Once, when I was cleaning in my daughter’s room, her diary fell to the floor. She was a teen-ager at the time and I was absolutely sure she was living a wild alternate life filled with secrets kept exclusively from me. Teen-agers inspire that type of paranoia and powerlessness in mothers.

So there I was with my own private “Book of Revelations” on the floor and a biblical sense of righteousness. My daughter was at school. I was assured of several hours of uninterrupted detective work. I could sit down right there on her bed and read it. All of it.

But I didn’t. With strain, I tucked it back into the pillows on her bed and turned the other way.

Believe me, it was not an easy choice. But when you are a mother and daughter who keep journals, privacy and safety and trust are as fundamental to the household as warm blankets at the end of the day.

I was 10 when I wrote my first diary. It was the dime-store, one-year variety with a lock and key. I am sure my mother never read it. With six children, who had time to snoop in diaries?

Lately, I have been combing through my old diaries, and it struck me as I was revisiting the frustrations, joys, ups and downs that are recorded there that a diary can be tempting and dangerous.

Imagine if my daughter had seen the vulnerability and fear in the following journal entry, which I wrote when she was 13: “Today is the first day of eighth grade. I could not sleep last night. I am a bundle of worrying nerves. I want to make a verb out of the word ‘angst’ because I angsted all night.” Or this: “Today Kristen told me she finds most people uninteresting. I felt like a failure. But I knew what she meant.”

Start tampering with someone’s diary and you are asking for trouble. This is true for anyone who peeks into another person’s private world, but a mother who picks up a daughter’s diary opens herself to the possibility of a unique form of self-flagellation.

Luckily, I had an innate sense that I was not welcome in my daughter’s most intimate thoughts. When you are in the midst of teen years, when communication has broken down as it does when childhood and adulthood vociferously merge in your child, then it’s best not to ask for a double-whammy by reading about it.

As a writer, I also know that a diary is a blessedly useful tool. It is the cradle for pure self without concern for accountability, without worrying about the feelings of others or editing for spelling and grammar. You can be yourself – and your daughter won’t call you stupid, and your mother won’t punish you because neither of them is invited.

When I told my daughter I was looking through my old diaries, I got very lucky. She decided to send me selections from her journals from age 8 (when I gave her her first diary) to 18 (when she left for college). Below, you will find an introduction she wrote, plus entries from her old diaries. And don’t worry. Even though I tweaked spelling, I didn’t “pull a mom” and circulate this collection behind her back. She gave me permission.

For me, the entries trace the development of a young girl learning about her own emotions and her place in the household, if not the world. I hear her voice but I also see myself from a new angle – both as a daughter and as a mother. Maybe you’ll see something of yourself, too.

Anyway, here’s my daughter.

My first diary was given to me on my eighth birthday by my mom. I loved it because it was black with pink ballet shoes on the cover but also because it gave me permission to voice my private thoughts without fear.

Well, sort of.

From 8 to 18, I obsessed over hiding places for it, suspecting the worst: that my mom went on regular scavenger hunts, not for cigarettes or candy stashes but for my detailed thoughts and secret writings. Regardless, this fear didn’t stop me from unleashing myself through my journals. The blank pages of countless books provided the space for the questions I thought might be silly to really ask, the stories I liked to retell myself, and the strong emotions of a girl who at the time thought only she could understand her most private thoughts.

The paranoia about my mom finding my diaries never left me. In a house with a mother and daughter, every room can be a battlefield, but on the pages of my diary I could always win. As long as she didn’t find it. But that she might was what worried me.

Where was safe ground? Stuffed beneath the mattress, shoved between schoolbooks, buried in the underwear drawer, wrapped up in T-shirts, or concealed in any spot that was mom-proof. Was any spot mom-proof?

Now, at 22, I realize that once a thought leaves my head and enters the page, it is no longer a secret. I didn’t stop writing when I realized that. I just stopped hiding my journals.

Mostly.

I don’t hide the older ones any more, as you will see from the excerpts below. These earlier journals are about the old battles, but they have become good laughs between my mom and me.

Age 8

I hope some day I go back, and this book will bring back memories. I got this book on my 8th birthday from my mom. It is my first diary.

I’m mad. Life was not great at all today. I’m not that happy any more. My mom is spending all my time doing what she wants to do! First she did some stuff with the record player and then she talked on the phone! And now I have to go to bed!

Mom first was mean then nice, then mean again, and now I think she might get nice again! Tonight my mom and I talked about it. We are going to try harder – even her! I hope that our idea works because I was really mad!

One day when I was taking a walk with my mom we got into this kind of talk about my behavior. The next thing I know my mom said I whine too much. I was stunned to hear this. And then my mom said, “If this keeps up, I will start taking away things like your teddy bears, your toys or anything else that means something to you.” When she finished I thought, “But that makes no sense, taking away something. That won’t change my behavior.” And a few days later I asked her, “Mom, if you took Kitty away, where would you put her?” Because she had said that the first thing to go is the cat. My cat means more to me then almost anything. She said, “I would never take Kitty away from you. I know I said that but I don’t mean it.” I felt so much better.

Age 14

Then there’s my mom. I wish she’d just loosen up. She has just gotten more uptight over the years. I’m not a bad kid. I don’t do bad things. I just want my freedom. I know she just doesn’t want me to make mistakes but I WANT to make mistakes or at least have the space to. If she gets so attached, college is going to kill her when I go away. I just wish she’d back off. I really think that she’s partially losing her mind. I think she’s losing reality. She used to be so fun, then she went serious, now she’s just weird.

Meredith invited Molly and me to go to New York with her this weekend. We’d stay with her, and we could have gone to any Broadway show we wanted. I saw this as the opportunity of my life. But then of course my mom came waltzing in and said no. Thanks again Alicia. All I wanted to do was for once, do something WITHOUT her, something on my own without her little rules following me around all the time. JUST ONCE. Why not just once?? She’s going to regret it someday because as the years go on, I just get more and more mad at her, and then when I leave, when I’m 18, I won’t be coming back. I’m going to hold this against her for the rest of my life.

I hate my mother’s reasoning, it never makes sense. “Growing up is hard.” Pam says. Yeah, maybe, but isn’t everything? Especially when you’re growing up with Alicia-She-who-has-no-reasoning-but-the-answer-is-no. I’ll never forget yesterday.

I’ve been at my grandmother’s for a week. Can’t wait to see my mom – I really miss her. I really do love my mom a lot. These little separations are good for us. It reminds me how lucky I am.

“The best life is the simplest.” That is a quote from my European History book that I liked. Found it while doing my homework. I chose that quote because I think it explains a lot about my life. Our house is very simple. My mother is definitely not materialistic (which is fine with me). I think not having many materialistic things has made me more realistic and because things are simple, I can see things more clearly. Clarity and simplicity. Yep. And lots of love and happiness.

Mrs. Dolliver died yesterday. And even though I never really knew her that well, it wouldn’t have killed me to go with my mom more often to the nursing home to visit her, but I didn’t. And we go to the funeral on Saturday. I know that my mom will cry and that’s weird and uncomfortable for me. What do I do when my mother cries?

Age 16

Today I pierced my own bellybutton. I’ve been waiting so long and I wanted it so bad and I never got it done, so I just did it myself. I wasn’t going to tell my mom right away, but she walked into the bathroom when she got home from work and asked, “Why does the bathroom smell like rubbing alcohol, Kristen?” I just lifted up my shirt and showed her. I knew I couldn’t lie to her. She had to sit down because she was gonna pass out. Hee-Hee! No, but she was worried for me.

I taught Abbey how to drive tonight. Shhh, though, it’s a secret – my mom would kill me – our brand new car. We drove around the block a few times and she was really good for her first time driving, especially a clutch. She only stalled once. But then she took a turn and we ended up in a ditch. Oops. It was okay though, we got out … FAST.

Got in a big fight with my mom tonight. She is so dramatic. Her life is so bad, Boo hoo. No one does anything for her and no one loves her and she never does anything that she wants. Wah wah. Then, do something. I’m sorry but I’ve never had a good time on a family vacation and if I can’t bring a friend, I’m not going. I feel very strongly about that. I’m not going to be bashed for 10 days without moral support. So let her roll around in her room feeling bad for herself. I think she’s living in an alternate universe anyway.

Age 18

Finally my mom and I went to the mall this evening. She kept offering to buy me stuff. I think she’s holding on to every last moment we have before college – and of course I am too. She’s been the one constant through my whole life. No matter what, I always knew my mom would be around. I think we have a nice friendship now. I wonder how we’ll be once I leave. We haven’t been apart from each other for very long ever. She bought me a sweater.

I love my mom.