Using My Spoons

SPOON THEORY:

Christine Miserandino, an author with lupus, invented the spoon theory one day when her friend wanted to understand what her life felt like. Sitting in a diner, she gathered all the spoons within her reach and handed them to her friend. Then, asking her friend to describe a typical day, she withdrew spoons for each activity. It quickly became clear that there weren’t enough spoons for everything, and that was Christine’s point.

Life with a chronic illness means you can’t do it all, and you have to make careful, intentional choices each day.

I don’t have lupus, but I live with an undiagnosed chronic illness that saps my energy and steals my days. I call it chronic migraine, because it is also that, and people can understand the concept better than, “I’m exhausted.”

Using My Spoons

I live with an if-then calculator whirring in the back of my mind. Every action of every day is a calculation: If I do this, what will it cost me?

In college, I could go to all my classes but be too exhausted to study in the evening, or I could pick one class each day to skip and take a quick nap before continuing my studies. Many days, even with a nap, attending classes all day meant I was too tired to walk to the cafeteria for dinner. Meeting my obligations all day meant I ate cereal in my dorm room. If I take a shower to start my day, will I still have the energy to run errands?

If I help a friend do the flowers for a wedding, the joy of working with a friend and the restorative beauty of the flowers will feed my soul. But the activity of the day will leave me under a blanket in my chair for two days. If I give in to a Cinnabon craving, the yeast I am allergic to will cause a migraine that could last for days. But it tastes so good!

If paydays are short—and those with chronic illness live with medical bills—I can work in an office. But hitting a schedule every morning means I will be too tired to cook real food for dinner. I might be too tired to eat anything at all. If I go to church on Sunday, I have to shower, dress nicely, greet people, choose where to sit based on where the speakers are, avoid singing to forestall an asthma attack, focus during the sermon, and find something to eat immediately afterward. That can take a whole day’s worth of spoons, and I often choose not to spend them that way. But then I have missed meeting together with God’s people. If I take a nap, I will have renewed energy for the evening hours, but I will struggle to keep an appropriate bedtime, making the next morning harder. If I spend the morning painting or gardening, the housework will not get done; not that day, and probably not that week, since each day has its own requirement for my spoons. 

The most helpful part is simply acknowledging my limitations. Instead of expecting myself to do it all, to live wide-open as healthy people do, I must choose.

Sometimes making choices can be exhausting in itself. But it is also a relief to allow myself to skip some things. Sometimes, just facing the facts creates a greater ability to accomplish what matters.

Carpe Diem

I don’t have the same number of spoons at the start of each day. If an average day comes with, say, twelve spoons, every once in a blue moon I might wake up with fifteen—or even twenty! I have learned to seize those days with gusto, to drop my original intentions to the extent possible, and to celebrate life.

Pack up a picnic and drive until I find a mountain meadow to bask in. Play the piano while my back muscles can support me for a solid hour. Spend the day wandering coastal towns and breathing sea air. Pull out the art supplies that have been gathering dust and create until every surface is covered and my creative spark finally burns out. Meet friends for coffee and a walk. Work in my parents’ orchard to bring in a harvest.

Exercising Wisdom

And then, as if counting spoons wasn’t already an acknowledgment of limitations, there are the days when I start with a shortage of spoons. I might only have five today. I’m exhausted, and while I could tackle my list of good intentions, it would be wiser not to. Wiser to sit longer over breakfast, wiser to do five minutes of tidying and then sit down again. Wiser to spend my very few spoons on what really matters to me today.

Life with a chronic illness can provide a masterclass on prioritizing.

I’ve lived many years with these tradeoffs, this understanding that I can do this but not that. I’ve settled into a knowledge of my limits, so that my choices are not always conscious. I know, mostly, how to spend myself on a day-to-day basis.

But lately, I’ve been thinking about how to spend my spoons wisely. I’ve passed 50, and my body recovers more and more slowly. When I run out of years, will I care if the house is clean?

I want to be who God made me to be, given my health limitations, the chores and requirements of life, my need to create and enjoy art and music, my love of gardening, my obligations to my family, and my desire to know God.

Which spoons do I spend on relationships, on responsibilities, on recovery, and on renewal?

I want to spend my spoons with intention.

By Sharilyn Stachler

Sharilyn Stachler is a freelance editor and self-described high-functioning migraineur. She lives with her husband and her pets, a greyhound and an Abyssinian. On her good days she loves reading, painting, renovating, gardening, and helping her parents with their acreage. On her bad days, she loves her pajamas, carbs, and the TV remote.

Source:

The Spoon Theory, butyoudontlooksick.com 

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July 2024