Check what’s in my head

A private, non-judgmental check-in

Created with everyday life in the United States in mind, this mental check invites you to pause and look at patterns that might be shaping your days—how you sleep and recharge, what stress looks like in your week, when worry or low mood tends to show up, how you relate to people you care about, and which routines seem to support steadier focus and energy—whether you’re riding the subway in New York before sunrise, grabbing a coffee along Congress Avenue in Austin, walking a dog in a Minneapolis neighborhood beneath snowy branches, waiting for a rideshare near LAX, finishing a late shift in a Charlotte hospital, or winding down after classes on a campus in the Pacific Northwest; the prompts use everyday language, avoid clinical claims, and aim to feel respectful and inclusive for different identities, cultures, ages, and abilities, offering gentle cues like “you might notice,” “some people share,” and “this could suggest” so you can consider what resonates and set aside what doesn’t, while the results summarize themes in broad, neutral ranges (for example, that certain feelings or habits seem rare, occasional, or frequent) and pair them with context such as “many individuals in this range choose to review sleep routines, movement, social connection, and coping strategies with a trusted source,” encouraging reflection rather than instruction as you think about life across workplaces, schools, military communities, reservations, small towns, suburbs, and big cities; as you move through the questions, you can keep brief private notes about what helps—sunlight on an early walk in Tampa, a phone-free dinner in Denver, a faith service in Memphis, journaling on a quiet bus ride in Spokane, a check-in with a neighbor in El Paso, an evening craft in Burlington, a beach stroll along the Outer Banks, or a playlist that eases traffic on I-405—along with tags like “felt steady,” “restless night,” “conflict at work,” “time with family,” “hydrated,” “too much news,” “moved my body,” or “supportive chat,” which many people find useful for noticing gradual trends across seasons from Phoenix heat to Chicago winters to humid afternoons in Charleston; the check deliberately avoids rigid rules and steers clear of promises about outcomes, instead offering soft, practical ideas that you can customize—perhaps adjusting a bedtime routine, spacing notifications, preparing a snack that feels sustaining, making room for a short stretch, stepping outside for light, setting a small boundary around doom-scrolling, or picking one relationship that feels safe to lean on—because tiny changes often feel more doable than sweeping plans and may fit more easily around rotating shifts, caregiving, classes, or travel, and because the goal here is not perfection but a kinder map of your inner landscape; attention is given to context—identity, culture, disability, language, finances, housing, and access all shape how stress appears and how support can look—so you’re invited to name what is true for you, whether you live in a rural county in the Midwest with a long commute and limited transit, in a dense California neighborhood with roommates and shared schedules, on a Gulf Coast block where storms are part of life, or on tribal land with deep ties to community and tradition, and you can use that context to interpret your notes: maybe you notice that mood lifts after time outdoors even when the day is crowded, that irritability rises when meals are irregular, that motivation returns when you reconnect with a hobby, or that focus improves when you break tasks into smaller pieces and check them off with a pen; throughout, privacy matters—entries stay private to you unless you choose to share, identifiable details aren’t required, and the summary you receive is written in plain language so you can keep it for yourself, discuss it with someone you trust, or bring it to a first conversation with a licensed professional if you ever want guidance—while accessibility features aim to make the experience usable on phones, tablets, and laptops with adjustable text, high-contrast modes, and screen-reader support; because stress in the U.S. can look different—overtime in service jobs, shift work in logistics, deadlines in tech, field seasons in agriculture, study weeks, relocations, extreme weather, caregiving across generations—the prompts invite you to consider what support means in your town or network: a librarian who points you to a local workshop, a manager who allows a brief schedule tweak, a campus resource center, a community garden, a faith leader who listens, a peer group that practices mindfulness in a park, or a friend who texts “arrived?” when you drive late at night, and the check frames these as options, not assignments; strengths are highlighted on purpose—humor during tense moments, curiosity about learning, reliability at work, small acts of kindness, attention to hydration, five mindful breaths before a meeting, opening a window for fresh air—because many people find that naming what’s steady helps when days feel crowded, and the summary invites you to circle two or three strengths you’d like to keep front-of-mind this month, along with one area you’re curious to experiment with, phrased as “could try” rather than “should do,” which might look like leaving your shoes by the door to nudge an evening walk, placing a journal near the kettle for a morning page, moving a favorite chair closer to a window, or setting a short timer to practice a breathing pattern that you already like; if your reflections suggest that extra support could be welcome, you can consider paths that match your preferences—reading practical materials from public sources, joining a low-pressure peer group, checking whether your workplace offers an employee assistance program, exploring community or campus counseling, or talking with a primary care clinician who can discuss next steps in everyday terms—while remembering that this check is informational and not a medical evaluation, and that choosing to pause and reflect is already a meaningful step; because experiences differ across the country—coastal towns shaped by tourism, inland cities shaped by manufacturing and universities, villages near national parks, neighborhoods that draw new arrivals—the examples are broad and meant to be adapted, and if English is not your first language or if you use assistive tech, the prompts aim to stay clear and modular so you can move at a pace that feels right, return later, or skip what doesn’t fit; the tone stays gentle and non-urgent, leaving room for uncertainty, since feelings shift with projects, family milestones, health news, elections, or quieter realities like long commutes and bills, and the intent is simply to offer a quiet corner where you can notice what is happening inside, honor what is already working, and consider small, self-directed steps aligned with your values and daily realities—whether that’s spending a few minutes in morning light in Tucson, setting a screen-free hour in Cincinnati, organizing a park meetup in Boise, lighting a candle in New Orleans before journaling, carrying a water bottle on the Red Line in Boston, or putting your phone in the glovebox before walking into a community center in Tulsa—because many people find that when they name what they feel and what they need in plain words, decisions feel less tangled, conversations get easier, and the next step—however small—becomes visible on their own terms.