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It's Time To Burn The Diaries

So yeah, I burned my diaries.

I started keeping a diary when I was 14.  I continued to write my emotions and experiences in these books until I was 24.  I put my diaries in a box when I moved away from home and carted my history with me.  I shuffled this box with me to my first apartment, to my first home with my fiance, to my first home with my fiance-turned-husband. 

Some days, while rummaging through the attic to find gift wrap or suitcases, I would rediscover this box of my history and start reading.  I always felt embarrassed and a bit sick to my stomach.  As the years went by, and my children were getting older, a panic would go through me, what if my daughters found my diaries?!?!  I thought of getting rid of them, but would let it slide, knowing they were well hidden.

A member of the family passed away over a year ago and we needed to go through her things to find documentation regarding ownership of items,etc.  While looking at cards that had been kept and special photos I thought about what someone would find in my closets and the panic hit me again, my diaries!  That's when I decided to be done with them.

My diaries served their purpose.  I was able to scream, vent, share my secrets and get on with it.  I honestly don't feel my daughters will gain anything positive from reading parts of my past and I never had future children in mind when I was writing.  These books were for no one else but me, and their job was very, very over.

With a fire in the fire place and a stack of Quillmark journals at my side I picked up one book, read through the pages, sometimes laughed, most times winced, many times got sick to my stomach. I ripped the pages from their binding and tossed them in the fire.  It felt good.

Having the pages turn to ash doesn't make my experiences go away, it just puts them where they should be.  Have I made a mistake?  I don't feel I have.  

Movin' on!

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