“Today, your dad will be making breakfast,” I inform my son as I struggle to strap him into his high chair, every movement feeling like an uphill battle. “Mommy has a headache today,” I reply to his innocent inquiry.
“Yes! No! You don’t!” he protests, disappointment clear in his voice. He knows the routine; I’ll be confined to bed for the rest of the day. As I kiss him goodbye and hand him over to my husband’s care, I feel the familiar, relentless pain surging in my head, twisting my thoughts and emotions. Despite my physical state, guilt wells up inside me. I long to spend the day with my son. I wish the medication would be effective. I wish I could be free from chronic migraines.
These days, my migraines define my existence just as much as my hair color or my penchant for misplaced commas. I detest it. Though I’m one of the 36 million Americans grappling with this condition, I often feel isolated and misunderstood. I’ve stopped sharing my struggles with others because of the judgment that follows. Typically, I’m met with sympathetic glances and suggestions like, “Have you tried taking two Advil?” or my personal favorite, “Try to be less stressed.” It’s akin to telling someone with a broken leg to simply walk it off. People fail to recognize that migraines are a complex neurological disorder that medical professionals don’t completely understand. They mistakenly view a migraine as just a severe headache. Anyone who experiences migraines knows that they are not something that can be easily endured.
Unlike many chronic sufferers, my migraines began a decade ago. Initially sporadic, they have escalated in frequency and intensity, now occurring nearly every day. My primary triggers are hormonal fluctuations, with the onset of my period and ovulation sparking episodes that require days of abortive treatment. As soon as one bout dissipates, the hormonal shift reignites the cycle.
I’ve explored numerous treatment options. The only relief I’ve discovered thus far was during pregnancy, but I don’t intend to remain perpetually pregnant—though my husband jokingly offers his assistance. The list of treatments I’ve attempted is extensive, including acupuncture, yoga, hypnotherapy, dietary changes, hormone replacement therapy, Botox injections, and yes, even intimacy with my husband. Unfortunately, nothing has proven effective. While some days my abortive medication can halt an attack, other times, it feels as if I’m merely taking Tic-Tacs. My medications are inconsistent. Without my husband’s unwavering support and adaptable work schedule, navigating motherhood would be nearly impossible.
Like most mothers, my greatest desire is to be the best parent I can for my son. As moms, we strive to be present for our children, but when faced with a chronic and painful condition, our best efforts can sometimes fall short. On days when I cannot rise from bed, guilt weighs heavily on me. Chronic migraines often reduce me to a mom in name only, sending my feelings of guilt into overdrive, all while my head aches too much to even shed tears. These migraine attacks rob me of precious moments with my family. While I lie in bed, unable to move, I can hear my son and husband enjoying life together, and I know I’m missing irreplaceable experiences.
My husband does his utmost to support me, but the severity of my migraines often creates tension in our relationship. My ability to partake in date nights or social events hinges on my health. On days when I am incapacitated by a migraine, he must juggle both his responsibilities and mine—leaving me to grapple with overwhelming guilt.
I am not the same migraine-free woman he married, and I feel deceptive as a wife and mother. The constant presence of pain—whether through anticipating an attack or managing one—prevents me from being fully engaged as a partner and parent. I’ve missed birthday celebrations, family vacations, holidays, and anniversaries.
Yet, I remain hopeful that one day I will find the right treatment or procedure. Menopause is starting to look appealing. I cherish the rare days when I feel completely well; they remind me of what life can be without pain, and I strive to allow those moments to define me, not the days lost to migraines. While I continue to explore new preventive methods, perhaps even eagerly anticipating menopause, I focus on the small victories. Today, I was able to be present for my son. Today, I shared laughter with my husband. Today, I wrote this. Today was a day that reminded me: I am so much more than my migraines.
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Summary
Living with chronic migraines can greatly impact one’s ability to engage in daily life, particularly when it comes to parenting. The emotional toll is significant, often manifesting as guilt and feelings of inadequacy. Despite the challenges, maintaining hope for effective treatments and cherishing the pain-free moments can provide solace and define one’s identity beyond the condition.
Keyphrase: living with chronic migraines
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