Content Warning: Mentions of depression, anxiety, lupus, chronic mental/physical/invisible illness.
I’ve knowingly dealt with depression since I was about 12. I was diagnosed in the 7th grade, and I remember it very distinctly. I remember seeing commercials for anti-depressants, hearing a low and empathetic voice describe the symptoms, and feeling a deep understanding like I was watching my life be narrated on TV. I said to my mom, “Mami, I keep seeing these commercials on TV and I feel like that. I think I’m depressed.”
If you battle depression or anxiety or any debilitating mental health issue you know how utterly exhausting it can be to fight the symptoms of your illness and be fully functional in your life at the same time. I often joke that I’m like a koala, needing 18+ hours of sleep a day because depression takes all my energy, and it’s funny except that it’s also really inconvenient.
If you’re like me you know about being too overwhelmed to follow through with things and about the disappointment when you fall short. You know about the guilt over how depression third-wheels your relationships, making you flaky and inconsistent even when you’re trying your best. You are no stranger to the conversations with people who do not understand what you’re living but who think they are the first to ever suggest that you start your day with some fresh air or exercise. You know about the mind-numbing fatigue of faking it because trying to explain what’s happening in your body is just futile.
I came across the Spoon Theory one day on Tumblr. Christine Miserandino developed this concept while trying to explain to a close friend what it was like to live with an invisible chronic illness — in her case, lupus. Though she was referencing chronic physical illness when she created the analogy, it is such a concise way to describe the hardships of chronic mental health issues too. I’ve never been able to adequately put into words how deeply exhausting it is to live with depression. When I tell folks that I can’t get out of bed one day or that I could not get the dishes done, it can be confusing or seem dramatic because I can physically do both of those things but also, like, I couldn’t. This analogy helps able-bodied and neuro-typical people understand what we mean.
Essentially, the theory dictates that everyone begins their day with x number of spoons. This number differs for everyone. The number of spoons is also different day to day for everyone, depending on things like how their previous day went, whether they slept well or not, and a bunch of other things that are specific to the person. These spoons are what give you the energy to do all your tasks throughout the day, from the most minuscule to the most imperative. Everyone needs a different amount of spoons to perform different tasks, and everything requires spoons, including the things we like to do. For me, going to appointments takes four or five spoons (add three more if I have to take public transportation), whereas for someone else it might only take one or two. Similarly, socializing takes a LOT of spoons for me, even though I adore spending time with my friends. The number of spoons you have only replenishes at the start of every day, meaning that once your day’s supply has been used you won’t have more until the next morning. When you run out of those x number of spoons for the day, you’re done. You get no more spoons, no more energy, you have no more mental/emotional stamina to do the things you need to do. You’re officially on empty.
People who don’t struggle with chronic physical and/or mental illness have an endless supply of spoons. They don’t have to ration spoons all day and struggle to figure out which task they’re going to spend their last two on because they never run out. They don’t have to worry about the repercussions of pushing themselves past being empty because they are never empty. This isn’t to say that neurotypical and able-bodied folks don’t experience exhaustion because the truth is that everybody gets tired. Everybody needs to rest and recharge. But what happens physiologically in the body of someone with lupus when they experience fatigue is far different than what happens for someone without that condition. The chemical storm that occurs in the brain of someone with chronic depression when they’ve pushed past empty is something a neurotypical person’s brain barely knows. The difference for people who live with depression or lupus is that while the average person needs one or two days of rest a week, we need three or four because while you can’t see it, we are fighting our bodies just as much as folks who have visible illnesses. Where most people can battle through mid-week fatigue and still make it to work, mid-week fatigue for us can mean that we wake up with three spoons even though our day requires 15 and so there is no way for us to get ourselves there. On those days, please believe us when we say we could not go to work. Please believe us when we say we could not finish the essay, or make it to the movies like we planned, or answer your texts like we usually do.
One of the hardest things about depression is undoubtedly the shame in consistently disappointing the people closest to me because I just need to lie in bed for most of the day. It’s the guilt when my loved ones reach for me in excitement over doing something together but all I can think about is how much energy it’s going to take to socialize, how much energy it’s going to take to pretend that I’m present and having fun when I know I have negative spoons to get me through.
Sharing this I hope that someone finds language that will be helpful in explaining what they go through, but most importantly I hope those of you who do not struggle with having to count spoons can show up for your loved ones with more empathy.
Originally published at https://www.lannyanais.com on December 28, 2021.
