Beyond Spoon Theory: Why the 3 Battery Framework Changed How I Pace My Chronic Illness
Last week, I wrote about the emotional chaos that shows up when I start to feel better—the joy, the fear, the need to do everything right now before my body changes its mind. (If you missed it, you can catch up here.)
This week, I want to follow up with a tool that's helped me find steadier footing in the unpredictable rhythm of chronic illness: learning how to pace myself.
Which, if you couldn't tell from literally anything I've ever shared, is not my strong suit.
Spoon Theory: A Quick Refresher
If you've been in the chronic illness community for more than five minutes, you've probably heard of Spoon Theory. But if your retention is as questionable as mine, here's a quick refresher:
Spoon Theory, created by Christine Miserandino, uses spoons as a metaphor for energy. You start each day with a limited number of spoons. Every activity—from brushing your teeth to responding to texts to cooking dinner—costs a spoon (or three). Once you're out, you're done.
It's a powerful and accessible way to explain the invisible math of chronic illness to yourself and others. It helps us give ourselves permission to say "nope, not today" when we're already running on empty.
But recently, I came across a different framework that honestly hit even harder—and has changed the way I think about energy management entirely: The 3 Battery Theory.
The 3 Battery Theory (and Why I'm Obsessed)
This framework comes from Dr. Clark Elliott's book The Ghost in My Brain, which documents his recovery from a traumatic brain injury. In it, he introduces the idea that we don't just have one reservoir of energy—we have three separate batteries:
Physical Battery: The body—movement, stamina, pain management.
Mental Battery: The brain—focus, memory, decision-making, communication.
Emotional Battery: The heart—stress, trauma, emotional regulation, relationships.
Some days, my physical battery might be holding up fine, but my emotional battery is screaming. Other days, my mental battery is fried from five minutes of decision-making, while my body is restless but functional.
It helped me realize: I'm not always just "tired." I'm depleted in different ways, for different reasons.
Adapting the 3 Battery Theory for Chronic Illness
Let's take this a step further and look at how this framework plays out for folks with chronic illness. Think of your body like a phone with three batteries, but the charger's halfway broken and the software is glitchy on a good day.
🔋 Battery A – The "Healthy People" Battery
This is the main battery most healthy folks run on. It recharges overnight to about 90–100%, and it's long-lasting and efficient. They wake up energized and coast through their day, dipping into their backup battery only during stress or exertion.
We... do not get to use this battery. It's like it shipped with our original operating system, but then got recalled and never replaced.
🔋 Battery B – The Chronic Illness Default
This is where we start our day—if we're lucky. It's 25–50% charged at best, and it doesn't hold power well. Our bodies charge slowly, inefficiently, and with frequent interruptions (hello, flares, pain, and fatigue). We use it up quickly, even doing the smallest things—like taking a shower or making breakfast.
🔋 Battery C – The Crisis Battery
This one's the danger zone. The backup generator. It's meant to be tapped rarely, for true survival mode. But folks with chronic illness? We hit Battery C all the time.
When we're in Battery C, our bodies shut down all non-essential functions just to get through the day. Think: brain fog so thick you forget your own name, pain so deep your body goes limp, emotional burnout that makes texting a friend feel like climbing Everest.
The worst part? Battery C takes forever to recharge. Sometimes weeks. And you have to refill Battery C before you can even think about charging Batteries A or B.
So, What Does This Mean for Pacing?
It means we're not lazy. We're not overreacting. We're not giving up.
We're in energy triage—every damn day.
This framework helped me understand why I sometimes feel like I'm doing "nothing," but still feel like I got hit by a truck. Or why a full night of sleep doesn't leave me refreshed. My batteries are charging off a frayed cord plugged into a glitchy outlet, and one of them is always drained.
We do less than our healthy peers, and it takes us longer to recover. We need to stay close to a "charging station" (aka our beds, our meds, our quiet routines) because going too far out risks full shutdown.
Why This Analogy Works Better for Me
Don't get me wrong—I love Spoon Theory. It gave me language when I didn't have any. But the 3 Battery Theory meets me where I am now.
Maybe it resonates more because I can never figure out how many spoons I have or how many a task will take. And honestly? I rarely have the patience to even try.
With the battery metaphor, I can ask myself:
Which battery is low today?
What kind of rest or support do I need?
Can I give myself permission to stop before I'm forced to crash?
Most days, that's the real work of pacing: recognizing the difference between capacity and desire, between being energized and being resourced.
Let's Keep This Conversation Going
What's your relationship with pacing? Do you resonate more with Spoon Theory or the 3 Battery framework—or do you have your own metaphor that keeps you grounded?
Share your thoughts in the comments, send me a message, or repost with your take. We learn from each other here.
And if this post gave you a little "oh damn, that's me" moment, pass it on to another spoonie or tender human navigating the same terrain. Because we're not meant to do this alone.
Until next time—pace yourself like your life depends on it. (Because, well... it kinda does.)
