In elementary school, we were required to keep a journal. I think like most other first-graders, mine was the black and white marble composition notebook that came in packs of three at Staples. I also really hated it because it was graded. We were told when to sit at our wooden desks and scratch our No. 2 pencils into the neatly lined, bright white paper. We were also told what to write about: our weekends, our families, our pets, whatever. One thing I don’t recall being asked to write about, though, was how I felt. How I felt about my day, not just what happened. Thankfully, I had a journal at home in which to spill the beans.

It’s pretty embarrassing to look back and read what I once wrote as a kid (mostly because of the atrocious spelling). But, I think the pages of our journals should be filled with the truth. Your truth to look back on either the next day or next decade.

I have to confess, though — I’m not a consistent journal writer. When it was required of me by teachers, I did it because I had to (quantity over quality, in that case). For a period of almost a year, however, I wrote in my journal almost every day. It was always in a different color (alternating daily), and each entry began with “Dear Journal” (sometimes, and progressively more often, “Dear Journal I’m sorry it’s been so long”).

When I was in seventh grade, I wrote this in a multi-color checkered journal with sparkly stickers all over the cover and blue ribbon to mark my place:

I don’t remember whether or not writing in it made me feel better or not, but doing so definitely clarified my thoughts, emotions and goals. Going back and reading it years later also helps me remember who I was at the time (especially comparing that me to who I am now). Like I said, going back and reading your old journals can be humiliating (sometimes funny, sometimes sad, always weird). But it’s worth it! Especially as a writer (a passionate personal essay writer at that), it’s important to pull from life experiences and reflect on them, whether it’s through memoir, fiction poetry, or whatever other genre. Even just being a person requires you to look back at your old self every so often, and where is the most accurate place to go? The primary source: your journal/diary.

I took personal essay class at IC last semester (my favorite class so far, to be honest), and we watched a very important and hilarious documentary on Netflix called "Mortified Nation." About Ithaca College alumni David Nadelberg and Neil Katcher, "Mortified Nation" is a film about events held across the U.S. during which regular people went on stage to read from (recite) their old diaries. Some people couldn’t get through the entry from laughing so hard, others from being too upset. Either way, by the end of their performances they looked relieved. The Sundance channel show "Mortified Sessions," also from Nadelberg and Katcher, has celebrities reading from their journals.

But before you can read old journal entries, you have to keep a journal.

This is where I am currently failing.

I write almost every day, but I don’t remember the last time I started an entry with “Dear Diary” or “Dear Journal.” I write basically the same content in different forms (page and slam poems, mostly) and various materials (index cards, Google Docs, and occasionally actual journals). My parents always roll their eyes at me when I buy a new journal because, not only do I do it too often, but I also never even write in them. I want to, believe me, but my ideas and emotions form into words too quickly and sporadically for me to scavenge for the proper pen and paper. I have countless things typed out on a note on my phone titled “Inspiration Notes,” bits of torn printer paper folded up and pinned to a cork board, and of course, a few pages in whatever notebook/journal was closest to me.

But does it matter where I write what I write? Or what format? Or how consistently? I don’t think so. What’s important is not that you have to have something to write about or that you do at 8 p.m. every night. I think the important thing about journaling is that you do it when you want to or feel like you need to.

There are certain nights when I can’t sleep without jotting down several poems about whatever I’m struggling with; writing is therapeutic, and studies have shown it. I also feel like it’s vital to who I am as a person. Although the latter isn’t necessarily true for everyone, there is a universal benefit of writing about your feelings and experiences on a more subjective level — it’s refreshing.

All the stuff you don’t process (especially internally) builds up, and writing is a perfect tool to help yourself go through it — the good and bad stuff, because both should be realized for a healthy balance —with creative flexibility. Writing for yourself is translating the intrinsic into something tangible. Writing for yourself is the key to understanding yourself.

Even though I have more journals (at least 10 with no more than a few pages used in each) than I ever plan on writing in and continue to buy more (refer to my diary entry from before), the object of keeping a journal is still a big part of my life.

Writing down feelings, thoughts or what have you is like having an open, honest conversation with yourself. You don’t need a black and white marble composition notebook or fuzzy diary with a lock and key to master the art of journaling. All you need is yourself.

(But I'm obviously still going to keep buying more journals.)