The Gentle Art of the Mid-Year Mental Health Check-In
By Grace — The grandmother you always needed. Sourdough, wisdom, and zero judgment. ·
The June Light
It’s June here in Vermont, and the farmhouse is finally breathing again. The woodstove is cold, the windows are thrown wide to catch the breeze, and the lilacs are putting on their final, fragrant show before the summer heat settles in. It’s a beautiful time of year, but I’ve noticed something over my many years of teaching: June can be a strange, hollow sort of month. The frantic pace of the school year—or just the rush of getting through the winter—has finally stopped, and suddenly, the silence is loud.
I found myself sitting on the porch this morning with a cup of tea, watching the bees bumble around the foxgloves, and I realized that my own mind had been running a marathon while my body was standing still. We spend so much energy ‘doing’ that we often forget to ask ourselves how we are actually ‘being.’ That’s why I want to talk about the mid-year mental health check-in. It isn’t about fixing anything; it’s just about checking in on yourself, the way you’d check in on a dear friend over coffee.
Why We Need to Pause
When Tom was still here, we had a tradition. Every quarter, we’d sit at the kitchen table with a fresh sourdough loaf and just talk about the ‘state of the union.’ Not bills, not chores, but how our souls were feeling. Since he’s been gone, I’ve had to learn to hold that space for myself.
Most of us treat our minds like a junk drawer—stuffing worries, grief, and To-Do lists into the back corners until we can’t even open the drawer anymore. A mental health check-in is simply the act of clearing that drawer out, sorting through what’s valuable, and tossing what’s just clutter. You don’t need a therapist’s degree to do this. You just need honesty and a little bit of kindness.
The Three-Question Audit
I like to keep things simple. If you overcomplicate the process, you won’t do it. Find a quiet corner—maybe your own back porch, or just the floor of your bedroom—and ask yourself these three questions. Don’t rush the answers. Let them sit.
1. What have I been carrying that isn't mine to hold?
We are natural sponges, aren't we? We soak up the stress of our children, the worries of our friends, and the heavy news of the world. Ask yourself what weight you’re lugging around that doesn’t actually belong to you. If you’re worried about a situation you have no control over, give yourself permission to put that burden down. It doesn’t mean you don’t care; it means you recognize your limits.
2. Is my ‘emotional battery’ being charged or drained?
Think about your week. Which activities made you feel lighter, and which ones made you feel like you were walking through mud? Sometimes we spend our time with people or tasks that act like a slow leak in our tires. You don’t have to cut everything out, but acknowledging what drains you is the first step toward finding balance.
3. What is one tiny thing that feels like a ‘yes’ to my soul?
This isn’t about grand gestures or expensive vacations. It’s about the small, quiet ‘yes.’ Maybe it’s reading a book for twenty minutes without your phone nearby. Maybe it’s baking a loaf of bread and actually eating the heel while it’s still warm. Maybe it’s just sitting in the grass. What makes you feel like you again?
Creating a Ritual of Return
When I was teaching second grade, I learned that children thrive on routines. It turns out, adults are just big children with more responsibilities. We need routines, too.
If you find yourself feeling frayed, I want you to try a ‘Check-In Ritual.’ Pick a Sunday evening—or any time that works for you—and make it sacred. Put on a kettle. Light a candle. Take out a notebook. You don't have to write an essay. Just bullet points will do.
If you find that your answers are all heavy, don’t panic. That’s just information. It’s like a dashboard light in a car; it’s not a tragedy, it’s just a sign that you need to pull over, check the oil, and maybe rest for a moment before getting back on the road.
Extending Grace to Yourself
Here is the most important thing I’ve learned in my sixty-seven years: We are often much harder on ourselves than we ever would be on someone we love. If a friend came to me and said they were exhausted and overwhelmed, I wouldn’t tell them to work harder or ‘suck it up.’ I’d tell them to rest, to have a cup of tea, and to remember that they are enough just as they are.
Why is it so hard to give that same grace to ourselves?
This June, I want you to practice being your own grandmother. Be the person who says, ‘You’ve done enough for today. Let the dishes sit. Come sit with me.’ Your mental health isn’t a project to be solved; it’s a garden to be tended. Some seasons you prune, some seasons you rest, and some seasons you just watch the flowers grow. All of it is part of the work.
How is your garden looking lately? I’d love to hear how you’re making space for yourself this month. Pull up a chair in the comments and tell me what’s on your mind—I’m listening.