non-dairy creamer (contains milk)

Coping With Humans

Mary Oliver (via words-and-coffee)

“Wild Geese” from the book Dream Work (1986)

@teaforlupin <3

More vampires who are like, “I don’t know, man, I spent most of that decade in an opium den.”

More vampires who weren’t paying attention because they didn’t think it would be important.

More vampires who don’t know because there was lot of conflicting gossip and they don’t want to point any fingers.

More vampires who are just bad at dates. “Back in 1620, or was it 1645, wait, what year is it now?”

“Oh yeah, the only thing I remember about the American Revolution was this nice candlemaker I met sometime, and she was wearing this really cute red shawl…”

Most people have some ability to improve some of their physical or cognitive skills. The limits on this are different for different people. Sometimes trying hard over a long period of time makes things possible. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes all it takes to be able to do something is to be willing. For instance:

People who have unusual speech (eg, a CP accent) are often ignored

Most people who aren’t listening, could decide to listen.

Often, willingness to slow down and listen is all it takes.

(Not everyone can do this — there’s no shame in being unable. Sometimes disability is like that. The problem is that a lot of people who *could* understand relatively easily, or could learn how, don’t bother to listen)

Sometimes gaining the ability to do something takes significant effort over a sustained period of time:

For instance, most people could not decide to wake up tomorrow and run a marathon.

No matter how willing or determined they were, they would fail, because it’s not an ability you can gain overnight.

Many people can get the ability to run a marathon, by training over time.

Most people who can run at all can get better at running, up to a point, whether or not they ever gain the ability to run a marathon.

Getting better at running takes a lot of disciplined effort over time. 

People don’t just decide to run fast, they practice and keep pushing themselves until they get better at it.

Another aspect of running ability:

There is a limit, and the limit is different for everyone. Discipline and effort only take you so far.

Very few people will ever be able to run as well as olympic runners — no matter how much work they put into trying.

Bodies have absolutel limitations, and they can’t be overcome by sheer force of will.

On the other side of things, flying:

No one can flap their arms and fly, because it is physically impossible

No amount of determination or disciplined effort will make it possible for a human being to fly by flapping their arms.

It’s not always obvious which category something falls into, even for nondisabled people:

Sometimes limits are predictable.

Sometimes you can’t tell until you try.

Sometimes things that feel impossible turn out to actually be easy once you try.

And vice versa: sometimes things that feel intuitively like they should be easy turn out to be impossible.

Sometimes things that feel impossible at first become possible with sustained effort over time.

Sometimes they stay impossible.

Sometimes the effort they take turns out not to be worth it.

Ability is complicated and can be unpredictable, for everyone.

It’s often even more confusing for disabled people, for a number of reasons:

For many disabled people, walking is like flying — flat out physically impossible, not happening. 

For some people, it’s like running a marathon — possible, but may or may not be worth the amount of time and effort it requires.

For some people, it’s similar to a failed attempt to become an olympic athlete — some progress towards the goal is possible; but it’s still not achievable. 

It’s not always at all obvious which category something is in.

And that’s true of a lot of skills, in a lot of disability categories. (Including cognitive skills.)

In addition, honest discussion of what you can and can’t do is often taboo for disabled people. We’re often expected to say that we’re just like everyone else, even when we’re obviously not. We’re often expected to believe that we can do anything if we try hard enough, even when it’s obviously not true. We’re often prevented from trying anything hard that we might fail at — in a misguided attempt to spare us frustration and the pain of noticing our limitations. All of this can make self-assessment even harder.

Ability is complicated. Most people can improve some of their physical, emotional, or cognitive skills. Willingness makes some things possible. Sustained effort over time makes other things possible. Some things stay impossible no matter how hard you try. Sometimes it is clear which category something falls into; often it is not.

So the Spoon Theory is a fundamental metaphor used often in the chronic pain/chronic illness communities to explain to non-spoonies why life is harder for them. It’s super useful and we use that all the time. But it has a corollary.  You know the phrase, “Stick a fork in me, I’m done,” right? Well, Fork Theory is that one has a Fork Limit, that is, you can probably cope okay with one fork stuck in you, maybe two or three, but at some point you will lose your shit if one more fork happens.  A fork could range from being hungry or having to pee to getting a new bill or a new diagnosis of illness. There are lots of different sizes of forks, and volume vs. quantity means that the fork limit is not absolute. I might be able to deal with 20 tiny little escargot fork annoyances, such as a hangnail or slightly suboptimal pants, but not even one “you poked my trigger on purpose because you think it’s fun to see me melt down” pitchfork.