On Bandwidth, Brainwashing, and Bunnies

And spoons.

Image by Kohji Asakawa from Pixabay

I lost a toenail the other day. It was the second toenail I lost this week, each from a big toe. Yes, it looks and feels every bit as weird as it sounds. This is a direct result of Day 5 of my Romanian Adventure, the account of which I have yet to write despite how long ago I returned. But to be honest, it'll take me a bit longer, I'm out of Bandwidth. Or, to put it another way, I'm out of spoons.

Days ago I explained Spoon Theory to a friend. You can read as much or as little about it as you’d like about Spoon Theory, but here’s the basic premise: Imagine your energy, mental and physical, measured in terms of spoons. You start your day with X amount of spoons, and slowly use them up until the day ends, or in many cases, until you run out of spoons. But depending on your barriers, many of which may be invisible to others, some or even most of your spoons may be used up doing little more than getting out of bed. Yes, many, myself included on numerous occasions, are that low on spoons.

I’m writing these words from an airport, having just cleared a bicycle through airport security while simultaneously switching cell phone providers to better suit my needs for the coming months. This after packing and repacking three pieces of luggage, what’s left after an epic purge. In the month of August the entirety of my existence was reduced to reducing the entirety of my existence, followed by packing up, shipping, and storing what was left, all while trying to see as many folks as I could before leaving. Now, in what little time I have left before my trans-Atlantic flight, my third in as many months, I have my first opportunity in weeks to sit down for some quiet, sober reflection. All this to say; I’m very very low on spoons. But since I'm fond of alliteration and need to make the title work, I'll go back to calling it bandwidth for the time being.

I’ve been low on bandwidth for a while, a product of the frantic pace of these last few months. And then happenstance put me inches away from an old friend, one I haven't seen in years. While under normal circumstances a catch up over coffee would be in order, I just didn't have the bandwidth. Simple as that. Yet sitting down the next day to catch up on seemingly endless life tasks, I couldn't help but feel guilty. How can I tell my friend I'm busy when I'm sitting in front of a laptop occupying myself with mundane tasks like paying bills or signing up for travel insurance?

It took another friend to snap me out of it, a friend who reminded me that taking care of whatever needs to be taken care of counts as being busy, and is a very valid use of available bandwidth. Something my low sense of self worth/people pleasing often blurs to the point of forgetting altogether. It's bad enough when this kind of mentality is self imposed, but what about when it's a product of other people's expectations? People who may have, at some point, been brainwashed to think that bandwidth doesn't matter? But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Sometime in the madness that has been this current month I sat down to dinner with three more friends. One friend mockingly told a story, a third hand account, of a coworker asking for bereavement leave after the death of their bunny. This baffled my friend. "It's a bunny," they exclaimed in disbelief, "that's not an excuse to miss work." (Or something along those lines.) Where was the compassion? Where was the empathy? Where was the consideration that losing a pet can have a major effect on bandwidth?

Before judging my friend too harshly, though, take a moment to consider where they're coming from. My friend and I grew up in similar cultures, ones rife with toxic masculinity and outright hostility towards addressing or even acknowledging emotions. To whatever extent these cultures teach compassion, empathy, or understanding, it comes with an undercurrent of sucking it up, walking it off, or keeping a stiff upper lip so to speak. I liken it to a form of brainwashing that we as a society subject ourselves to, and not just from the cultures in question. It's the kind of brainwashing that doesn't allow us to fully put ourselves in someone's shoes. It's the kind of brainwashing that leaves us blind to however much bandwidth our fellow humans may have regardless of their circumstance. It's the kind of brainwashing that, in this case, values productivity over bereavement. It's bullshit.

I said as much to my friend, though perhaps not in those exact words. The ensuing debate was heated at times. I didn't want to go so far as to ask my friend how capable they'd be of working if their child died, but I definitely thought about it. The one trick up my sleeve, almost literally, was my tattoo, my beloved Lucy's little paws forever on my forearm as a reminder of the love and joy she brought me despite the devastation of losing her. It's the devastation I talked about, though. I was a mess when Lucy died, and had life not demanded my full and immediate attention in the aftermath I doubt I'd have been functional enough to work for a long time. I don't know how much of it got through to my friend.

It's all too tempting to think badly of my friend, but how many of us have found ourselves in similar situations? How many of us have passed judgment on others whose circumstances we have no hope of understanding? Think especially here in the context of depression, an often invisible illness almost impossible to diagnose with the naked eye. Remind yourself, always, that you have no way of knowing the hidden battles those around you are fighting. Remind yourself to be kind and compassionate and not pass judgment. Remind yourself that sometimes people have no bandwidth left.

While we're at it, how often have you done a self check in and measured your own bandwidth? How much are you letting the expectations of others dictate what and how much you do, despite what and how much you may feel capable of doing? Guard your spoons, friends, and feel no guilt when they run out.

Stay tuned for more of my many Adventures in Antidepressants, as well the remaining account of my Adventures in Romania. If you’re enjoying these stories and would like to read more, please subscribe (it’s free unless you feel like kicking a few bucks my way), please share this or any other post via Substack or your preferred social media platform, and please like and comment on Substack to help game the algorithm. Every interaction makes me feel seen, validated, and encouraged, and hopefully helps break the stigma surrounding mental illness. Thank you for all your support and encouragement so far.