Mood Self-Check

A neutral, private pause

Designed with everyday life in the United States in mind, this depression test invites a calm moment of reflection amid different routines—whether you ride the subway before sunrise in New York, wait for a bus in Minneapolis as snow crunches underfoot, sip coffee beneath live oaks in Savannah, step out from a night shift in Phoenix, stroll a neighborhood block in El Paso, check a to-do list at a kitchen table in Omaha, or look toward the water along Seattle’s piers; the questions use plain language and avoid judgments, touching on common experiences that many people notice when mood feels weighed down: changes in sleep, appetite, focus, energy, and motivation; a sense that once-enjoyed activities feel dull; worry that lingers; a fogginess that makes decisions harder; a heaviness that sits with you even on lighter days; or thoughts that loop more than you’d like. Results are summarized in broad, neutral ranges rather than verdicts, accompanied by context like “many people in this range choose to review sleep routines, movement that feels doable, daily structure, social connection, and coping strategies with a trusted resource,” so you can interpret what fits your reality—busy shifts in logistics in Memphis, caregiving across generations in San Antonio, exam periods in Ann Arbor, seasonal field work in the Central Valley, lake winds in Cleveland, humid afternoons in Charleston, mountain mornings near Denver, long commutes across the Bay Area. Throughout, the tone stays respectful and non-urgent, using phrases such as “you might notice,” “some people report,” and “this could suggest,” because two neighbors can share a similar score and still live very different days shaped by sleep, nutrition, light exposure, movement, medication, health conditions, responsibilities, identity, community, finances, housing, and access to support; in other words, the number is a starting point for curiosity, not a label. If you’d like to spot trends over time, you can keep private notes with simple tags—“felt steady,” “restless night,” “low appetite,” “time outside,” “supportive chat,” “long screen day,” “short walk,” “journaling helped,” “music helped,” “quiet morning,” “less news today”—so that subtle patterns come into view across weeks and seasons: perhaps mood softens after stepping into morning light in Tucson, or focus returns when a phone-free dinner in Des Moines opens space for conversation, or energy feels steadier when a brief stretch follows a meeting in Salt Lake City; you might also notice that attention sinks after extended scrolling in Miami, that irritability rises when meals become irregular during deadlines in Boston, or that evenings feel lighter when you walk past trees in Richmond or pause on a bench in Santa Fe. Suggestions remain optional, small, and adaptable, because schedules stretch and contract in the U.S.—tourism surges on the Florida coast, wildfire smoke in Northern California, nor’easters sweeping toward Providence, storm watches along the Gulf, snow closures in Montana, rotating shifts in health care, inventory counts in big box retail, festivals and family gatherings that shift sleep and food; the idea is to choose one or two gentle anchors that could support mood without adding pressure: sit where natural light falls to read a short list; place a water bottle where you’ll see it; move a favorite chair closer to a window; step onto a porch or stoop to notice air and sound; write three words about the day while the kettle warms; message a friend who answers reliably; trace a small loop you know well; pick a song that cues you to stand, breathe, and stretch. Because culture and place shape well-being, the examples are broad on purpose—powwow weekends on tribal land; a potluck after a service in Oklahoma City; mural walks in Philadelphia; music drifting from porches in Nashville; a pickup game in Albuquerque; a library workshop in Kansas City; a neighbor in Tucson who texts “arrived?” when you drive late; a community garden in Detroit where conversation comes easily; a sunny patch by the Willamette in Portland where you can sit for a moment; a sidewalk café in New Orleans where you decide to put your phone in a bag and notice the street—so you can adapt what resonates and ignore what does not. Privacy matters: identifiable details are not required, entries can stay with you, and the summary is yours to keep, whether you share it with no one, talk it through with a trusted person, or bring it to a first conversation with a licensed professional who can listen and discuss options in everyday language; some people also pair the check-in with public resources—parks and trails that make movement feel welcome, campus or community centers that host peer groups, employee assistance programs, or faith and cultural organizations that offer supportive spaces—while others prefer to keep the insights as a private compass and revisit them at natural checkpoints, such as after a project ends, when seasons change, or when a family milestone shifts routines. The wording keeps clear that this is informational and not a diagnosis, and that mood is influenced by many factors, including sleep debt, light cues, social isolation, major life changes, medication effects, health conditions, and cumulative stress; that is why the test avoids prescriptive timelines or absolute statements and sticks to gentle signposts like “could try,” “may help,” or “some notice,” leaving room for uncertainty and for your own judgment. You might find it helpful to name strengths on purpose—reliability at work, humor in tense minutes, care for elders, curiosity about learning, steadiness with hydration, showing up for a friend—because many people share that acknowledging what already supports them makes heavy periods more navigable; the summary highlights these anchors so they’re easier to carry forward when days feel crowded. If your reflection suggests that added support would be welcome, you can consider different paths that match comfort and access—reviewing educational materials from public sources, exploring a local peer circle, checking whether your workplace or school lists confidential services, or setting up a visit with a clinician who can help you think about options that align with your values and daily realities; if you prefer not to take any next step, that choice is respected, and you can return later to see what has shifted. Across boroughs and bayous, plains and canyons, campuses and cul-de-sacs, the throughline is modest and steady: read the result, place it in context, honor what already works, notice what feels tight, and consider one small, self-directed step that feels sustainable—maybe five slow breaths before opening a heavy email in Seattle, a loop around a block in El Paso, a bench with morning light in Albany, or a short call to a friend in Cincinnati—because many people find that when they name what they feel and what they need in plain words, decisions untangle, conversations soften, and the next step—however small—comes into view on their own terms.