This is the email I sent to my sister, along with a link to this prosebox:
“I recently reminded myself of something for which I’ve had many years of guilty feelings. And I know it’s impossible to undo, but I feel it’s time to at least confess and begin hoping for forgiveness and healing.
Here’s my confession: for virtually all of our childhood I read your diary. I wish I could say it was just an occasional look, but the truth is I read your diary regularly, and I read every single word you wrote in it. I know that you were writing with the expectation that no one would read it, and I therefore I realize that I was violating your privacy in a major way.
Along with this apology, even though I know it hardly makes up for anything, I’m sharing with you the link to my own online diary and I’m inviting you to read it if you so desire.”
Two days later I got this response:
“My first reaction when I read your email was to think it was so far in the past that it really didn’t matter. But the more I thought about it, the more hurt and embarrassed I was to think that you were reading my most personal thoughts. I still have my childhood diaries and I’ve considered going through them to remind myself of what humiliation I now feel, but I’m too angry and disgusted to even do that.
You referred to your email as an apology, but at no point did you actually apologize. I expect better.”
I haven’t written back yet.
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