When a Parent Has Migraine
Migraine is a family disease. It affects relationships with spouses or partners, but especially with children who cannot understand this invisible illness.
When we decided that migraine wasn’t going to stop us from having children, my husband and I knew there would be hard days. The only way through would be to work as a team.
There are moments my children will remember forever. Special birthdays, vacations, getting a kitten. Talking us into pet birds. There are also the moments when, after the bus stop, I would settle the girls with snacks and their homework and retreat to my darkened bedroom. They would check on me. Offer warm washcloths. Whisper comforting words. Wait until Dad came home to make dinner.
When a parent lives with migraine, children notice more than we realize. They notice canceled plans. I still recall their disappointed faces when they were looking forward to an activity when they left for school and by the time they came home, I was too ill to follow through. I remember the guilt and sadness I felt. They noticed the days I dragged. The days I awoke with migraine, taking whatever medications I was prescribed at the time, with a healthy dose of caffeine, hoping I caught the beast in time. The days I winced when the light hurt or when they were too loud in their play. Even though I labored to hide this from them. And when I said, “I just need to lie down for a little while,” I noticed their exchanged looks. A mix of sadness, resignation, and maybe a tinge of resentment.
When kids don’t understand something, they make up stories to fill in the blanks.
When kids don’t understand something, they make up stories to fill in the blanks. Did I do something wrong? Is Mom mad at me? Why doesn’t (my friend’s mom) do this? Nobody talks about how migraine affects the entire family system. Gentle, age-appropriate honesty can change everything.
Instead of silently retreating to the darkened bedroom, parents can use language like:
"My brain is having a migraine attack today.”
“You didn’t cause this.”
“Even though I need quiet right now, I still love you.”
“This will pass.”
Migraine is extra confusing because it is invisible.
Migraine is extra confusing because it is invisible. I could look “fine” one hour, then become incapacitated with a shift in the weather. Kids are concrete thinkers. If they cannot see the illness, they may struggle to understand its seriousness. They can become fearful, frustrated, resentful, anxious, hypervigilant. Children cope better with difficult truths than with uncertainty.
Families affected by migraine develop quiet survival systems. Some are healthy. Predictable routines, backup caregiving plans, open communication, connection rituals. One of my favorite connection rituals was planning family vacations in our hot tub. Everyone was relaxed and ideas flowed freely.
Other survival systems arise out of fear. Tiptoeing around, holding back emotions, guilt, and secrecy. Tiptoeing is never necessary. Encouraging children to express emotions prevents them from backing up into storms that are overwhelming. Guilt is a wasted emotion. Once it alerts you and prompts an apology or behavioral change, lingering in it becomes destructive. Secrecy creates monsters in a child’s mind. Children should never feel responsible for managing a parent’s pain.
I experienced a great deal of grief parenting with chronic migraine, but our daughters were also exposed at an early age to empathy, adaptability, and understanding invisible illness. They saw that strength is not absence of pain. Sometimes strength looks like asking for help, resting, or starting over the next day.
Children do not only remember the pain. They remember the snuggling in that darkened bedroom. The whispered I love yous. Movie nights in dark rooms. The honesty shared about living with chronic pain. And the example we set as we courageously bear it.