Why The Spoonie Dietitian? (It Starts With a Spoon)

If you've been following along for a while— including my last post, where I properly reintroduced myself —  you've probably clocked that I call myself a spoonie. It's in my bio, it's in half my captions, it's basically my whole personality at this point. But if you're newer here — or you've just never quite known what it means — let's back up.

It started with a woman called Christine Miserandino, who has Lupus. She was at a diner with a friend, who asked her what it actually feels like to be sick. So Christine grabbed a handful of spoons off the table, pushed them into her friend's hands and said, "Here you go. You have Lupus." And in trying to explain it, she accidentally created one of the most useful metaphors chronic illness has ever had. (You can read Christine's original story here — it's worth the read.)

So what actually is Spoon Theory?

Here's the short version. A healthy person wakes up with basically unlimited energy. They don't think about it, they just go. Spoonies — people with chronic illness or disability — wake up with a set number of spoons instead. A limited stash of energy for the whole day. And everything costs spoons. Some things cost more than others, but nothing is free.

It can start before you've even properly woken up. Getting out of bed might mean moving slowly so you don't get dizzy, or working around pain that's already there before your feet hit the floor, or trying to function on a night of terrible sleep. That's a spoon gone, maybe two, and you haven't even made it to breakfast. Then there's the nausea that means you need to eat before you can take your medication, so you make something, eat it, take the tablets — there's another spoon.

By lunchtime you've spent spoons on things a healthy person wouldn't even register as tasks. And once they're gone for the day, they're gone. There's no topping up.

Living by the spoons

This is the part that changes how you move through your whole life, not just the hard days. You start rationing. Choosing. I used to shower in the mornings, back before I got sick — but these days I mostly shower at night, because showers are expensive in spoon-currency for me, and if I end up wiped out or dizzy afterward, I'd rather that happen when I can just lie down, not when I still need to function at work.

Some days you wake up with more spoons than others, and it's tempting to use that as an excuse to do everything — the load of washing, the errands, the catch-up with a friend, all in one day, because finally you can. I've done it. And I've paid for it for the rest of the week, stuck resting when I could've spread that energy out and actually enjoyed more of it.

That's the real cost of chronic illness that doesn't always get talked about. It's not just the symptoms. It's the constant, quiet math running in the background of every single day.

Your energy is real, it's finite, and it deserves to be factored into your nutrition care — not ignored by it.

Why this became The Spoonie Dietitian

Here's the thing — once you understand spoons, you can't unsee how much of standard nutrition advice completely ignores them.

"Meal prep every Sunday." "Cook everything from scratch." "Just track your food." "Do a strict elimination diet and reintroduce one food every three days for six weeks." All of that assumes you've got spoons to spare. It assumes a body that behaves the same way today as it did yesterday. It doesn't account for the version of you that's flaring, or the version of you that hasn't had a full night's sleep in a week, or the version of you whose hands hurt too much to chop vegetables tonight.

I lived that gap for years before I became a Dietitian. Being handed advice that worked fine for someone with unlimited spoons, and then quietly feeling like I'd failed when it didn't work for me. That gap — between what nutrition advice assumes and what a spoonie's actual life looks like — is the entire reason The Spoonie Dietitian exists.

I built this practice to be the support I wish I'd had. One that starts from spoons, not in spite of them. Nutrition care that flexes with your energy instead of demanding you find energy you don't have. No elimination protocols that ignore your flare days. No guilt when a from-scratch meal isn't on the cards. Just realistic, evidence-based support from someone who's also done the spoon math at 6pm and decided toast for tea is a completely valid choice.

What this means for you

So when you see me talk about spoons, or call this The Spoonie Dietitian, this is why. It's not just a cute name. It's the whole philosophy. Your energy is real, it's finite, and it deserves to be factored into your nutrition care — not ignored by it. 

If this is the first time you've heard of Spoon Theory, I'd love to know — does it match how you'd describe your own energy and symptoms? And if you're a fellow spoonie, tell me your version of the "shower at night" trick — the small thing you've rearranged your life around to protect your spoons. Hit reply or drop a comment, I read every one.

If you're ready for nutrition support that actually starts from where your energy is at, you can explore how we can work together here or book a free discovery call — no pressure, just a chat.

Not ready for that yet? Grab my free guide to anti-inflammatory foods for spoonies instead — no strings attached, just five easy foods to start with. 

Emma x