I love that she kept a record. On the flip side, my father kept date books for years, some with only one entry, stacked neatly on the shelf. My grandmother inscribed every paper address book (the kind you get with the White and Yellow pages delivery when that still happened) her name, where she was from, when she married, was widowed, her son's name and so on. A simple list, repeated and kept year after year. Both of them finding a way to say "I was here. I existed." Those blank pages speak volumes to me.
I’m 82 and have been journaling since 1972. My kids have instructions to burn my journals without reading them. I go through them slowly, rereading them discarding. Maybe it’s time for me to burn them all.
It is worth considering your legacy and your love of your kids. I burned mine because I felt they represented a moment in my mind, not something I wanted to be defined by. A sometimes whiner… a sometimes lonely and angry human, sometimes depleted. Yes that is all of us, but why burden anyone with those dark moments? xN
Exactly. They don’t represent my whole life but dark moments and thoughts. I have written 4 memoirs—my kids have them. I’m giving myself a few days and consult with trusted friends before I make a decision. I appreciate your post.
Mental illness runs on both mother and father side. I have depression which rears its head every so often. As the oldest I had complicated relationships with both parents. Each would say one thing but their actions said something quite different. My mom had four kids, two were her favorites and two she could have cared less about. As we both grew older we grew farther and farther apart. She died about two years ago. She would never answer any of my questions, they were awkward and made her uncomfortable. I told my family to take whatever they wanted, I got some artwork. I honestly don’t miss her, but wish her well in wherever she is. But what I have taken away from her is that one person can’t be the only person doing the heavy lifting in the relationship all the time, and that some people should never marry or have kids.
Personally I would throw everything away. I just didn’t like the person she was, why should I be further burdened by her.
I often wonder, if I were to die suddenly, what my children would do with my journals. My plan, should I not become a reknowned author and asked to bequeath them to a university, is to make a big fire, open a bottle of prosecco, and burn my inner turmoil one page at a time.
Oh Natalie…..such a complicated issue. I believe you’d be better served not reading much of Ellen’s writings at this point. You’re going through enough trauma with a small t just dealing with getting her settled, cleaning out her house etc. Pack them away, give it time….maybe someday you will want to revisit them and maybe not. Right now it’s more important to take care of your own mental state and keep working on getting your joy back! It’s there, I know it since you spread so much of it to your readers! 😍
Talk about complex…. Did you know that hoarding and addiction are genetically linked? Disturbing to know intimate details, or to see images you cannot unsee especially of a parent. Initially reading about a stockpile of journals not wanted- I thought ‘ a treasure trove’ of material for commercial gain. Reading further, I felt more form you, a daughter in the midst of sadness, loss, and you mother fully exposed and not in a flattering way. I - am curious about other comments.
I love that she kept a record. On the flip side, my father kept date books for years, some with only one entry, stacked neatly on the shelf. My grandmother inscribed every paper address book (the kind you get with the White and Yellow pages delivery when that still happened) her name, where she was from, when she married, was widowed, her son's name and so on. A simple list, repeated and kept year after year. Both of them finding a way to say "I was here. I existed." Those blank pages speak volumes to me.
Thank you, Jodi, for reaching out. The records we leave behind definitely have impact. xN
I’m 82 and have been journaling since 1972. My kids have instructions to burn my journals without reading them. I go through them slowly, rereading them discarding. Maybe it’s time for me to burn them all.
I will look for your books! xN
All self published. Glad to share if there is a way for me to send a message privately.
It is worth considering your legacy and your love of your kids. I burned mine because I felt they represented a moment in my mind, not something I wanted to be defined by. A sometimes whiner… a sometimes lonely and angry human, sometimes depleted. Yes that is all of us, but why burden anyone with those dark moments? xN
Exactly. They don’t represent my whole life but dark moments and thoughts. I have written 4 memoirs—my kids have them. I’m giving myself a few days and consult with trusted friends before I make a decision. I appreciate your post.
I wonder what my son will do with mine. Now when I write I always imagine him reading it. But maybe he won’t.
Write with freedom, burn before you leave? It’s a hard call. xN
I do write with freedom because I'll be dead when he reads anything
Yes, and consider trashing later to not burden your son. It’s complicated 💛
Maybe burn them in a big fire ritual of releasing generational and ancestral trauma.
Love it! 🔥🔥🔥
Mental illness runs on both mother and father side. I have depression which rears its head every so often. As the oldest I had complicated relationships with both parents. Each would say one thing but their actions said something quite different. My mom had four kids, two were her favorites and two she could have cared less about. As we both grew older we grew farther and farther apart. She died about two years ago. She would never answer any of my questions, they were awkward and made her uncomfortable. I told my family to take whatever they wanted, I got some artwork. I honestly don’t miss her, but wish her well in wherever she is. But what I have taken away from her is that one person can’t be the only person doing the heavy lifting in the relationship all the time, and that some people should never marry or have kids.
Personally I would throw everything away. I just didn’t like the person she was, why should I be further burdened by her.
Sounds very cruel, but there it is, the truth.
I don’t think it sounds cruel, I think it sounds like solid boundaries and self care. I wish you well. Thanks for reading and for writing to me. xN
I often wonder, if I were to die suddenly, what my children would do with my journals. My plan, should I not become a reknowned author and asked to bequeath them to a university, is to make a big fire, open a bottle of prosecco, and burn my inner turmoil one page at a time.
I approve! And do it with love and tenderness for yourself. xN
Oh Natalie…..such a complicated issue. I believe you’d be better served not reading much of Ellen’s writings at this point. You’re going through enough trauma with a small t just dealing with getting her settled, cleaning out her house etc. Pack them away, give it time….maybe someday you will want to revisit them and maybe not. Right now it’s more important to take care of your own mental state and keep working on getting your joy back! It’s there, I know it since you spread so much of it to your readers! 😍
Thank you, Maureen. Truth is I tossed most of them. I just don’t want a box of bad energy in my home. I appreciate your care! xN
I think that was an excellent decision! ⭐️
Talk about complex…. Did you know that hoarding and addiction are genetically linked? Disturbing to know intimate details, or to see images you cannot unsee especially of a parent. Initially reading about a stockpile of journals not wanted- I thought ‘ a treasure trove’ of material for commercial gain. Reading further, I felt more form you, a daughter in the midst of sadness, loss, and you mother fully exposed and not in a flattering way. I - am curious about other comments.
Thank you for reading. xN
You are welcome.
It would be, you are correct. I asked and discussed but I also don’t know her memory. Indeed a slippery slope.