A Spoonie-hard Day for an Autistic Writer
I am constantly budgeting my energy. Deciding where to allocate my spoons (disability term to describe a unit of energy) for the day so that I can hopefully give my attention to the things that matter most to me, like writing.
On a good day, it feels like I’ve mastered this energy equation and the blog post gets written, a scene revised, and maybe even a social media post or two is scheduled. At the end of the day, I’m abuzz with all that I’ve accomplished.
But some days no matter how much energy allocation I’ve done it will never be enough.
Some days I wake up and I just know that it’s a spoonie-hard day. I can tell because the coffee grinder is too loud and reverberates through my head even though I’m wearing my Loops and I open the shades in my loft but then have to close them again because the light is just too much. And I’m just an hour into the start of my day and I can feel the signs that my body is going to be flooded with stress hormones in the next hour and the more I try to push through the less I will have to give to my work.
So the first thing I do is make a promise to myself that no matter how this day turns out it will be enough. I may not meet my goal of 2000 words. I may not get the blog post written, and I may not make the edits to that chapter, but it’s okay.
I can rest and it will be okay.
Then I get comfy on the couch under my weighted blanket, pop a THC Sativa capsule, and lay under the blanket with noise-canceling headphones on. I lay there for a few moments with my eyes closed allowing my body to settle under the weight of the blanket and muffled quiet of my headphones. Sometimes that’s not enough and I need to stim. So I sit up and my body begins to naturally move in the circular rhythm that I always naturally come back to.
Stimming feels amazing. It’s damn near euphoric at times.
When I’m ready I open my laptop and begin to write. I let the story take over. I let the words flow through me and I get lost in the telling. Excited by what the characters reveal about themselves to me. I’ve loved this feeling ever since I wrote a fanfic-style story to the girl I had a crush on in 6th grade. Her name was Ashley and she was my first FMC.
On a good day, I just might be able to write those 2000 words. But some days even under the pressure of my 20lb blanket I can’t do it. I can get lost in reading a story or I can re-watch episodes of Star Trek: Discovery but I can’t write a word. But that’s okay. I am learning to accept the needs of my body. If I rest today maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow I will get those words on the page.
Being an autistic writer means creating space in my creative process for rest and recovery. It means that I don’t write daily.
Sometimes I need to take long breaks from the work. I used to feel like I was failing at truly dedicating myself to my craft. That I was never going to be able to be a successful writer if I couldn’t commit to the habits that so many writers seem to live by.
I thought I lacked discipline. But now I realize that writing is about more than how many words I put on the page each week.
The number count is not the only measure of success or commitment to my craft.
I know that I’m committed to this work because I go to bed each night dreaming of stories. I work out stories as I walk, as I sip my coffee in the morning, as I clean the house. I never stop imagining new stories.
I’m surrounded by books. Stacks of books in every room like little shrines to imagination and story. I read is my religion.
It might take me longer to finish a work. There may be long periods of time when I’m too burnout to write. But then I rest. When I attend to the needs of my body and neurodivergent brain I find that I come back to the page with a sense of renewal.
The spoonie days are not lost writing days. They are days when my body is preparing for incandescence. Preparing to be a conduit for the weaving of new joy on the page.
