Latest / Thinking Out Loud | Kimberly / What Does it Mean to Have Capacity? | Thinking Out Loud
Transcript
- Kimberly: What does it mean to have capacity? At times we mean I don't have the energy. From time to time we mean I physically cannot do one more thing. On occasion, we mean if one more person asks me for something, I'm gonna just lose it. Sometimes we technically could do the thing. We know that doing it could cost us something we don't have available to spend. Well. What exactly are we talking about when we talk about capacity? Welcome back to Thinking Out Loud. Hi, it's me Kimberly. Before we go any further, a quick note. This podcast is for reflection and conversation, not professional advice. Take what resonates and leave the rest. Here we slow down and we explore life's gray areas, especially in relationships and behavior patterns we can observe and reflect on. I am not here to tell you what to think. I am here to offer framework that help you understand your relationship, strengthen your thinking, and hold space for complexity. Let's get to thinking out loud. When we talk about capacity, I think we sometimes talk about it being one thing. You either have capacity or you don't. I don't think it's that simple. I mean It is me we're talking about here. It's never really that simple on this podcast. I have the capacity to do something physically, but maybe I don't emotionally. I have the energy and the desire, but my nervous system is already overloaded. That adding one more thing might finally make everything spill over. When I say I don't have capacity for that, what am I saying? For me, there are three ways I think about it. Spoons, cake, and the cauldron. Because it's spooky season, baby, obviously. Why use cups when we got cauldrons to make this whimsy? Spoon theory was coined by Christine Mizrandino in 2003. She developed the metaphor while explaining to a friend what it was like to live with chronic illness. The basic idea is simple. Imagine that every morning you're given a limited number of spoons. Every activity costs a spoon. Getting dressed might cost one, taking a shower, going to work, cooking dinner. Having a difficult conversation might cost even several spoons. once you've spent your spoons, they're gone. Someone with more available energy might be able to do all of those things without thinking about the cost. Someone with limited energy may have to occasionally ask, is this worth a spoon? I can relate to this. my own autoimmune disease doing the creep on me, I have to plan my days accordingly. I have to think about what I'm doing. what I have to do, what I want to do. what I'm realistically going to have the energy to do. Sometimes That's a lie. Oftentimes I underestimate my spoons. Sometimes I think I've got this. quoting from 30 Rock. Well, I'll tell you my little secret, sir. I lie to myself. Every morning when I wake up, I say, everything's gonna be okay, but I'm lying. And I don't know how much longer I can do it. Well, have a swell night. That's the energy. Then suddenly my body is ma'am. We discussed this some days I can cook dinner and be a patient mom. And some days it's pizza, pizza pizza. you know what? That's okay. Sometimes capacity means recognizing that some things have to give. I might be absolutely killing it on my podcast, don't you dare look in my office. Shh, you didn't see anything. Something had to give. Sometimes that thing is a clean office. Wait, who said that? Patricia? Go back, Anyways, sometimes it's cooking dinner, sometimes it's answering a text, and sometimes it's being an incredibly patient version of myself that I would very much like to be. And the answer can simply be not today, Satan, not today. That's the spoon. It asks, how much energy do I have available to spend? Here's why I think the spoon method doesn't explain everything. Sometimes I have the spoons. I have the energy. I technically could do the thing. At the same time, I have already decided where that energy is going. That's where the cake comes in. let the meat cake. No. And I'm not talking about bread. you can't have your cake and eat it too. If I'm going to use a pie metaphor, I'm going to have fun with it and we're gonna call it cake instead. I want you to imagine you wake up and you've made this beautiful cake. It isn't just any cake. Look at the details, queen, king, or dragon. look at the time you spent decorating it. Maybe it's a basic cake mix with a beautiful design. Maybe it's cake pops. Maybe. You made an entire cake from scratch. And you may even made the homemade frosting. But it didn't settle well, and I can relate. However, you wanted the frosting to cooperate, but it still looks damn good, it tastes amazing. My point is that cake can represent a type of available capacity. You might have prepared your capacity to be at a hundred percent. Now you get to decide what happens to it. Maybe thirty percent goes to your work, twenty percent parenting, ten percent household responsibilities, 15% towards managing your own emotions, and 10 going towards social interactions, another 10% goes to basic self-care and maybe I didn't math. You have five percent left. For yourself. Now, someone comes along and says, can I have some? Maybe you say yes. Maybe you want to share. Maybe you don't. Maybe you have spent all morning making this beautiful cake and you want to sit down and enjoy a slice of it yourself. I think that's important. Sometimes we talk about capacity like we're obligated to give every available resource away. We're not. Sometimes I don't want to give you my cake. Sometimes I want to eat my cake. I want to eat my cake slice and save some for tomorrow. That's allowed. There's another problem. Sometimes someone doesn't ask. They just start eating it. They took that piece of cake and didn't even ask. Rude. Maybe someone trauma dumps on you. Unconsensually. Maybe someone makes their crisis. Your responsibility. Maybe someone expects you to give them immediate emotional availability. Maybe someone keeps adding demands to your day without considering what you're already committed to. Suddenly they're eating your cake and you're sitting there thinking, wait, I didn't agree to this. I think that distinction matters. It's not necessarily people can't need things from me. It's did I consent to giving them this part of my capacity? You're not even my responsibility. Jeez. When our capacity is respected, we have some control over where our cake goes. We can say this slice of cake for my kids, this one for work, this for my marriage, this is for my friends, and this slice, this one's mine. Sometimes we realize we've allocated too much. Sometimes we realize we gave away the slice we actually needed. Sometimes we realize that if we say yes to one more thing, we're not creating more capacity. We're taking it from somewhere else. that's uncomfortable truth about cake. You can't have your cake and eat it too. Not because you're selfish. Not because you're bad at time management. Because resources are finite. if I give more here, something else gets less. And that brings me to my third metaphor. sometimes it's not about the slice you're willing to give away. sometimes you're already carrying so much that there isn't even room for another slice. Now, the overflowing cauldron. Ha ha ha ha ha. Spooky season. Anyways, I'm calling this metaphor, not establishing a psychological theory. it's a metaphor I find useful. I think it's The idea of everyone has a cup. Imagine your capacity as a cauldron. Everything you experience throughout the day go into it. Work, parenting, conflict, noise, decision, pain, stress, responsibility, sensory input, unprocessed emotion, unexpected changes. Even good things can go into a cauldron. A birthday party can go in, a vacation can go in, a promotion can go in, a new baby can go in, a wedding, A Christmas gathering, an exciting opportunity. Not everything that fills our capacity is bad. Sometimes good things require capacity too. Exciting can be stimulating. Things we desperately wanted can be exhausting. The cauldron has a limit. You can always add another drop until you can't. At some point the cauldron reaches capacity. When something else gets added. It doesn't magically create a bigger cauldron. It overflows. When it overflows, something comes out. Maybe it's your patience, emotional regulation, concentration, sleep, appetite, social tolerance, executive functioning, physical stamina, ability to communicate kindly, ability to make one more decision. What spills out is something you never intended to spill out. You snap, you cry, you shut down, you become irritable. You forgot something important. You cancel plans. You stop answering messages. You need alone time and suddenly I can't do this anymore. Somebody looking from the outside might say, that seems like an overreaction. Maybe. maybe they're just looking at the drop that overflowed the cauldron. They're not experiencing the drop. everything that was already in it. Here's what I want to add to the theory. An overflowing cauldron doesn't always mean a burden comes out. Sometimes you have something good to give, something positive. you might have a cauldron full of love, full of patience, compassion, knowledge, creativity, safety, self-love. Sometimes you have more than you personally need. So you pour, like me. With my rambles. You give someone a bowl of your soup. You don't become empty because you shared it. You had enough. That distinction matters. Giving isn't always depletion. Sometimes giving is overflowing. I think that's beautiful. If I have filled myself with self-love to the point that it's spilling over and I can give some of that away, that's awesome. If I have learned something that helped me. I can share it. if I have more patience today than someone else does, maybe I can lend them some. The difference between I have enough to give and you are taking from me because you expect me to give. One is generosity and the other is depletion. Sometimes the healthiest things you can do is let the cauldron be ours. not everything that overflows has to be given away. Sometimes you can save it for later. now, compacity can be planned, at least to a certain extent. We can look at our calendars, we can make a to-do list, we can decide what we think we have time, energy, ability to accomplish for that day. Sometimes we're right. There is one tiny problem with planning. Life happens. Inconveniences happen, unexpected things happen, and suddenly the capacity we were certain we had isn't there anymore. Sometimes we don't even realize when we make a to-do list that we have to eat sometime. when are we getting a water break? When are we using the restroom? And eventually we do have to go to bed. Apparently, being a human being takes up time too. Sometimes illness happens, traffic happens, a car breaks down, we get fired. Your children get sick, someone you love needs you, you receive painful news, your relationship falls apart, you're dealing with grief, conflict, or something that happened years ago and suddenly feels present again. Other times we simply wake up and our body says, Not today. We don't always get to know what's coming. Life is a little bit like the weather. You can check the forecast. You can make plans. The weather reporter can tell you the sky's gonna be clear, and then there's a drizzle. Maybe it's just a drizzle. And then it turns into a downpour. Maybe it's a flash flood, and apparently the weather did not consult your calendar, neither does life. I don't think that means planning is pointless. I think planning can be incredibly helpful. Planning is not the same thing as guaranteeing. I can plan for the capacity I expect to have. I can't guarantee that I will have the capacity when the day actually arrives. I think that's an important distinction. Sometimes we look back at everything we didn't accomplish and think, what's wrong with me? I think a better question might be, what happened between the plan I had and the capacity I actually had for that day. Maybe my child needed me. Maybe I got sick. Maybe I slept on the wrong side of the bed or I didn't get sleep at all. Maybe something emotionally difficult happened. Maybe I spent three hours dealing with a problem I didn't expect. Maybe I simply forgot that I am in fact a human being who requires food and rest. Our capacity doesn't exist in a vacuum. I think we have to be careful too with other people's capacity. We can learn someone's capacity, we can observe it, we can communicate with them about it, and we can agree around it. Learning someone's capacity does not mean we are entitled to access it. Someone can have the capacity to listen to you and still say no. Someone can have the capacity to help you and still choose not to. Someone can love you deeply and still not have the emotional capacity for a particular conversation today. someone can technically do something and still not have the capacity to do it for you. I think that distinction matters. Capacity belongs to the person experiencing it. It's part of their autonomy. I can see that someone has a little energy left. doesn't mean I get to decide where that energy should go. I don't want this to become an episode about everyone else is respecting our limits. Well, we never examine our own. Sometimes I don't respect my own capacity. Sometimes I overestimate what I can do. Sometimes I push and push and push myself. Sometimes I keep pushing the goalpost on myself because I was just used to that growing up. Sometimes I make a schedule based on a person I wish I was that day instead of the person I am today. Sometimes I say yes because I really do want to help. Sometimes I say yes because I don't want to disappoint someone. Sometimes I'll push through This is fine. Then I find myself yelling at the people I love. I'm overwhelmed. I'm resentful. I'm exhausted. And eventually I have to ask, did someone else exceed my capacity? Or did I exceed it myself? And sometimes the answer is me, and sometimes it's not. I think we can acknowledge that without turning it into shame on ourselves. Recognizing that I overestimated my capacity isn't the same thing as calling myself a failure. It's information and it's learning. I also think comparing capacity can be dangerous. Sometimes we're not even comparing ourselves to another person. Sometimes we're comparing ourselves to ourselves. I used to be able to do this, and that's true. I used to be able to clean my entire house in a day. I can't do that anymore. My body hasn't been the same since my first child. there's another part of that realization that matters to me. Even if I could clean my entire house in a day, I'm not sure I'd want to. I can spend an entire day cleaning and then look back and realize I didn't really spend any of that time with my girls. Not quality time, anyways. I don't want my life to become a never ending to do list. Sounds awful. That maybe one day my girls will be on that to-do list. I've lived that I've been that little girl. Ever patient yet never chosen. And my girls aren't a to-do list for me, at least not most days. Sometimes when I'm sick though, We don't talk about Patricia. Even when I'm struggling, my children are non negotiable. At the same time, it's taken a spoon for the day, maybe most of them. I don't want to spend my entire life accomplishing things simply so I can say they were accomplished. Maybe my capacity changed. Maybe my priorities changed too. I think that's part of growing up, evolving. Sometimes what we call a loss of capacity is just a change in what we value. Maybe I don't want to spend every available spoon maintaining a perfectly clean house. Honestly, that has never been my jam. It's more like a witch in the forest. I know where all the herbs are hanging. That's my goal. it's organized. I'm not a tidy person. I like to be an organized person. maybe I want to spend some of those spoons sitting on the floor with my children. And maybe I wanna read a book. Maybe I wanna make something and maybe I wanna make a podcast and leave my office looking like a tornado went through it. We don't talk about it though. Shh, you didn't see anything. Interestingly, my life has become much lighter in some ways. I've let go of relationships that drained my mental capacity, and suddenly I have more room. Dobby is free, Harry Potter. It's more quiet, more mental energy, more space to think, more time to ramble, more capacity for the people and things I care about. I get to choose where my cake goes. Rarely now do people just take it without asking. I don't want to immediately fill that space with another person who feels entitled to access me. I want space for myself too. I want my cake. I want to share my cake when I genuinely want to share it. I don't want someone else deciding that because I have a slice left that they're entitled to it. having capacity does not automatically create an obligation to give it away. I've also realized that much of my life I was trained to treat other people's urgencies like an automatic emergency. Someone needed something. I needed to respond. someone didn't plan. I need to fix it. Someone was upset. I need to make it better. Someone needed something immediately. Apparently, that meant I needed to drop whatever I was doing. And I'm learning something different. Someone else's urgency does not automatically determine my capacity. I know there are real emergencies. There are absolutely times when we have to respond. There are responsibilities we can't simply opt out of. My daughters are my responsibility. I don't wanna use I don't have capacity as an excuse to become passive when a boundary or responsibility is necessary. And I'm learning that responsibility doesn't mean unlimited availability. One of the things I'm learning with my daughters is rest has to become a non-negotiable in our home. Not only for me, all of us. We all are entitled to quiet time. We all need it. What quiet time looks like doesn't have to be the same for everyone. For me, it means I don't want anything demanded on me for a little while. Or at least a fixed amount of time. For my daughters It might be taking a nap, swinging in their room, playing with blocks, having some independent play. My husband, maybe it's him watching his show, painting his Warhammers. Sometimes it's all of us sitting in the same room, watching television quietly, same house, same time, different needs, and that's okay. Sometimes capacity doesn't mean pushing ourselves harder. Sometimes it means making the days easier. We prepare the drink cup ahead of time. We get the popcorn ready. dinner goes in the crock pot. We make the easier meal. We lower the standards. We simplify things. We say no to something that doesn't need to happen. We create quiet. We prepare what we know is coming, and sometimes those little things give us something we didn't realize we needed. Maybe it feels like adding one more spoon to the drawer. Not because we magically become more productive. Not because we learned how to squeeze more out of ourselves. Because we stopped spending energy where we didn't have to. Sometimes that's a little bit extra capacity. Sometimes that little extra capacity is what gets us through the day. I think this is what I'm learning about capacity. We can plan for it, we can protect it, we can communicate it, we can respect it, and we can sometimes create more of it by reducing unnecessary demands. we cannot completely control what life puts out in front of us. We cannot decide how much capacity another person should have. Sometimes the most responsible thing we can do is recognize I thought I could do this, but I can't today. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do for someone else is believing them when they tell us the same thing. capacity isn't a measure of someone's character. It's not proof how much they love us. It's not proof how hard they're trying. It's certainly Not something we're entitled to simply because we can see that someone has a little left. Sometimes we need to respect the cake, no touchy. And sometimes we need to remember that even the best planned days can still get rained on. the first step is admitting our limits when it comes to our capacity. We all have strengths. We all have weaknesses. And sometimes we meet people whose strengths are our weaknesses. Maybe someone can read incredibly quick while you need time to read something. Maybe three times to read it before it sticks in. Maybe someone can walk into a crowded room and immediately start talking to strangers while you need time to warm up. Maybe someone can make decisions quickly while you need to sit with something, think about it for a while and see every possible angle just to be sure. Maybe someone can remember every appointment, birthday, deadline, or grocery item in their head While you need seventeen reminders and a calendar notification that practically screams at you. We can make the mistakes of assuming that because something feels easy or natural to us, it must be easy or natural for someone else. sometimes it can feel validating when we assume everyone struggles with the same things we do. If I struggle with asking for help, I might assume everyone else does. If I struggle with conversation, I might assume everyone else finds confrontation difficult. If I have a hard time saying no, I might assume everyone else understands why I can't say no either. That is not necessarily true. We aren't all carrying the same things. We aren't all starting with the same resources. We aren't all going to have the same capacity. And admitting that we have shortcomings can be incredibly useful. If I can admit where I'm struggling, I can figure out where to start. I don't have to shame myself for not being good at something. I can simply say, okay, this is the area where I don't have a lot of capacity to do. What do I need? At the same Time recognizing our strengths can be empowering. I think we sometimes forget your strengths do not belong to everyone else. Just because I'm good at something doesn't mean people are entitled to access me because of it. I am not open 24/7. Sometimes I close the doors. Sometimes I don't answer. Sometimes I kick people out and it's 9 p.m. Sometimes people get kicked out because they broke the rules they needed to follow to access me in the first place. You can't break into someone's home and then be shocked when they call the police. I think relationships can work similarly. You cannot openly communicate that you don't respect someone's boundaries, standards, rules. for a deep relationship and then expect the person to continue feeling safe enough to have you in their life. Access is not entitlement. I'm learning that people aren't entitled to my phone number, my email address, my social media presence. They're not entitled to unlimited access to my time, attention, emotional energy, or personal life. That isn't about punishing anyone. sometimes it's about protecting the capacity I have From people who have demonstrated that they don't care what it cost me. They don't even reflect on it. Because if someone keeps stealing pieces of my cake, eventually I have to ask, why do I keep letting them into the kitchen? Every situation's different. It's a start though. Why do I keep letting them in? Why do I keep going to the visits? Why do I keep inviting them over? It's a start. What we do with that, again, it's up to you. I don't think it's morally failing to not have the capacity for something. I don't think everyone should adopt. Full stop. Not everyone is willing to examine the difference between doing something because they want to feel like a hero and doing something because they genuinely have the capacity to help someone who needs it. And maybe they want to. I don't think everyone can or even should take care of an aging parent. Not everyone has the physical, emotional, financial Or mental capacity. not everyone has the mental capacity to care for someone who has dementia. slowly losing their ability to safely care for themselves or becoming a tripping hazard. Not everyone can take care of another person's animal. Not everyone should. Sometimes people take on an animal because they feel guilty or because they want to be helpful. only to discover that the animal has serious needs that they aren't equipped to handle. And you can't simply take a dog who is unsafe, hasn't been properly socialized, or has a history of biting and deciding that love will fix everything and magically make you capable of handling the situation. Sometimes you're not rescuing the situation Sometimes you're taking on someone else's mess without having the capacity to manage it. Eventually we have to be willing to say that isn't something for me to carry. It doesn't matter that we're family, friends, that I'm good with children, that I've done it before. It doesn't mean that responsibility belongs on my plate. Being capable of something does not automatically make it my responsibility. I also don't want this conversation to become never help anyone because that's not what this is about. Sometimes we do have the capacity to I have the capacity to explain something a hundred different ways to someone who genuinely wants to understand a concept but they're just not getting it. I don't mind doing that. I get to keep rambling. I get to keep finding metaphors. I get to keep talking. I don't necessarily have the capacity though to argue with someone or beg them to understand that their actions affect people. I do have the capacity to help figure out what a child is trying to express or what they need. I have the capacity to think deeply about behaviors and ask what's happening underneath this. I am not going to do parenting though for another parent. I have capacity to problem solves. I have the capacity to sit with complicated questions. I have the capacity to think deeply about something before I respond. I do not necessarily have the capacity or the desire to do it on other people's timelines. I'm not reacting. I'm thinking. sometimes thinking takes time. that's literally why I have a podcast called Thinking Out Loud. I'm a thoughtful responder. Or I try to be. I'm not interested in turning every situation into emergency simply because someone else wants immediate answers. This is where I think capacity becomes relational. I don't expect everyone to go above and beyond their capacity for me. If you don't have the capacity to do something, please tell me. I can respect that. I also don't expect people to outsource their capacity to me. Kimberly, can you just do this? Kimberly, you explain it better. Kimberly, you're better with kids. Kimberly, you're good at figuring this stuff out. Kimberly, you always know what to do. Maybe I do, maybe I can, maybe I have. That doesn't mean I'm automatically responsible to do it again. You can ask me. Use your words. I might say yes. I might say no. I might say I can help with this part, but not that part. I might say I can do it tomorrow. I might say I don't have the capacity. I can also say no. And I need it to be respected. Because I don't want to shame you for reaching your limit. I don't want you shaming me for reaching mine. maybe that's ultimately what I'm learning about capacity. It isn't about how much more we can physically, mentally, or emotionally accomplish. It's about also recognizing that our capacity has boundaries. I can be generous without being endlessly available. I can be helpful without becoming responsible for everyone. I can be good at something without becoming the designated person who always does it. I can love someone and also not have capacity to care for them. I can understand someone's struggles without agreeing to carry it. I can have something to give without owing it to anyone. Sometimes the healthiest thing we can do isn't figuring out how to squeeze more into this pot. Sometimes it's looking at the pot and saying this is full, then deciding what belongs there. Your capacity is yours. My capacity is mine. Healthy relationships aren't built pretending we have unlimited amounts either. They're built on asking, communicating, respecting the answer, and understanding that no is sometimes an honest measurement of what someone can carry. Back to the question What does it mean to have capacity? I think it means having the energy, sources, space to carry something Without taking more from ourselves or someone else, then we're able to give. When we don't have the capacity, we don't have to shame ourselves into finding it. We can acknowledge our limits. We can decide what we actually need to carry. We can ask for help. We can say no. We can make things easier. We can protect our cake. We can notice when the cauldron is getting full. Sometimes we need to accept we only have so many spoons. I think that's part of capacity. I'm still learning. My capacity isn't a character's test. Your capacity isn't a character test. Having more capacity doesn't make someone better. Having less capacity doesn't make someone lazy, selfish, difficult, or uncaring. Having capacity doesn't mean someone else is entitled to it. Sometimes we have something to give and sometimes we don't. Sometimes we can give generously because we have enough. sometimes giving one more thing takes something away from ourselves that we needed. Maybe the question isn't how can I do more? Maybe it's about what am I carrying that I don't actually have to carry? And maybe something worth thinking about is where in your life Are you asking yourself to give from a place where you don't have the capacity? And what might change if you gave yourself permission to say, this is enough for today? whether you leave a comment, send a message, or simply sit with this question yourself. I hope this conversation stays with you. Thank you for slowing down and thinking out loud with me. Until next time, take care of yourself. Remember, your capacity is yours. You don't have to give away every piece of yourself simply because you have a piece left. I'll see you in the next episode.