Picking Up Spoons: What Autistics Mean by “Low Spoons”
There’s kind of a funny thing going around about autistics and socks. The joke is that an autistic person can be diagnosed almost completely based on our relationship with socks.
Some autistic people can’t stand to be without socks. Other autistics absolutely hate wearing socks. For both camps, it’s usually a sensory issue. The pro-sock camp hates the thought of anything foreign or dirty touching their feet. The anti-sock camp can’t stand the constrictive nature of socks.
Personally, I fall into the anti-sock camp. And I have a special relationship with my Teva Mush flip-flops. I wear them almost exclusively for as much of the year as I can. They’re incredibly sturdy, last for four or five years, and are reasonably priced. I’ve worn them for about 9 or 10 years and I’d really hate it if Teva stopped making them.
Another unconventional way you could diagnose autistic people is with their relationship to spoons. I’m not talking about metaphorical spoons yet. Right now I’m talking about silverware.
Autistics also have a special relationship with silverware. Spoons often provide a bone of contention among the autistic community. Certain shapes and sizes of spoons, forks, and sometimes knives can get us all riled up. A proper spoon should be just the right size, material, and shape, or it should be thoroughly ignored and possibly banished.
But metaphorical spoons are something else entirely. When an autistic person talks about their spoons, they’re referring to a system used to define energy. But there’s more to it than that.
Spoons refer to physical, emotional, psychological, and even spiritual energy. Spoons also refer to willpower. And they act like a currency. So grab your favorite ice cream spoon and let’s dig in.
A Day in the Life of a Neurotypical
Let’s imagine that there’s a very average neurotypical named Pat. They wake up in a very average house next to a very average spouse. It’s a very average day and it starts in a very average way.
Now Pat isn’t aware of it, but they have 10 spoons.
Pat gets out of bed, takes a shower, and performs their morning grooming routine. That combination of actions cost one spoon. They have nine left.
Next, they go and prepare a quick breakfast and lunch for themselves and the family. That takes two more spoons.
Then they hop into their car, turn on the radio, and head off to work. The morning commute takes another spoon.
When Pat arrives at work, they have six spoons left. They start their average day working at their average job with their average co-workers and everything proceeds in an average way. The workday costs them four spoons.
And the drive home costs them one more spoon. By the time they get home from work, they only have one spoon left. They use their last spoon to spend time talking with their family about everybody’s day. Now they are thoroughly wiped out. They have no more energy left for any other major activity.
Their spouse heats up some TV dinners. And the family sits down to watch television while they eat. After the evening’s activities have concluded, the family goes to sleep at the average time.
A day in the life of a neurodivergent
Next up, we have Chris, a person who lives with autism and ADHD.
Chris wakes up after hitting snooze on the alarm clock three times. Fortunately, they’ve been through this enough that they set the alarm clock early specifically to allow themselves to hit snooze three times.
Chris wakes up tired because they were up too late as a way to have some quiet time to themselves after their roommate went to sleep. That quiet evening time bites Chris in the ass almost every day, but it’s the only time they have where they feel truly at peace and alone and can recharge without the overstimulation of the day. And Chris guards it jealously.
But because Chris is tired and struggles with executive dysfunction, they wake up with only six spoons. And since Chris’s brain doesn’t provide enough dopamine, the first thing they do is grab their phone for a quick pick me up.
After a few minutes too many of seeking dopamine on their phone, Chris finally manages to pull themselves away from the device and get out of bed. This effort alone costs Chris one spoon, leaving them with five.
Chris takes a shower as quickly as possible because they’re already close to running late for work. After the shower, they groom, dress, and run out the door with a few quick words to the roommate.
That frantic rush cost them one more spoon, as did their drive to work. However, they did stop at a drive-thru for a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee. That side trip cost them money but not spoons. Chris paid the “ADHD tax” for breakfast that day.
Chris gets to work with three spoons and half of a cup of coffee left.
Chris is deeply passionate about small electrical motors and all things mechanical. And they’re very happy to have a repair job where they get to work on home appliances, vacuum cleaners, and sometimes the odd lawn mower. Chris likes working on lawnmowers even though the engines are usually gas, not electrical.
Chris enjoys their job, even though it takes place in a back corner of a small warehouse that a pornography company uses as a storage facility. With his religious upbringing, Chris does not enjoy walking past all of the set pieces, props, and paraphernalia. But he manages.
Chris’s boss isn’t very involved in the hands-on work, so they get to work alone most days, which they like. But today they have to do some customer service with a very difficult client. By the end of the day, despite enjoying their work, Chris is left with only one spoon.
Chris walks out to their car and gets inside. They pull out their phone and look for some dopamine for 20 minutes until they work up the willpower to spend their last spoon on the drive home.
When Chris gets home, they are completely tapped out. There are dishes piled up in the sink that Chris’s roommate is always complaining about. Chris’s room is a mess and fast food wrappers and many dishes are sitting on their desk. But Chris has no more spoons and further exertion could lead to a meltdown.
So Chris plops down into the desk chair and spends some time escaping into their digital world of choice.
Okay, I kind of get it. But what is a spoon?
Simply put, a spoon is a quirky way of measuring a person’s energy levels.
As was mentioned before, there’s more to it than that, though.
Neurodivergent people’s energy levels can fluctuate wildly. There are a number of factors that can dramatically impact those energy levels.
Those factors can include life challenges like difficulty with family, income disruptions, changes in routines and patterns, and much more. And neurodivergent people, especially autistics, tend to have stronger emotional reactions to many of life’s challenges than neurotypicals do.
There is some debate as to whether or not willpower is a finite resource. Some studies have shown that it is, but they’ve been disproven. (I’d provide links, but I just can’t be arsed.) However, it is known that neurodivergent people, and especially people with ADHD, struggle with what’s known as executive dysfunction. That just means that we don’t have the same mental wiring that helps motivate us, get us started, and keep us focused and working as neurotypical folk get to enjoy.
The combination of strong reactions to emotions caused by impactful events and the extra work necessary to get ourselves started and going can be very draining. And it’s a silent struggle that nobody but us can see.
We’re often thought of as lazy. And that can be extremely frustrating because many of us are extremely ambitious and want to accomplish great things. But we just don’t have the spoons.
