Would you burn your diaries?

After my grandmother died a couple of years ago I realized how much stuff we leave behind and how hard it is for our loved ones to deal with it all. And my grandmother was actually someone who made it easy. My grandfather had been a post-depression-era hoarder. He knew what it was like to go without things, so he kept as many things as he could in his basement, attic, and garage. You know, in case of some post-apocalyptic scenario in which back issues of "National Geographic" from 1977 could suddenly be used as currency.

So after he died my grandma got rid of a ton of stuff. Then when she moved to assisted living she got rid of a little more. And then when she sold her house even more, and so on. But we were still left with random things like rulers. She had three rulers. I didn't need one, yet it made me so sad to get rid of them. I want to make sure Tate has as few of those decisions to make someday, so I try to keep things pretty purged as I go.

And that brings me to my diaries.


I got my first diary when I was 9. It was a sweet little thing with an illustration of Holly Hobby on the front. I didn't know what a diary was, but my mom told me it was to write about what happened each day. My first entry is as follows: "Today I got up. We got in the car. We had to go to the dintist (sic). We were late. We stopped at a stoplight. We got there. I had no cavities." But those types of scintillating entries aren't the ones I'm worried about. I wrote pretty regularly throughout my teen years and 20s, filling journal after journal. I wanted to be a writer like Judy Blume, the only adult I knew of who didn't seem to lose sight of what it felt like to be young. So I recorded and recorded...a lot of it was along the lines of "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret," wishing for stuff like boobs (it never happened) and my period (why? why?), which would be brutal enough for Tate to read. But even more traumatic, some of it starts to head into slightly less G-rated territory too. Yikes.

And it's not just the coming-of-age business. I turned to my diary about things I couldn't talk to anyone else about. And who really wants their kid to be burdened with their deepest, darkest feelings? As I was trying to figure all of this out, I googled "what do do with old diaries" and came across this wonderful essay by a woman who just up and burned her diaries. I started to wonder, could I do that? All of that history, these little snippets that offered a peek into my life at various stages all gone in an instant. But if it would prevent Tate from reading about the first time a guy tried for 2nd base it might be worth it.

photo credit: andres.moreno via photopin cc