The Reality of Parenting with Chronic Migraine

I was lucky enough to get a break from migraines during my first pregnancy, in between kids, and most of the way through my second pregnancy. Then the migraines came back. Hormones are likely to blame and probably also the stress of having two kids two years apart, both of whom are, to put it lightly, really intense humans, contributed.

Don’t come for me. I love my kids. They’re hilarious and full of personality and hugs. However, living with them is not without stress. All kids are a lot. Mine are a lot of a lot.

How does parenting with migraine limit me?

So parenting with a migraine is awful, as I’m sure many people know. On top of the tax on yourself, there’s the mom guilt of not being able to do everything with your kids that you might want to. Everything has a price when you have a chronic illness. Taking the kids to an arcade means I need to lie down the rest of the day with my headache hat on. If they don’t tap out, I might have us leave a loud school event early. Kids fighting and trying to kill each other causes me distress and might result in me putting myself to bed the second the oldest kid is in theirs, which means the dishes don’t get done and the laundry doesn’t get put away.

How do I manage when I can't avoid attacks?

Minimizing stress is the key to avoiding migraines, but I simply can’t do it. Life is stressful. I can breathe through it and try not to get stressed out, but overwhelming situations arise. This last winter I was in a bad cycle of chronic migraine and my kids were having a particularly hard time getting along. I ended up sitting them down at the kitchen table and pulling out the four medications I was currently taking for migraines.

What did I tell my kids about migraine?

I said, “I don’t want you to worry about me, because I’m going to be okay, but these are the medications I’m taking in order to be upright and with you right now. I keep getting headaches and it’s not your fault, but I would love it if you could take extra care of each other and me right now. When you guys fight, it doesn’t help my headache. I want to be able to do everything with you that you want. I can’t do that right now.”

How did my honesty make me feel?

The kids gave me big hugs, and I felt terrible. What kind of childhood was this? They couldn’t take care of me and it wasn’t fair to ask them to. They deserved a parent who could soldier on no matter what, a parent like I had. In my memory, my mother never took a sick day off from parenting. She never moaned on the couch while we ran circles around her. Maybe she did and I’ve forgotten. But the image I have of her is someone who always had every crisis in hand.

On the other hand, I firmly believe kids should treat their parents like human beings, not perfect automatons who bend to their every whim, always keeping calm, even when they’re being injured. My being honest with my kids about what was going on with me was a good chance for them to practice having empathy for someone, and shows them that there are consequences for treating people poorly. If they scream in my face, I might get a headache, as well as hurt feelings. They’re not tiny babies anymore. They have to navigate social and emotional situations all the time without me. Practicing being kind and gentle on me can be a teachable moment.

Were they empathetic to my attacks?

We took to the couch, snuggled up together, and turned on a familiar movie. My son wandered off and did his own thing, but my older kid and the dog curled up around me, enveloping me in comfort and love. The peace didn’t last forever, but for a couple hours, we all took care of each other.