I first heard about fork theory from a post on the blog Bipolar Me. Well, that’s not exactly true; I had noticed that some people had made their way to my post on spoon theory by searching for fork theory. Being a bit of a doofus, I had assumed that people were just getting their utensils confused.
Different versions of fork theory
The post on Bipolar Me talked about fork theory as described by blogger Jen Rose in 2018, but before we get to that version, let’s look at a few others that have popped up.
Cade Leebron, who was not a fan of spoon theory, wrote in the American Literary Review in 2018: “Imagine that you wake up in the morning and I hand you twenty-five very sharp forks. Every time you say something ableist to me, I take a fork away from you. When you are all out of forks, each ableist thing you say means I get to stab you really hard with a fork, and leave it stuck in your skin.” Fair enough, perhaps, but yikes!
In 2017, a writer on the Chronically Healthy blog suggested that instead of focusing on sickness with spoon theory, we should “be a fork and stab life. Take what you want. Live a life filled with excitement, laughter, fun, and craziness, but do it in a way that works for you.”
In 2014, the Thing of Things blog described a fork theory for mental illness: “Forks work somewhat like spoons, in that you have to pay varying amounts for tasks. However, unlike spoons, forks don’t replenish gradually over time. Instead, you get forks when you finish particular tasks.” The author suggested socializing, showering, and eating as examples of getting back forks upon task completion.
Forks as external stressors
Getting back to Jen Rose’s version of fork theory, which strikes me as the best fit, she writes: “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.” Jen lives with both mental and physical health conditions.
Her description really resonates with me, while the concept of fork theory suggested by the other writers didn’t really. While spoon theory covers internal resources, both mental and physical, fork theory focuses on the capacity to handle external stressors.
Forks and my depression
My depression has left me with a very low fork tolerance threshold before both mind and body go into shutdown mode. This threshold varies over time based on how my illness is doing, but it’s consistently and substantially lower than when I was well.
What counts as a fork (or multiple forks) also varies over time. Sometimes getting an email from my brother would be fine, whereas other times it would feel like a fork. A stressful email from work might sometimes feel like one fork and at other times feel like a whole cutlery drawer full of forks.
For me, both spoon and fork theory work best in general terms to improve self-awareness rather than specifically counting out spoons and forks. They also leave a lot of room for self-compassion by recognizing that chronic illness means fluctuating capacity over time. It can be easy to fall into the trap of self-blaming, but I think spoon and fork theory offer a better way to conceptualize the challenges those of us living with chronic illness face.
Had you heard of fork theory before? Do you think it makes a good addition to spoon theory?
The COVID-19/Mental Health Coping Toolkit page has a wide range of resources to support better mental health and wellbeing.