Missing Spoons

 

There are many times when someone who is AuDHD or another form of neurodivergent can excel at work, in social settings, through creative projects, or at home, but usually not all at once. Mastering one thing means struggling somewhere else. 

This connects to the idea of Spoon Theory, which suggests that neurodivergent people only have so many "spoons" (or units of energy) available each day for tasks and responsibilities. Part of the challenge is that neurodivergent brains are not always great at filtering information. Every task can involve managing background noise, textures, temperature changes, the discomfort of going from dry to wet, or simply trying to process 57 thoughts while also remembering the steps of the task at hand. Add emotional dysregulation, rejection sensitivity, and the frequent challenge of not fully understanding why you're feeling a certain way until after the fact, and it can be a lot. 

As a result, some days those spoons get used up very quickly. Other days, depending on how the week has gone, it can feel like the cupboard is already bare before the day even begins. 

I've been thinking about this a lot since Sunday. I started the day exhausted after learning the day before that Emily had been admitted to the hospital with unexplained heart issues. I then had to perform a featured role, manage some ongoing work concerns, and prepare to be the sole parent for a short while. 

I'm grateful that everyone I spoke to afterward said I performed well and showed no signs of everything I was carrying. But by the second act, my brain was completely foggy. My head was pounding. My body was tense and aching. Honestly, I draw a complete blank on much of what happened during that second act. Somehow, though, I hit my cues, did what I needed to do, and kept moving forward. 

When I got home, I crashed hard. I'm grateful my kids are awesome, responsible humans, and together we got through the night. Even now, a few days later, I'm still dragging a bit and feel like the spoons are only slowly making their way back into the drawer. 

This is one of those times when I need to give myself some grace and self-compassion. This isn't a character flaw. It's simply part of how my brain and body are wired. I got things done, but it was in a very limited, zombie-like mode. 

I'm incredibly grateful to have so many understanding and wonderful people in my life. I hope sharing this experience helps someone else be a little gentler with themselves and celebrate what they were able to accomplish, rather than focusing solely on what they couldn't.

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