“Today, your father is going to make you breakfast,” I tell my son, my voice strained as I struggle to strap him into his high chair. Each movement feels like a monumental task, and I focus on breathing deeply to avoid the nausea threatening to overwhelm me.
“Mom, do you have a headache today?” he asks innocently.
“Yes,” I reply, knowing full well what that means.
“No! No, you don’t!” he exclaims, disappointment etched across his face. He understands the routine all too well: I’ll be confined to bed for the foreseeable future. As I kiss him goodbye and hand him off to my husband, I feel as if a fiery curling iron is twisting my brain, and an overwhelming wave of guilt washes over me. I long for a day spent with my little one, wishing my medication had worked, wishing I didn’t suffer from chronic migraines.
These relentless migraines have become as defining as my hair color and my questionable use of commas. Despite being one of the 36 million Americans grappling with this condition, I often feel isolated and misunderstood. I’ve stopped mentioning my chronic migraines to others, as it usually invites well-meaning but misguided advice. I get responses like, “Have you considered taking two Advil?” or the classic, “Have you tried reducing your stress?” It’s akin to telling someone with a broken leg to simply “walk it off.” They don’t realize that a migraine is a complex neurological disorder that even medical professionals struggle to fully understand. For those of us who endure them, a migraine is far more than just a severe headache.
Interestingly, my migraines didn’t start until a decade ago. Initially, I would experience one every few months, but their frequency and duration have escalated to almost daily occurrences. My main trigger is hormonal changes, with my menstrual cycle and ovulation leading to weeks of abortive medication use. As soon as one cycle ends, the hormonal shifts signal the next migraine phase.
I have explored countless treatments in search of relief. Pregnancy provided some respite, but I don’t plan to stay perpetually pregnant (though my husband is ready to assist!). My attempts at finding a solution have included everything from acupuncture and yoga to hypnotherapy, diet modifications, natural hormone therapy, and Botox injections. I even tried intimacy with my spouse, but none of it has provided lasting relief. Some days my abortive medication can halt a migraine in its tracks, while other times it feels ineffective, like chewing on Tic-Tacs. Without my husband’s unwavering support and adaptable work schedule, I can’t imagine how I would manage motherhood.
Like most mothers, my desire is to be the best parent I can be. However, living with a chronic disorder often makes that impossible. On days when my best isn’t enough—when it means retreating to bed away from my family—my mom guilt becomes a burden of its own. The condition reduces me to a mother in name only, sending my guilt levels soaring, and the pain in my head is too intense for me to even cry about it. Migraines rob me of precious moments with my family. While I lie in bed, incapacitated, I can hear my husband and son laughing, fully aware that I am missing irreplaceable moments.
My husband does his utmost to support me, yet the impact of my severe migraines can create tension in our relationship. My condition dictates whether we can enjoy a date night or if he can attend social gatherings he’s been looking forward to. On days when I’m bedridden, my husband must juggle his responsibilities as a parent and professional, leaving me grappling with immense guilt.
I’m not the migraine-free woman he married, and I often feel like an imposter as a wife and mother. The pain of migraines is a constant presence—whether I’m anticipating one or attempting to prevent an attack—preventing me from being fully engaged in my family life. I’ve missed out on birthday celebrations, vacations, Christmas moments, and even our wedding anniversary.
Despite these challenges, I remain hopeful that I will eventually find the right treatment or procedure; menopause is starting to look appealing. I treasure the few days I feel normal, those fleeting moments that remind me of life without pain. On those days, I strive to let my experiences of joy and connection define me—not the days spent sidelined from family life. While I continue to seek effective preventative measures, I focus on the small victories. Today, I managed to connect with my son. Today, I shared laughter with my husband. Today, I wrote this. Today reminded me that I am so much more than my migraines.
Exploring Home Insemination Options
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Summary
Chronic migraines can significantly impact daily life, especially for mothers balancing parenting and health challenges. The emotional toll of guilt and isolation can be overwhelming, but finding moments of joy and connection remains essential. There’s hope for better treatment options, and support from loved ones is invaluable.