Unpacking the Suitcase: A Simple Mental Health Check-In for July
By Grace — The grandmother you always needed. Sourdough, wisdom, and zero judgment. ·
The kitchen is quiet this morning, save for the hum of the old refrigerator and the rhythmic whisking of my sourdough starter. It’s July, and here in Vermont, the light hits the farmhouse a little differently. It’s gold, heavy, and insistent. The garden is demanding, the humidity is thick, and if I’m not careful, I can feel that familiar tightness in my chest—the one that tells me I’m rushing to keep up with the season instead of living in it.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the 'mental health check-in.' You see it everywhere online: reminders to breathe, to pause, to treat yourself. But often, those reminders feel like just another chore on a checklist. Today, I want to talk about how we carry ourselves through the middle of the summer. We’re halfway through the year, the berries are ripe, and the days are long. If you’re feeling a bit frayed at the edges, you aren’t failing. You’re just human.
The Art of the 'Mid-Month Audit'
When I taught second grade, we had a 'cleanup time' every afternoon. We didn’t just shove crayons into bins; we sorted them. We looked for the broken ones, the ones that had lost their paper wrappers, and the ones that were still ready for a masterpiece. Mental health check-ins aren’t about fixing what’s broken; they’re about noticing what’s there.
Take five minutes today. Don’t do it while you’re scrolling through your phone or waiting in the drive-thru. Sit somewhere still. Ask yourself, 'What am I carrying right now that I didn't pick up myself?' Often, we walk around with the expectations of our bosses, the worries of our children, or the grief we’ve been trying to tuck into a corner. Just acknowledging that you’re carrying a heavy suitcase is the first step toward putting it down.
The Weather Report Within
I’ve found that labeling my feelings helps them lose their sting. I don’t say, 'I am sad' or 'I am anxious.' Instead, I treat my internal state like the weather. 'There is a storm of loneliness moving through today,' or 'The fog of fatigue is sitting heavy on the valley.'
When we give our feelings a weather report, we stop identifying with the storm. You aren’t the rain; you’re the sky. The sky holds the rain, but it’s always bigger than the weather. If you’re feeling overwhelmed this July, try whispering to yourself, 'It’s a hazy day in my heart.' It sounds small, but it creates just enough distance to let you breathe without judgment.
Moving the Body Without the 'Workout' Guilt
We’re told we need to sweat, hit goals, or hit steps. But sometimes, mental health is about movement that honors the body rather than punishes it. When Tom was sick, I couldn’t do the heavy gardening I loved. I had to learn to move differently.
Try this: walk out your front door or into your backyard. See how many different textures you can touch. The rough bark of an oak tree, the cool, waxy leaf of a hosta, the grit of the driveway. When we connect our physical senses to the earth, our nervous system gets the signal that we are safe, we are here, and we are supported. We don't need a gym membership to ground ourselves; we just need to remember we have a body that belongs to the world.
Feeding the Soul (Beyond the Sourdough)
We all have things that 'feed' us. For me, it’s the smell of sourdough baking—the predictability of yeast and water and heat. For you, it might be the sound of a record player, a specific book, or just sitting on your porch with a cup of chamomile tea while the sun goes down.
My gentle challenge for you this week is to identify one 'soul-feed' that has nothing to do with productivity. If you haven't done something that brings you quiet joy because you were too busy 'improving' yourself, stop. The dishes will wait. The emails will be there tomorrow. Your peace, however, is a delicate thing. Protect it like you’d protect a seedling in a frost.
A Note on Letting Go
I’ve lived sixty-seven years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we try to hold onto too much. We hold onto how we thought our lives would look, or who we thought we would be by July. Let that go. Life is not a linear path; it’s a series of seasons. Some are harvest, some are dormant, and some are just plain messy.
Be kind to yourself today. If you’ve been feeling low, acknowledge it. If you’ve been feeling productive, celebrate it. But mostly, just be present. You’ve done enough. You are enough.
How does your inner weather look today? Are there any clouds hanging around that you’d like to share, or maybe a patch of blue sky you’ve found? Pour yourself a glass of something cool, find a comfy chair, and tell me about it. I’m listening.