’s now apparently the thing you learned in third grade, used for a couple thank-you notes, and promptly abandoned for the much cooler, faster, more legible world of typed text. At this point, many schools have dropped it entirely. Because who really needs to know how to write in cursive when everything is digital?

But cursive isn’t just about fancy loops or flair. This is not about resisting modernity. Now, as much as—if not more than—ever, we should be focused on developing a kind of cognitive-motor fluency that has real, tangible benefits and a creative undercurrent that’s often ignored. Cursive is not a relic. It’s a technology of the hand, the brain, and the self. And for those willing to slow down and reconnect with it, it can offer something rare: integration.

And call me crazy, but I think we all need to slow down.

Cursive builds neural bridges.

Let’s start with the science. (You knew it was coming, did you not?)

Writing in cursive activates different parts of the brain than typing or printing does. It engages both hemispheres of the brain in a more coordinated way, improving fine motor skills, spatial reasoning, and even memory retention. In studies comparing students who write by hand with those who type, the longhand writers consistently demonstrate better comprehension and recall, especially when using cursive, which allows for faster, more fluid note-taking without sacrificing complexity.

This isn’t just good for kids. Adults, too, benefit from cursive’s brain-training properties. The smooth, continuous motion of connected letters helps reinforce neural pathways and keep the mind sharp. In fact, some occupational therapists use cursive writing as part of cognitive rehabilitation after strokes or brain injuries. Handwriting as healing! How is this not a necessary skill? This in itself is proof that the body and mind are more intertwined than most people would think.

Research also suggests that writing in cursive can be beneficial for various points of neurodivergence. For example, it helps dyslexic individuals with letter reversals. There is evidence that cursive writing contributes to enhanced brain activity supporting memory and learning for people with ADHD. The fine motor activity also supports focus through reduction in the mental load. These are only a couple of examples, but I feel like they are significant props.

It’s a form of embodied intelligence.

Typing is efficient, yes. But cursive is embodied. You’re not just tapping keys; you’re translating thought into motion. There’s rhythm, breath, and muscle memory. In a culture that increasingly prizes speed and convenience over depth and connection, cursive provides an antidote: a deliberate, physical act of expression that everyone can engage in. So many people shy away from self-expression and taking part in the arts because they think they’re not creative. Cursive is an excellent way to utilize the same creative properties and exercise that dynamic.

Your handwriting is not a font. It’s not mass-producible (well, you can make your handwriting a typeface if you want, but generally speaking, it’s not). Handwriting is very personal: i't’s a visual fingerprint of your mood, tempo, and even identity. Learning to write in cursive is learning to slow down just enough to feel your thoughts take shape on the page.

That kind of embodied awareness is useful whether you’re a writer, a designer, a student, or someone just trying to remember what it’s like to not be ruled by screens. Cursive reconnects you with the analog world, the one that’s textured, imperfect, and real.

It creates a direct link to culture and history.

There’s also a practical reason to learn (or relearn) cursive: without it, whole archives become unreadable. Historical documents, letters, diaries, and manuscripts. I mean, these things aren’t printed in Times New Roman, right? They’re handwritten in cursive, often by people whose lives and legacies shaped the world we live in.

If we lose the ability to read and write cursive, we don’t just lose a skill. We lose access to the handwritten record of the past. Imagine being handed a letter from your grandmother or a page from a historical figure’s journal and having no idea what it says. That’s not progress. That’s erasure.

Learning cursive is an act of cultural continuity. It allows us to read what came before and contribute to it. By leaving behind letters and notes of our own, not just tweets and text bubbles.

Cursive nurtures creativity and individual style.

There’s a reason artists, poets, and thinkers often keep notebooks filled with cursive scribbles. It’s not because they’re Luddites, either. Cursive allows for a more organic flow of ideas. There’s less interruption between thought and expression. The fluid motion of cursive writing mirrors the fluidity of creativity.

And then there’s the matter of style. Cursive isn’t just functional, it’s beautiful. It invites a kind of aesthetic attention that most daily tasks don’t require. How you loop your g’s or cross your t’s becomes a subtle form of self-expression. Over time, your cursive becomes a visual echo of your personality. It’s not meant to be perfect, right? It’s meant to be yours.

In a world of sameness, cursive stands out.

We live in a sea of identical text. Helvetica on websites. Arial in emails. Our words are clean, uniform, and frictionless. But a little resistance of pen against paper and tiny imperfections that make something feel human.

Cursive isn’t obsolete. It’s undervalued. And that makes it the perfect place to reclaim something most people have forgotten: there is power in intentional movement, the dignity of personal expression, and the tactile joy of making your mark (literally). Not to mention the strength it builds in your brain.

So yes. Learn cursive. Or relearn it. Not because you have to. Because you can and it’s good for you.

🖤