“Today, your dad will make you breakfast,” I tell my son as I struggle to buckle him into his high chair. Each motion feels laborious, and I concentrate on steadying my breath, desperately trying to suppress the urge to be sick. “Are you having a headache today, Mom?” he asks, his small voice filled with concern.
“Yes, sweetie,” I reply.
“No! No, you’re not!” he exclaims, clearly upset. He knows the pattern — this means I will likely be confined to bed for the day. As I kiss him goodbye and pass him into my husband’s care, a searing pain radiates through my head, twisting my thoughts into chaos. Guilt wells up inside, a stark reminder of how I long to spend the day with my little one. I wish my medication had been effective. I wish I didn’t suffer from chronic migraines.
Currently, my life is heavily influenced by my migraine condition, much like my hair color or my struggle with proper punctuation. It’s frustrating. Although I share this experience with 36 million Americans, I often feel isolated and misjudged. I’ve grown weary of explaining my condition, as it typically invites sympathetic looks followed by unsolicited advice like, “Have you tried two Advil?” or, “Have you considered reducing your stress?” It’s akin to suggesting someone with a broken leg simply walk it off. They fail to realize that migraines are a complex neurological disorder, still not fully understood by medical professionals. For those of us who experience them, a migraine is vastly different from just a severe headache.
My personal journey with migraines began a decade ago, starting as infrequent episodes every few months. Over time, their frequency and duration have escalated, and I now experience them nearly every day. Hormonal fluctuations are my primary triggers, which means that the onset of my period or ovulation can lead to weeks of relying on abortive medications. Just when one migraine subsides, another is often waiting in the wings.
I have explored numerous treatments in search of relief. The only time I found any reprieve was during pregnancy, but since I don’t intend to be permanently pregnant — despite my husband’s willingness to assist — I continue my quest for a solution. My attempts have included acupuncture, yoga, dietary changes, hormone therapy, Botox injections, and even intimacy with my husband. Regrettably, none have provided lasting relief. Some days, my abortive medication can curtail a migraine, while on other occasions it feels as effective as Tic-Tacs. Without my husband’s unwavering support and adaptable work schedule, navigating motherhood would be immensely challenging.
Like many mothers, my greatest desire is to be the best parent I can be for my son. We all strive to be present for our children, but when chronic pain interferes, achieving that can be elusive. On days when I can’t perform at my best — when my “best” means retreating to bed away from my family — the guilt is overwhelming. My migraines often reduce me to a mom in title only, sending my guilt levels soaring, and the pain prevents me from even shedding tears about it. My migraines act as thieves, robbing me of precious moments with my loved ones. As I lie in bed, unable to move, I can hear my husband and son laughing, painfully aware of the experiences I am missing.
While my husband strives to be supportive, the strain of my severe migraine episodes can create tension between us. My condition often dictates whether we can enjoy a date night or if he can attend social events he had eagerly anticipated. On days when I am incapacitated, he must juggle both parenting and work, which adds to my guilt.
I am not the migraine-free woman he married, and I feel like a fraud in my roles as a wife and mother. The constant presence of migraine pain — whether I’m anxiously awaiting an attack or attempting to prevent one — distracts me from being fully engaged with my family. I’ve missed celebrations, vacations, holidays, and even anniversaries.
Yet, I cling to hope that I will eventually discover the right medication or treatment. Menopause seems like a welcome prospect at this point. I do have occasional days when I feel completely well, and during those moments, I remember what it feels like to live without pain. Those are the days I aim to let define me, rather than the times I miss out on date nights or playtime with my son. While I continue to seek effective preventive measures, I focus on the small victories. Today, I was able to be present for my son. Today, I laughed with my husband. Today, I wrote this. Today, I was reminded that I am more than just my migraines.