How to Leave Instructions for Your Journals

2026-10-14 · Yesterself

Most people who care about their journals never leave instructions for them. The ones who try usually write a single line — do what you think best — and believe they have done something kind. They have not. They have handed a person who is already exhausted a decision with no correct answer, no way to check their work, and a lifetime of guilt attached to whichever way they go.

The fix is not more feeling. It is more specificity. What follows is how to draft the document itself.

A wish is not a direction

Compare these two lines.

I would hate for the notebooks to end up in a skip.

The eleven notebooks in the blue crate are to be kept, unread, by my sister until 2046. If she does not want them, they are to be burned unread. They are not to be given to anyone else.

The first is a wish. It tells the reader how you felt and leaves them to invent a plan. The second is a direction. It names the objects, names the person, names the outcome, and names the fallback if the person declines.

Every line in your document should pass this test: could a stranger carry it out without asking you a question? If not, it is still a wish. Rewrite it until it names a thing, a person, and an outcome.

Some more before and after:

• Maybe the kids would like some of it one day. → The green notebook labeled 1998 goes to Dana on her fortieth birthday. Everything else stays sealed.
• Please respect my privacy. → No notebook in this list is to be read by anyone before 2050, including you.
• The diaries are important to me. → The diaries are to be offered to the county historical society. If they decline, they go to Marcus. If Marcus declines, they are shredded.

The word unread deserves its own mention. If you want something kept but not read, you have to say so in those words. Nobody infers it.

Sort into piles before you write a word

The document gets much easier once the material is grouped. Go through what you have, physically, and put every notebook and file into one of four piles:

1. Destroy. You would rather it be gone than read. Say so, and say how — shredded, burned, deleted.
2. Seal. Keep, do not read, revisit at a stated date.
3. Give. A specific person gets a specific item.
4. Open. Anyone may read it. This is the pile people forget to create, and it is the kindest one, because it gives the family something to hold while the rest stays closed.

Work through the actual objects rather than from memory. You will find notebooks you forgot, and you will find one or two you feel strongly about that you would never have thought to mention.

Then label the physical items so the list can point at them. A strip of masking tape and a marker is enough. A on the crate, B on the shelf, C on the shoebox. Your document then says "everything in box B" instead of describing colors that will not match anyone else's memory.

Cover paper and devices in the same document

The most common failure is a beautiful letter about the notebooks that says nothing about the laptop, where in fact most of the writing is. Split the document into two sections and give both the same treatment.

For paper: where it is, what the labels mean, what happens to each labeled group.

For digital, you need three things per item:

• Where it is. Named app, named device, named folder, named cloud account. "My journal app" is not a location; someone has to be able to find it.
• Whether it can be opened at all. Some apps are encrypted with a key only you hold. If nobody has the key, the entry is already destroyed, and your document should say that plainly rather than sending someone on a six-month hunt.
• The outcome. Same four piles. Delete the folder. Export it and give the file to one person. Leave the account alone until it lapses.

If any of it is encrypted, decide deliberately whether anyone should hold the key, and write down what you decided either way. "Nobody has the key and that is intentional" is a complete, useful instruction. So is naming the one person who does. What you must not do is leave it silent.

While you are in there: export your writing to a plain file now, once, and note in the document where that export lives. A folder of readable files is enormously easier to leave instructions about than a login. This is one reason to prefer tools that let you take your archive out for free. In Yesterself, a journaling app that mails you one letter from your own past writing each morning, export is free forever on every tier, in open formats, and the archive is end-to-end encrypted with a twelve-word key you hold — there is no account or password anyone could be handed instead. Yesterself is not released yet; the waiting list is on the site. But the point stands whatever you write in: check that you can get your words out as files, then say in your instructions where those files are.

Say what happens if your person says no

Instructions fail most often at the point where the named person is unavailable, unwilling, or gone before you. Every direction that depends on a person should carry a fallback, and the fallback should end in something final. Give, then give again, then destroy or seal. A chain that ends in a question mark is the same as no chain.

Also state who is allowed to make a call you did not cover. Not "do what you think best" for everything — one named person, for the leftovers only, after your listed items are handled.

Write the release, not just the restrictions

Add a short paragraph in your own voice that gives permission. Something like: These were written for me, not about anyone. If a line about you sounds unkind, it was a bad Tuesday, not a verdict. You are not required to keep any of this out of duty.

That paragraph does more work than any of the rules. It is often the reason a family keeps a box instead of quietly emptying it, and it is the reason someone who reads a hard page does not carry it as a judgment. Families throw away old diaries far more often out of uncertainty than out of indifference.

The shape of the finished document

One page is usually enough:

• Today's date, and the words "this replaces any earlier version."
• Where the originals are, and what the labels mean.
• The four piles, item by item, each with an outcome and a fallback.
• The digital section, with locations and key status.
• Who decides anything not listed here.
• The paragraph of release.
• Your signature.

Then tell one living person that it exists and where it is. A perfect instruction letter nobody finds is a blank page.

This is not legal advice. Instruction letters about personal papers interact with wills, executors, and local law in ways that vary; if the material is sensitive or valuable, talk to a qualified professional in your jurisdiction about how to make your wishes stick. Related reading on the surrounding questions: are personal papers part of an estate and who owns a letter after the writer dies.

Set an hour aside. Sort the piles, label the boxes, write the page, date it. Next year, read it again and change what has changed.

Common questions

Where should the instruction document live?

Somewhere findable without a search, such as taped inside the front cover of your newest notebook or in the same folder as your other important papers. Tell at least one person it exists and where.

Does it need to be legally binding?

That is a question for a lawyer in your jurisdiction. A plain instruction letter is useful even when it carries no legal force, because it removes the guesswork, but it is not a substitute for a will or estate advice.

What if I cannot decide about a notebook?

Give it a default outcome anyway, such as sealed and kept for ten years, then reread and decided by the person holding it. A default is still a direction. Leaving it undecided pushes the decision onto someone grieving.

How often should I rewrite it?

Once a year is plenty, and any time the pile changes shape. Date every version and destroy the old one so nobody has to work out which is current.

Can one document cover paper notebooks and files on a laptop?

Yes, and it should. Split it into a paper section and a digital section, list where each lives, and give each group the same kind of stated outcome.