Chapter 1: The Struggle with Acceptance

How many spoons do you have?

When someone texts, "Wishing you a great weekend and hope you are feeling well," I can't help but respond, "I'm feeling awful and just trying to come to terms with it." I know I might come off as negative or grumpy, but I don't want to be that person.

Ideally, I would love to reply with a simple, "I’m fine, and hope you are too." However, that just isn't my reality. The truth is, I don’t thrive on trivial exchanges, and I’m certainly not fine.

Living with severe depression for most of my life has been challenging, but recently, I've had to confront a chronic, invisible illness that has overshadowed my existence for the past two years. I am still grappling with the possibility that I may never return to my prior state of health; although it wasn't perfect, it was infinitely better than what I endure now.

Lately, I've become increasingly sensitive to questions about my well-being or casual well-wishes. I understand logically that people are attempting to be polite or show concern in a somewhat generic way. While I should appreciate this gesture, it feels different when you have a chronic illness.

Though I don’t seek sympathy, I wear my emotions openly, and I can't pretend otherwise. Saying "I'm fine" feels disingenuous because:

• Fine is a sunlit day at the beach, with fluffy clouds drifting across a bright sky while the waves dance energetically on the shore.
• Fine is a serene breeze flowing through a lush forest trail as I hike, the sun warming my skin and the scenery taking my breath away.
• Fine is a profound moment of spiritual awakening, where colors blend and senses heighten, leaving me feeling transformed.

On the contrary, being "not fine" means:

• Struggling to muster the energy to work full-time and find joy in life.
• Enduring daily betrayals from my mind and body, which leave me exhausted and in need of rest.
• Swallowing a staggering 40 pills each day or denying myself the pleasure of moderate eating.
• Lying in bed, contemplating whether I have the strength to tidy my home or, at the very least, finalize my will.

My weary heart feels anger towards those who casually wish me well or express hope for improvement. More than anything, I long to yell, "I’m having a fantastic day and feel incredible!"

Ironically, I often echo the same clichés back to others. This is the expected norm in polite society. However, I've started to reflect on how I can make my interactions more genuine and personalized.

Recently, I discovered a concept that resonated with me deeply, likely striking a chord with many others who experience invisible illness. "The Spoon Theory," created by Christine Miserandino, provides a meaningful way to convey the energy limitations associated with chronic illness.

As described in an article on GoodRX, the Spoon Theory uses spoons as a metaphor for energy, illustrating how many spoons different activities require. This helps individuals with chronic illnesses visualize their daily energy levels.

Invisible illnesses can be tough to explain. One day, friends see you full of energy and in good spirits; just two days later, you struggle to get out of bed and have to cancel plans, which can frustrate those around you. They can’t grasp how your illness impacts your life.

Having read several pieces on spoon theory, I now have a tool to articulate my health more accurately and validate my feelings. This empowers me as I continue to pursue acceptance.

When asked, "How are you?" I can respond with, "I have two spoons. How about you?"

Thank you to Ryan Fan for editing and publishing.

The first video, Matthew West - Truth Be Told (Official Music Video), touches on themes of honesty and vulnerability in our struggles, perfectly aligning with the sentiments expressed in this piece.

The second video, Matthew West - Truth Be Told (Official Audio), further emphasizes the importance of acknowledging our truths and the reality of our emotions.