So… What’s With the Spoons?
How Spoons Explain Life with Chronic Illness (and Why I Sometimes Skip Brunch)
The Spoon Theory Explained
If you hang out in chronic illness spaces long enough, someone will eventually say, “I’m out of spoons today.” And if you’re new here, you might wonder if we’re all secretly running an underground cutlery casino.
Let me explain.
The Spoon Theory is a metaphor created by Christine Miserandino to explain what it’s like living with chronic illness. It’s not actually about spoons at all, it’s about energy. And more importantly, the limited energy people living with chronic illness have to work with each day.
Imagine waking up with a set number of spoons. Each spoon = energy for one task. Getting dressed? That’s a spoon. Showering? Spoon. Responding to emails, making a meal? Spoon, a handful of spoons. Pretending to be functional on a Zoom call? So. Many. Spoons.
For people with chronic illness, we start the day with fewer spoons, and on some days, none at all. Sometimes we try to “borrow” from tomorrow and then usually pay for it in pain or with a total crash mode. (Highly discouraged, but we’ve all done it.)
When Saying No is a Survival Skill
The spoon theory isn’t just a metaphor, it’s a helpful tool. It’s a great way to mentally track our energy and map out our responsibilities so we don’t burn out before lunch.
Just last month, I skipped a family brunch so I could make it to my friend’s bridal shower that evening. I’m also introverted — so doing both would’ve left me fried. I planned ahead, tried hoarding some spoons the day before by resting and taking things easy. Then I tried to keep my narcolepsy from knocking me out on the day of the main event. Thankfully, my family understood because they get the spoon theory. They knew I wasn’t bailing. I was budgeting.
But not every day is so graceful…
When the Spoon Inventory Runs Out
A couple of years ago, the day before my daughter’s birthday, my body just gave out. I was losing a fight I’d been having against a brutal Crohn’s flare for two weeks, and my new narcolepsy meds were making me so dizzy I could barely stand. The fact that I couldn’t function was a big problem. For context, birthdays in our house were a big deal. I tried to make up for a missing parent and their missing gifts.
I had a whole routine: balloons in the hallway and living room, streamers hung up in their rooms while they slept, surprise gifts at their bedroom door, birthday treats and songs for breakfast, and then a special dinner in the evening. I’d always bake them a cake topped with the right number of candles, and just try to fill their day with fun activities. I did this every single year, no matter how I felt.
But that year, I couldn’t move. I literally couldn’t get out of bed.
No decorations. No cake. No gifts (my memory gets very foggy during flares and I’d hidden her gifts and forgotten where). I felt like the world’s worst mother. I apologized profusely and my daughter said it was okay, but I could see the disappointment in her eyes.
The next day, when I felt a little better, I baked her a cake and finally found her gifts. We still couldn’t go out to dinner but she was so happy. She hugged me tight and cried. I think part of her wondered if I had forgotten her birthday. She may have also been frightened because she hadn't seen me that sick before.
We went out to dinner that following weekend, and all was well. But I still wrestled with guilt. Why couldn't I push past the pain and dizziness? I couldn’t make the magic happen when it mattered and felt awful. She’s probably forgotten it by now, but that memory will stick with me.
Talking About Your Number of Spoons
If you live with chronic illness, the spoon theory gives you language to describe your limits, your decisions, and your needs. You don’t have to apologize for needing rest, for prioritizing recovery, or for saying no. You can just say, “I’m low on spoons.”
If you don’t live with chronic illness, this theory is your window in. It helps explain why your friend might cancel at the last minute, why your family member is lounging on the couch, or why your loved one seems to look fine but says they can’t join you. It’s not about flaking — it’s about surviving.
Some days we have spoons. Some days we don’t. Some days we run entirely on love and lots of caffeine. No matter how many spoons, we’re still here. Still trying. Still human.
Thank you Hanna for the spoon theory. My daughter lives with chronic illness and I live by her , watching her ups and downs , and seeing how so many of her millennial friends just don’t understand the cancelling plans or lack of energy she has at times.
I really appreciate your giving voice to your experience as it helps others know how it feels from the inside .
Sending love 💕
This really helped me understand what daily life is like when you’re constantly budgeting energy. The spoon metaphor makes so much sense now.