My marriage was a difficult one and parenthood was also fraught with worry because my four children have chronic conditions so raising them mostly alone was often terribly frightening. When they were in bed I'd pour my heart out about the days events, how I felt, and wish for a better relationship with my mostly absent husband, their father, who was a selfish, often violent man. I was scared for much of my life. It was therapeutic and many entries were tear stained. They were very personal records. I'd hate anyone to read them. I was in deep despair and I know my children might feel some sort of guilt that my life when they were small and ill was so difficult.
I'd write every evening on my computer, mostly unloading my feelings and events of the day. I stored my records, from various computers over the years, on a memory stick. That stick went missing during a house move a few years ago and I am worried sick regarding where it might turn up and who will read it.
I also found my earlier teenage diaries when I was clearing out. I smiled about how I worried then about such trivial things and why I wrote so much about the ( unobtainable) boys I fancied. I think I might have spent my youth daydreaming about boys. I was so shy much of it was in my head. Again, such personal records and for my eyes only. Destroying those diaries from the 60s and 70s would be like erasing part of my life, but I should. There are some fascinating insights though, like having to find telephone boxes and shopping for mini skirts. I'd feel exposed and rather vulnerable if any of my diaries were read by anyone but me. They really are so personal..A journey into my head and emotions.
Misaligned holes in flat pack garden furniture