It’s Official. I’m Out Of Spoons.

I know. In theory, my life is perfect. I literally don’t have anything to complain about.

I have a husband who adores me and makes enough money so I don’t have to work. My girls are strong and independent and on their way to living their absolute best lives. My sisters are awesome and my best friends. The punk is adorable and awesome. I have friends who care enough to check in on me when they haven’t heard from me in awhile, instead of getting upset that I didn’t reach out first. And according to the doctor when Mom was in the hospital last month, we’ve had two more years with her than he would have guessed the last time he saw her. There’s a roof over the head of everyone I care about, and while things can be scary and hard sometimes, there’s no lack of support around me.

But I’m out of spoons, literally and figuratively. I’m not just talking about the fact that every single spoon in my house has disappeared, and no one can tell me how or why or where they went. I’m talking about the Spoon Theory, that says people only have a limited number of ‘spoons’ a day, and they are consumed by our actions and thoughts throughout the day.

Basically, let’s say a person is given ten spoons a day. Everything, from the act of getting up out of bed, to showering, to going to work, traffic, to scrolling through Facebook takes a ‘spoon’, while some actions require more. And the only way to restore the spoons you’ve used is to rest.

Now, for most people that aren’t dealing with chronic physical or mental illness or disease, this isn’t that big of a deal. They generally have no problem restoring their energy through sleep, and rarely run out of actual ‘spoons’.

But for people who are struggling with a disability or chronic illness, whether mental or physical, there are very rarely enough spoons to get through the day without some form of rest. Which requires us to ration our energy, or restore a spoon by resting. But sometimes, life doesn’t care about our energy reserves, and we end up with a spoon deficit. And that requires us to borrow from the future, leaving us with too few spoons to get through the next day.

That’s where I’m at right now. I’m out of spoons. I’ve been borrowing from Future Jen for so long, running on energy I didn’t have, that now my reservoir is completely dry. I literally have nothing left to give.

No, my life isn’t that hard or bad that I can’t function. Like I said earlier, my life is pretty damn great. The problem is, though, that it has taken so much of my energy to get to this point, that now that I’m here I’m so exhausted I can’t see straight. I can’t care about anything. I can’t find the joy in anything.

You see, I spent so long taking care of my mom, fixing her every little issue, taking her to every appointment and treatment and test and procedure, that now that there’s nothing left for me to fix, I feel helpless. I feel like I failed.

For four years, taking care of my mom was everything. It kept me going when I was exhausted. It gave me a reason to get up every morning, a reason to keep moving and fighting when every cell in my body screamed for sleep.

But for the last twenty two years, I put everything I had, everything I was, into raising my girls. Dance lessons, gymnastics, softball, cheer leading, swimming, cross country. School presentations and recitals, parent/teacher conferences, award ceremonies, class parties…everything. I don’t regret a second of it, either, because my girls are AMAZING.

Now, though, I’m spiraling. Hibernating. If I eat, it’s because I’m starving. If I answer the phone, it’s because I know it’s important, or I’ll regret it later.

I gave away my newsletter business–I didn’t sell it, or offer to merge it with another newsletter service. I flat-out gave it away. I didn’t have the energy to keep up with it, and I hated feeling like I was failing customers. I miss it like crazy, but it was costing me spoons I didn’t have to stay afloat, to keep my head above water, and it felt like an anchor around my neck, constantly dragging me back under.

I know all the answers to my problems: Exercise. Meditate. Happiness is a state of mind. I wish I had the words to explain depression and anxiety to people who don’t get it.

No, just powering through it won’t always work.

Yeah, yoga or exercise would probably help, but I’m currently using all the energy and concentration I have talking to you and staying upright, let alone leave my house.

Yeah, I’m aware I’m lucky, some people have it worse and can still function. Good for them, and thanks for making me feel worse.

No, tough love isn’t going to help. There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already said to myself.

Maybe happiness is a state of mind. But right now, I’m exhausted from just pretending to be okay.

I’m glad you handle your emotions differently. Really, I am, especially if it helps you. Doesn’t mean your way will work for me. Pressuring me isn’t going to help, either.

And yeah, I know I’m letting people down. There isn’t a part of me that isn’t aware of this EVERY SECOND. I’m functioning on pure survival mode, and anything else above that is my guilt over not being whole and the perfect person I’m expected to be.