A Day in Spoons
Returning to work, pacing myself, and finding little victories along the way.
The thing about spoons is, you never quite know how many you’re starting the day with. It’s not like waking up to a neat stack of cash you can count out. Some mornings you feel rich (well, richer than usual), other days you’re spent up before you’ve even rolled out of bed. And, just to add some mild peril, the same task doesn’t always cost the same: one day a meeting might be a single spoon, the next it feels like three. This, the least fun of any game I have ever played, is part of the constant negotiation of surviving with chronic illness.
Today was my first day back at work after a week off and I knew the only warm welcome I’d be getting would be from my inbox. Hundreds of unread emails stacked up, quietly waiting, a reminder of everything I’d missed and all of the decisions that seemingly couldn’t be made without me. Not exactly a gentle re-entry.
So, I did what I always do to steel myself: got ready. Hair, make-up, outfit — more than appearance, it’s a kind of armour. A way of saying, I can do this, even when my body is whispering otherwise. It costs spoons to put that mask on, but it gives me a sense of control — because sometimes resilience is built into small routines like eyeliner and lipstick. After more than 25 years of living with ME/CFS and Fibromyalgia you might say, and you’d be right, that my mask is at top tier, elite, professional level.
All the while, Dolly’s words hummed in the background, clumsily reimagined to fit my reality:
Stumble outta bed and make it to the dressing table. Mascara in hand, building armour that makes me feel able. Shuffle to the kitchen, my laptop’s the office, ambition my ignition…
Not exactly 9 to 5 — more like pacing myself, spoon by spoon, in between messages and meetings.
With the inbox looming, I didn’t try to clear it all. Instead, I chipped away steadily: a project meeting here, a couple of calls there, a handful of emails answered. Just enough to make it feel less overwhelming, not enough to wipe me out. Not as easy as it sounds when you are a frustrated perfectionist.
By dinner time (sorry, if you’re not from the North of England - I mean lunch time), I gave myself a pause — an M&S delight I’d added to the weekly shopping delivery. It wasn’t just food (see what I did there), it was a reminder that I’d made it halfway.
By late afternoon, the fatigue was back in charge and the spoons running out. I closed the laptop, left the inbox where it was, and rested. It’ll still be there tomorrow, but today I’d made a start. And sometimes that’s enough.
The truth is, ambition and chronic illness don’t cancel each other out — they just mean the path looks different. Progress is sometimes (not always) slower, and always unpredictable, but no less meaningful. Some days are flares, some days are flair, and most are somewhere in between.
So, tell me: what’s your version of an M&S treat, the one small thing that makes even a heavy day a little brighter?
Kelly x
