Nathaniel and I talk about spoons a lot.
Not actual spoons. We don’t have particular opinions on the merits of using a traditional soup spoon versus a dessert spoon when eating a velouté, but metaphorical spoons. Spoons that we use to talk about our capabilities.
For anyone that suffers from mental illness, the talk of spoons isn’t unusual. We each have a certain amount of spoons to use during the day, and once we run out of them, we don’t have the energy for other things in the day.
Spoons are currency, and with mental illness, you’re starting from behind. You’re a college student with crippling student loans that you might never pay back. Some days you might have more, but there’s always a limit and it’s surprising how easy it is to spend your spoons.
Nathaniel spends his spoons on unread text messages. Each one he receives and can’t respond to uses a spoon. This makes it hard because I spend my spoons worrying about not getting a message back, so I would send more. Which made him spend more spoons.
So we had a talk. We talked about each others spoons and how we could lessen the burden we were placing on each other. There were lots of sorrys exchanged, because we apologise a lot. We apologise for all the spoons we cost the other. We apologise for most things because we feel it’s important to do so.
We’re trying not to, but it’s a long journey.
So we talked. We talked about our spoons and we’ve resolved to make our communication easier on the other.
There’s no hard feelings. There’s no resentment. We’ve dealt with our spoons, we’re dealing with our spoons and we understand each other.
Spoons are useful.
Spoons are important.
And if I’m feeling posh, my opinion is that you should use a dessert spoon to eat soup, as they do in France.