Why Do We Get Goosebumps From Music
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You know the moment. A song is playing, maybe one you have heard a hundred times, and then a certain note arrives, a voice rises, or the whole band comes in at once, and suddenly the skin on your arms prickles. Tiny hairs stand up. A shiver runs down your neck and spine. For a second or two, the rest of the room seems to disappear. It is not cold. You are not ill. You are simply listening, and your body is answering the music in a way your mind did not plan. People call it goosebumps, chills, or shivers, and researchers have a word for it too: frisson, a French word for a shiver of excitement. It is one of the strangest and most pleasant things the human body does, and it is also one of the most human. No other animal sits still and gets goosebumps from a melody.
The interesting thing is that the feeling is both physical and emotional at the same time. It starts in the ears, travels through the parts of the brain that handle sound and feeling, and ends in the skin, in tiny muscles that pull each hair upright. That journey explains why the same song can leave one person cold and give another person a full-body shiver. It depends on the song, on the moment, on your memories, and on how your brain is wired to link sound with emotion. This article explains that journey in plain words: what goosebumps are, why music can set them off, which moments in a song trigger them most, and why some people feel them often while others rarely feel them at all.
What Goosebumps Actually Are
Goosebumps are small raised bumps that appear on the skin when the tiny muscles at the base of each hair tighten and pull the hair upright. The skin around each hair rises with it, and that is what you see and feel. The word comes from the skin of a plucked goose, which has the same bumpy look. Every hair on your body has one of these tiny muscles attached to it, and they are controlled by the same part of your nervous system that takes over when you are cold, frightened, or excited. You cannot switch them on by choice. They respond on their own, in less than a second, before you have time to think about it.
When you step out into cold air, goosebumps are part of your body trying to keep warm. Raised hairs trap a thin layer of air close to the skin, and in a furry animal that layer acts like a blanket. Humans have lost most of their body hair, so the blanket no longer works very well, but the reflex is still there, left over from a time when our ancestors were covered in fur. The same muscles also tighten when you feel sudden fear or a strong emotion, because in animals, raised fur makes the body look bigger and more frightening to an enemy. A cat with its fur standing on end looks twice its normal size. In humans, the same signal survives in a softer form: a chill down the spine during a scary film, or a prickle on the arms during a powerful song.
That is why goosebumps from music feel so odd. There is no cold air and no danger, yet your body behaves as if something important has happened. The reason is that the control system for these tiny muscles is shared. The part of the nervous system that handles strong emotion also handles the skin. When a piece of music hits you hard, the emotional signal spills over into the physical one, and the hairs on your arms stand up. It is not a mistake or a fault. It is your body showing, on the outside, what is happening on the inside. That is also why the feeling is so hard to describe: it is a skin sensation, a rush of feeling, and a moment of surprise all arriving together.
Most people feel goosebumps on the arms first, then on the back of the neck, and sometimes down the spine and across the scalp. The wave usually lasts only a few seconds, though the warm, moved feeling that follows it can last much longer. Some people feel it as a pleasant shiver. Others feel it as a tightness in the chest, or tears arriving without warning, or a sudden urge to smile. The skin reaction is the visible part, but the real event is deeper: a brief surge of activity in the brain’s reward and emotion centres, the same areas that light up when you taste something delicious, meet someone you love, or hear good news you have been waiting for.
The Old Reflex Behind the Shiver
To understand why music can raise the hairs on your arms, it helps to know how old this reflex is. Long before humans had language, animals used raised fur for two jobs: staying warm and looking dangerous. Both jobs were handled by the automatic nervous system, the part that works without conscious thought, controlling the heartbeat, breathing, sweating, and the size of the blood vessels in the skin. When an animal is cold, this system tightens the hair muscles and narrows the blood vessels near the surface, keeping heat inside. When an animal is threatened, the same system tightens the hair muscles and floods the body with energy, ready to fight or run.
Humans kept this wiring, even though we no longer need it in the same way. Our brains grew larger and our emotional lives grew richer, but the old circuits stayed connected. That is why strong feelings of any kind can show up in the body: fear makes the heart beat faster, embarrassment sends blood to the face, excitement makes the hands sweat, and a moving song can raise the hairs on your arms. The brain regions that process emotion sit close to, and send signals to, the regions that control these automatic responses. When emotion runs high, the signal leaks across, and the skin reacts.
Music is unusually good at creating that leak, because it reaches the emotional parts of the brain very directly. A sound enters the ear, is broken down into pitch and rhythm, and is passed on to areas that judge whether it is pleasant, surprising, or familiar. Those areas are wired to the reward system, the network that releases a chemical messenger called dopamine when something feels good. Dopamine is the same messenger involved in the pleasure of eating, laughing, and falling in love. When a song delivers a moment your brain has been waiting for, dopamine surges, and the automatic nervous system fires with it. The hairs stand up because the brain has decided, for a few seconds, that something wonderful has just happened.
This also explains why the shiver often comes with a feeling of being moved rather than simply pleased. Dopamine is about anticipation and reward, about wanting and then receiving. A good song sets up a pattern, holds it back, and then delivers it at just the right moment. Your brain tracks that pattern without you knowing it, and when the expected note finally arrives, the reward is bigger than the note itself. It is the pleasure of a promise kept. That is why the strongest goosebumps often come not at the loudest part of a song, but at the moment when a long build-up finally resolves.
Why Music Reaches Your Emotions So Fast
Music is different from most things we enjoy, because it does not need words or pictures to move us. A person who does not speak the language of a song can still feel it deeply. A baby who cannot understand a single word can still be calmed by a lullaby or excited by a lively tune. This is because sound reaches the emotional brain through a short, fast route. Before you have time to think about what a song means, your brain has already judged its tone: is it warm or cold, gentle or urgent, sad or joyful? That judgement happens in fractions of a second, and it shapes everything that follows.
One reason for this speed is that hearing is one of our oldest senses. Long before humans wrote books or painted pictures, we listened: to voices, to weather, to footsteps, to the calls of animals. The brain learned to read a great deal from sound alone, and that skill never left us. A low, slow sound feels heavy and serious. A high, quick sound feels light and urgent. A voice that cracks with feeling tells us more than the words it carries. Music uses all of these signals at once, and it adds rhythm, harmony, and timing on top. The result is a message that the emotional brain understands instantly, even when the thinking brain is still catching up.
Another reason is that music is built on expectation. As you listen, your brain is constantly guessing what will come next. It expects a beat to land, a melody to rise, a chord to resolve. When the guess is right, there is a small feeling of satisfaction. When the guess is wrong in a beautiful way, when a note goes somewhere unexpected and it works, there is a feeling of surprise and delight. And when a song holds back the note you have been waiting for, then finally gives it to you after a long pause, the release can be so strong that it spills into the body. That is the moment the hairs rise. Your brain has been holding its breath, and the song has let it out.
Memory makes this faster and stronger still. The brain does not hear a song in isolation. It hears it through the filter of every time you have heard it before, and every feeling that was present at those times. A song from your school days carries the feelings of that time with it. A song that played at a wedding, a funeral, or a long journey carries those memories too. When the song starts, the memories wake up alongside the music, and the emotion doubles. This is why a simple tune can move a grown person to tears in seconds, while the same tune means nothing to someone hearing it for the first time.
The Moments in a Song That Trigger It Most
Not every part of a song causes goosebumps. Most songs pass by pleasantly without ever raising a single hair. The shiver comes at particular moments, and those moments share a pattern. The most common trigger is a sudden change: a quiet verse that explodes into a loud chorus, a single voice that is suddenly joined by a whole choir, a soft piano that is joined by drums and strings. The contrast shocks the emotional brain awake. It is the difference between a flat road and a sudden hill. The body notices the change before the mind names it, and the skin reacts.
Another common trigger is a high, pure note held for a long time, especially by a human voice. There is something about a singer reaching for a high note and holding it steady that moves listeners deeply. It sounds like effort and feeling pushed to the edge, and the listener feels that effort in their own body. A similar effect comes from a harmony that shifts in an unexpected way, when a chord moves somewhere the ear did not predict but finds beautiful. Musicians call this a change in key or a surprising chord, and listeners simply feel it as a lift, a tightening in the chest, or a wave across the skin.
A third trigger is the return of a theme after a long absence. A song may introduce a melody, wander away from it for a while, and then bring it back at the very end, louder and fuller than before. When that melody returns, the brain recognises an old friend and rewards the recognition. The feeling is a mixture of relief and joy, like meeting someone you thought you had lost. Film music uses this trick often: a theme that played quietly at the start returns at the most emotional moment, and the audience feels the shiver together. That shared feeling is part of why concerts can be so powerful, because hundreds of people feel the same wave at the same time, and the feeling spreads through the crowd.
It is worth noting that the trigger is rarely the lyrics alone. Words matter, and a line that speaks directly to your own life can move you, but the goosebumps usually come from the sound itself: the rise, the pause, the return, the sudden fullness. People who do not understand the words of a song in another language still report the same shivers, which shows that the music is doing the work. The lyrics give the feeling a name, but the melody gives it its force.
Why Some People Get Them and Others Rarely Do
If you get goosebumps from music often, you are not unusual, but you are not universal either. Studies that ask people about this experience find that roughly half to two thirds of listeners report feeling it, while the rest say they enjoy music just as much but never feel the physical shiver. The difference does not mean one group loves music more than the other. It seems to come down to how the brain is wired, and in particular to how strongly the hearing parts of the brain are connected to the emotional parts. In people who feel the shiver often, those connections are denser, with more nerve fibres linking sound and feeling. The signal travels further and faster, so the body responds.
Personality plays a part too. People who are open to new experiences, who enjoy art, stories, and new ideas, tend to report goosebumps from music more often. This makes sense, because such people are more likely to listen closely, to let a song hold their attention, and to notice the small changes in a melody that trigger the response. People who listen to music mainly in the background, while working or driving, may miss those moments simply because their attention is elsewhere. Goosebumps need attention. A song playing softly in another room rarely raises hairs. The same song, heard with eyes closed and full focus, can be overwhelming.
Age and habit matter as well. Young children feel strong emotions from music, but they may not yet have the musical experience to anticipate a song’s structure, so their shivers are less tied to a particular moment and more tied to the general feeling of the tune. Teenagers and young adults often report the strongest reactions, partly because their emotional lives are intense and partly because they listen to music constantly, building deep links between songs and memories. Older listeners may feel it less often, or feel it from different kinds of music, because their tastes have settled and their favourite songs are tied to earlier times. None of this is fixed. A person who has never felt it can feel it for the first time at any age, often from a song they did not expect to move them.
There is also a simple matter of the music itself. Some kinds of music are built to create the shiver: film scores, powerful ballads, choir music, and songs with a slow build and a big release. Other kinds are built for dancing, for background, or for simple pleasure, and they rarely aim for that moment of overwhelming feeling. So if you rarely get goosebumps, it may be that the music you usually hear is not the kind that creates them. Trying a different kind, a live performance, or a song with a strong story behind it, can change the picture entirely. The capacity is probably there in most people. It simply needs the right song at the right moment.
Memory, Meaning and the Songs That Stay With You
Ask people which song gives them goosebumps, and they rarely name a song they heard yesterday. They name a song from years ago, often from a time when they were young, or from a moment that mattered: a first love, a loss, a long journey, a night with friends that they still remember clearly. This is no accident. The songs that move us most are the ones that have become part of our own story, and each time we hear them, the story comes back with the music. The brain stores music and memory side by side, and the two wake each other up.
This link explains why the same song can give you goosebumps every time you hear it, even after many years. The first time, the feeling may have come from the music alone. After that, the feeling comes from the music plus the memory of the first time, plus the memory of every time since. The layers build up, like paint on a wall, until the song carries a weight far beyond its notes. A simple melody can hold an entire period of your life inside it. When it plays, that period returns for a few minutes, and your body answers with a shiver, as if to say that it remembers too.
It also explains why a song can suddenly start giving you goosebumps after a life event, even if it never moved you before. A song about parting means little to a person who has never parted from anyone. After a real parting, the same song can feel unbearable. The words have not changed. The melody has not changed. What has changed is the listener. The song now has a place to land, a real feeling to connect with, and that connection is what the body feels. This is why music is such a powerful comfort in hard times. It does not explain the feeling or fix it. It simply meets the feeling where it is, and gives it sound.
There is a quieter side to this as well. Some people get goosebumps from music that has no personal memory at all, from a piece they hear for the first time, in a language they do not speak, from a culture far from their own. This shows that the link is not only about personal history. The human brain seems to respond to certain patterns of sound, certain rises and falls, in a way that crosses culture and language. A melody that climbs slowly and then opens out, a voice that breaks slightly at the top of its range, a rhythm that pauses and then returns, these patterns speak to something shared. That shared response is one of the reasons music is found in every society on earth, and why it is used at weddings, funerals, festivals, and moments of celebration everywhere.
Goosebumps, Tears and That Full-Body Feeling
Goosebumps rarely arrive alone. They usually come with other signs that the body is deeply moved: tears in the eyes, a lump in the throat, a tightness in the chest, a warmth spreading through the body, or a sudden smile that you did not plan. These signs belong to the same family. They are all ways the automatic nervous system shows strong feeling on the outside. Tears during a song are not a sign of sadness alone. They often come with joy, relief, awe, or a mixture of feelings too complex to name. The same is true of the shiver. It is not one emotion. It is the body saying that an emotion has reached its peak.
Scientists who study this have found that the moments of strongest goosebumps match the moments of greatest activity in the brain’s reward system. The chemical messenger dopamine rises just before the expected musical moment, while the brain is waiting, and rises again when the moment arrives. This pattern, waiting and then receiving, is the same pattern found in other pleasures, and it explains why the shiver feels so satisfying. It is not just the sound. It is the satisfaction of a wait that has been rewarded. The body joins in because the reward is large enough to spill over from the brain into the skin.
It is important to say that goosebumps from music are normal and harmless. They are not a sign of illness, and they are not something to worry about. They pass in seconds, and they leave no harm behind. The only time to pay attention is if the shiver comes with symptoms that are not part of the music at all, such as chest pain, trouble breathing, or feeling faint, and in that case the cause is not the song, and a health professional is the right person to ask. For the ordinary listener, the shiver is simply a sign that a song has reached you deeply, and that is a good thing. It means your brain and body are working together, and that music still has the power to move you.
There is also a social side to this feeling. People often get stronger goosebumps when they listen with others, at a concert, in a place of worship, or with friends around a speaker, than when they listen alone. Part of this is the sound itself, which is bigger and fuller in a live setting. Part of it is the shared feeling: seeing other people moved makes you more open to being moved yourself. Humans are social creatures, and emotion spreads between people like warmth spreads through a room. A song that moves a whole crowd at once creates a feeling of belonging that is hard to find anywhere else. That is why people travel long distances and pay good money to hear a song live, even though they could hear a recording at home for free. The recording gives them the notes. The live moment gives them the shiver, shared.
My Take:
When I think about goosebumps from music, the first thing I feel is gratitude, because it is one of the few things in life that costs nothing, harms nobody, and can still stop you in your tracks. You do not need money, or equipment, or a special occasion. You need a song, a quiet moment, and a willingness to listen properly. That is all. And yet that small combination can produce a feeling so strong that the hairs on your arms stand up and tears come to your eyes. I find that remarkable. In a world where so much pleasure is bought, packaged, and advertised, here is a pleasure that is free and private and entirely your own. Nobody can sell you the shiver. The song can only offer it, and your body decides whether to accept.
I think the reason I value this feeling so much is that it is honest. You cannot fake goosebumps. You cannot pretend a song has moved you when it has not, because your skin will not play along. In the same way, you cannot force the feeling to come by trying harder. If anything, trying too hard pushes it away, because the shiver comes when you stop trying and simply let the music do its work. I like that honesty. It reminds me that some of the best things in life cannot be controlled or planned. They arrive when they arrive, and the best thing you can do is to be present when they do. A song that gives you goosebumps is a reminder that you are still capable of being surprised by beauty, and that is a capacity worth protecting.
I also think about how personal this feeling is. Two people can listen to the same song, sitting side by side, and one will feel the shiver while the other feels nothing at all. That does not mean the second person is missing something. It means the song has found a different place in each of them. The first person may have a memory tied to that melody. The second may have no memory at all, but may feel the shiver from a different song tomorrow. I find this reassuring, because it means there is no right song and no wrong song. There is only the song that reaches you, at the time when you are ready to be reached. If you have never felt goosebumps from music, I would not tell you to worry. I would tell you to keep listening, to try different kinds of music, and to listen with your full attention at least some of the time, because the feeling often arrives when you least expect it.
There is a memory of my own that I return to whenever I think about this. It is not a grand occasion. It is simply a song playing while I was doing nothing in particular, and then a certain part of the song arrived, a voice rising over the instruments, and my arms prickled. I remember looking down at my arms in surprise, because I had not expected it. I had heard the song before, many times, and it had never done that. What had changed was not the song. What had changed was me. I was listening more closely that day, with less noise in my head, and the song found its way in. That taught me something I still believe: attention is the doorway. The music is always there, but the shiver only comes when you are really listening, when you give the song your full attention for a few minutes. In a busy life, that kind of attention is rare, and that may be why the feeling is rare too.
I think we should also be honest about the fact that not all music is trying to do this. Much of the music we hear is made for the background, for dancing, for working, for filling silence, and that is fine. It does its job well. But there is another kind of music, the kind made for listening, that asks more of you and gives more back. That kind is worth seeking out, even if it is only once in a while. A live performance is the best place to find it, because the sound is bigger, the room is quieter, and the feeling is shared. If you have never felt goosebumps at a concert, I would say it is worth trying once, with a performer you already love, in a room where people are there to listen. You may find that the shiver you never felt at home arrives easily there, carried by the sound and the crowd.
I also want to say something about sadness, because many of the songs that give people goosebumps are sad songs. That surprises some people. Why would a sad song feel good? Why would a song about loss make the hairs on your arms stand up with pleasure? I think the answer is that the pleasure is not in the sadness itself. It is in being understood. A sad song tells you that someone else has felt what you feel, and has found words and notes for it. That feeling of being understood is deeply comforting, even when the feeling itself is painful. The shiver is the body’s way of saying that the song has touched something true. It is not happiness. It is recognition, and recognition can be just as powerful as happiness, sometimes more so.
Another thing I have noticed is that the songs that give me goosebumps change over the years. A song that moved me deeply at twenty may do nothing at forty, and a song I ignored at twenty may suddenly move me at forty. That does not mean the songs have changed. It means I have changed, and the songs now meet a different person. I find this comforting rather than sad, because it means the capacity to be moved does not wear out. It simply moves to new songs, new sounds, new moments. The shiver is not tied to one period of life. It follows you through life, changing its address as you change. That is why I think it is worth staying open to new music, even as you grow older. The next song that gives you goosebumps may be one you have never heard before.
I think there is a lesson in this for how we live generally. We spend a lot of time trying to control our feelings, to be calm, to be sensible, to be in charge. Goosebumps from music remind us that feeling is not always under our control, and that is not a weakness. It is a sign that we are alive and responsive, that beauty can still reach us without our permission. I would rather live in a world where a song can raise the hairs on my arms than in a world where nothing can. The shiver is a small thing, lasting only seconds, but it tells me something important: that I am still open to the world, still able to be moved, still human in the simplest sense. That is worth more than I can easily put into words.
So my final view is simple. If music gives you goosebumps, enjoy it. Do not analyse it too much in the moment. Let it happen, notice it, and remember the song that caused it. If music does not give you goosebumps, do not worry, and do not force it. Listen more closely sometimes, try a live performance, try a different kind of music, and see what happens. And if the feeling never comes, that is fine too. Music has many gifts, and the shiver is only one of them. The important thing is that you keep listening, because listening is how we stay connected to beauty, to memory, and to each other. A song is a small thing, a few minutes of sound, but when it raises the hairs on your arms, it reminds you that a few minutes of sound can hold a whole world inside it. That is why I will keep listening, and why I hope you will too.
I also think about the places where music does this work best. A wedding is one of them. The music starts, the room goes quiet, and people who have heard the tune a hundred times still feel their arms prickle, because the song is no longer just a song. It is the sound of a promise being made in front of everyone they love. A funeral is another, though the feeling there is heavier. The music at a funeral does not make anyone happy, yet it can still raise goosebumps, because it gathers a room full of grief into one shared sound, and for a moment nobody is alone in their sadness. I think that is one of music’s greatest gifts: it can hold feelings that are too big for words, and hold them gently, so that people can feel them without being broken by them.
There is also something to be said for listening alone, in the dark, with no one watching. Some of my strongest reactions to music have come in those quiet moments, when there was nobody to impress and nothing to perform. A song playing through headphones late at night, the house silent, the lights low, can feel more intimate than any concert. The music is speaking only to you, and your body answers only for you. I think those private moments matter, because they are the ones that teach you what you truly love, without the influence of a crowd. A song that moves you when nobody is watching is a song that belongs to you in a way no shared favourite ever can.
I want to add a word about children, because I think we should let them feel this without explaining it away. A child who hears a beautiful piece of music and goes quiet, or shivers, or says that it feels strange in a good way, does not need a lecture about the nervous system. The child needs the music to be played again, and the space to feel it. If we rush to explain every feeling, we can accidentally teach children that feelings need permission, or a reason, before they are allowed. Music teaches the opposite lesson: a feeling can be real and valuable even when you cannot explain it. Letting a child sit with that mystery is one of the kindest things an adult can do.
Another thought that stays with me is how the feeling changes what we remember. I have forgotten most of the ordinary days of my life, but I remember the moments when a song gave me goosebumps, because those moments were marked in my body as well as in my mind. The shiver acts like a small flag, planted in a memory, saying that this moment mattered. Years later, when the song plays again, the flag is still there, and the memory returns with it. I think this is why music is so closely tied to nostalgia. It is not only that songs remind us of the past. It is that the strongest songs were marked, at the time, by a physical response, and that mark makes them easier to find again.
Finally, I want to say something practical, because feelings are lovely but habits are what keep them alive. If you want more of this feeling in your life, the habit is simple: make time to listen properly, at least sometimes. Put the phone away, close your eyes, and give one song your full attention from start to finish. Do not skip ahead. Do not talk over it. Let the song build, let it pause, let it return. You will not feel the shiver every time, and that is fine. The point is not to chase the shiver. The point is to give music the attention it deserves, and to trust that when the right song meets the right moment, your body will tell you. It has told you before, and if you keep listening, it will tell you again.
Frequently Asked Questions
What do people notice first when they ask “why do we get goosebumps from music”?
People usually notice the physical feeling first: the tiny hairs on their arms standing up, a shiver across the neck or spine, and a sudden rush of emotion that arrives with a particular moment in the song. It often happens at a loud chorus, a high note, or the return of a melody they love. The feeling lasts only a few seconds, but the warmth and sense of being moved can stay much longer, which is why people remember the moment and want to understand it.
How is “why do we get goosebumps from music” different from one day to the next?
It can differ because the feeling depends on attention, mood, tiredness, and memory as well as on the song itself. On a day when you are listening closely, with little else on your mind, the same song may give you a strong shiver. On a busy day, when the music is only in the background, the same song may pass by without any effect. A song can also feel stronger on a day when a memory tied to it is fresh in your mind.
Can “why do we get goosebumps from music” feel different for children and adults?
Yes, it can feel different, because children and adults listen with different experience and different memories. Children often feel the general mood of a tune strongly, while adults are more likely to feel the shiver at a specific musical moment they have learned to expect, or at a song tied to a memory from years ago. Teenagers and young adults often report the strongest reactions, partly because they listen to music so much and their emotional lives are intense.
What makes “why do we get goosebumps from music” easier to understand in plain words?
It becomes easier when you think of it as an old body reflex meeting a strong feeling. The tiny muscles that raise the hairs on your skin are the same ones animals use to stay warm and look bigger when frightened. Music reaches the emotional parts of the brain very fast, and when a song delivers a moment the brain has been waiting for, the feeling spills over into those muscles. Thinking of it as feeling made visible on the skin makes the whole thing much clearer.
In simple words, what does “why do we get goosebumps from music” mean?
In simple words, it means that a song has moved you so strongly that your body shows it on the outside. The music reaches the parts of your brain that handle emotion and reward, a chemical messenger called dopamine rises, and the automatic nervous system tightens the tiny muscles at the base of your hairs. The result is goosebumps, a shiver, and often tears or a lump in the throat, all arriving together in a few seconds.
Why do people ask “why do we get goosebumps from music” so often?
People ask because the experience is common, powerful, and strange all at once. It feels wonderful, yet it seems to come from nowhere, with no cold air and no danger to explain it. A song that means nothing to one person can give another person a full-body shiver, which makes people curious about what is happening inside them. It is also a pleasant mystery, so people enjoy talking about which songs move them and why.
Sources
- NHS — general health information: https://www.nhs.uk/
- World Health Organization — health topics: https://www.who.int/
- Centers for Disease Control and Prevention — health information: https://www.cdc.gov/
- Mayo Clinic — general health information: https://www.mayoclinic.org/
- Healthline — general health information: https://www.healthline.com/
