By: Natasha Noam Gol

Ever tried explaining to someone that you’re “out of spoons”? It’s a real conversation starter. You’ll get responses ranging from “Did you check the kitchen?” to “Have you tried yoga?” (Yoga, by the way, doesn’t refill spoons. It just uses them up faster.) But for those of us navigating chronic illnesses, disabilities, or neurodivergency, the Spoon Theory has become an invaluable tool for explaining what most people don’t see: energy is finite, and running out isn’t an option—it’s a reality.

Let me break it down for you. The Spoon Theory, coined by Christine Miserandino in 2003, uses spoons as a metaphor for energy. Each activity you do—getting out of bed, brushing your teeth, reading this article—costs spoons. Most people wake up with unlimited energy reserves, blissfully unaware of how many spoons they’re spending in a day. For spoonies like me, the math is constant: How many spoons do I have left? Will doing this now mean I can’t do something else later? Spoiler alert: it usually does.

Living on Spoon Math

If you’ve ever tried budgeting your salary to last through Prague’s coffee shop inflation, you already understand the Spoon Theory. Imagine waking up with just 12 spoons to last your entire day. Getting out of bed costs one. Showering? Another two. Attending class? Three more. By the time it’s lunch, you’re halfway through your reserves and desperately wondering whether dinner or studying will win out tonight. 

For me, living with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), endometriosis, and the ADHD-autism combo pack known as AuDHD means spoon math is a daily survival strategy. A bad day might mean skipping social events to manage muscle weakness from hEDS or dealing with ADHD paralysis while trying to write this very article. A good day means I can power through—but only because I’m borrowing spoons from tomorrow. And yes, that’s a thing. Spoon debt: coming soon to a chronic illness near you.

But it’s not all doom and gloom. If spoonies are experts at anything, it’s creative adaptation. I’ve mastered the fine art of spoon conservation: leggings over jeans (because who has spoons for buttons?), saying no to things that drain me, and perfecting the 15-minute nap that feels like eight hours. Efficiency isn’t just a goal—it’s a lifestyle.

A Metaphor on a Metaphor 

If you’re still confused, let’s try a pop culture metaphor. Think of spoons as your daily mana in a role-playing game. Each activity you do costs mana, and if you run out, you can’t keep going until you rest or regenerate. Some days, I’m Hermione Granger with a Time-Turner, squeezing every ounce of efficiency out of my spoons. Other days, I’m just Ron Weasley at the end of a long Quidditch practice—exhausted, out of spoons, and wondering if I can survive one more task without collapsing into a heap.

The truth is, most spoonies live somewhere between those extremes. We learn to pick our battles, whether it’s skipping a lecture to preserve spoons or choosing between cooking a meal or cleaning the kitchen (hint: you can always eat straight out of the pot). Life with limited spoons isn’t easy, but it forces you to prioritize what really matters—and to let go of the rest.

The Challenge: Spend Your Day as a Spoonie

Still wondering what the big deal is? Here’s a challenge: Tomorrow, wake up and give yourself just 12 spoons to spend. Getting out of bed costs one. Eating breakfast? Another spoon. Commuting to campus? Three spoons gone. By the time you hit your afternoon lecture, you’ll be borrowing from tomorrow’s stash. Now imagine this isn’t a hypothetical but your everyday reality. For spoonies, running out of spoons isn’t just inconvenient—it’s debilitating. And no, you can’t simply “push through.”

This exercise isn’t just about empathy; it’s about understanding the invisible barriers people with chronic illnesses or disabilities face daily. For us, every decision has a cost, and those costs add up fast.

Beyond the Spoons: The Bigger Picture

The beauty of the Spoon Theory is that it’s not just a metaphor for individual struggles—it’s a lens for understanding systemic ones. Society isn’t built for people with limited spoons. From rigid attendance policies to inaccessible environments, the burden of adaptation often falls on the very people who have the least energy to spare.

Take academia, for example. Attendance requirements assume everyone has the energy to show up every day, when in reality, spoonies might have to skip class just to survive the week. Even campus buildings can feel like obstacle courses when you’re low on spoons—stairs everywhere, elevators that take longer than your patience, and fluorescent lighting that feels like a personal attack.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. Flexibility in schools, workplaces, and public spaces could make a world of difference. Offering hybrid options for classes, creating rest spaces on campus, or simply listening to the needs of people with chronic conditions—these aren’t revolutionary ideas, but they are necessary ones.

We Are Not Helpless

If there’s one thing I want to make clear, it’s that being a spoonie isn’t about pity—it’s about power. Sure, we have limits, but we also have resilience, creativity, and an unmatched ability to turn “impossible” into “I’ll find a way.” Living with chronic conditions forces you to be resourceful in ways most people never have to consider. It’s not a choice, but a skill.

So What can I Do? Nice of You to Ask

So what can you do? Start by understanding the Spoon Theory—not just as a metaphor, but as a lived reality. Check in on your friends with chronic illnesses or disabilities. Advocate for more flexible policies in your school or workplace. And most importantly, remember that not everyone has the same reserves of energy as you do.

At the end of the day, we’re all just doing the best we can with the spoons we’ve got. So next time someone says they’re out of spoons, don’t ask if they’ve tried yoga. Just listen—and maybe offer to do the dishes.