My Migraine Identity
A mild February day in 1964 marked the beginning of me. The pink and white beads encircling my tiny wrist identified me as SCOTT, a clear and matter-of-fact statement of who I was, with no indication of where I would go from there. Since that day over 50 years ago, I’ve worn many hats and migraine has lived under every one of them.
Like it or not, my illness has been part of the definition of me from child to young adult to mid-life crisis. I’ve been a Daddy’s girl, Mom’s kitchen helper, Don’s little sister, Brad’s wife, and Trish’s friend. I’ve been a teacher’s pet, a classmate, a sorority girl, an employee, a neighbor, and a stranger you pass on the street.
Each version of me was visible on the outside, while my illness sat silently waiting to strike. Migraine is like that. It will not be denied its time in the spotlight no matter how much I wish it wasn’t part of me.
The term migraine wasn’t penned on one of my labels until some time in my 20s. Before my diagnosis, I accepted my fate as a nameless weakness I couldn’t improve. The diagnosis turned the key from despair to hope, but it didn’t eliminate the effect of the illness on my state of mind.
I don’t care how the saying goes, I think words really can hurt me as much as sticks and stones, especially when those words draw a picture of a person I don’t ever want to be -- too weak to handle the pain of a headache, a liar calling in sick to get out of work, or a bad person putting my own selfish needs ahead of others.
For many years I’ve been plagued by the opinions of those around me. It’s taken a lot of time and education to convince myself of the courage it takes to function through the pain. These days, I wear the identity of migraine warrior with my head held high, no longer giving credence to the shame others try to impose upon me because of an illness they can’t see.
Migraine is defined as a physical illness, but it can also take a toll on mental health. Even the toughest of us can grow weary from the disappointment of putting life on a shelf while migraine takes the stage. In times of self-doubt and hopelessness, I remind myself migraine is not all that I am.
When I grabbed that blank label and wrote MIGRAINE in big bold letters, I turned the page from mental anguish to the healing strength of coming to terms with who I am. Armed with knowledge about triggers, symptoms, treatments, and prevention, I accept migraine from my point of view.
I know the truth about me. I know the demons that I slay. I know migraine can hover behind me, casting a shadow over my life, or I can claim it as mine and do battle with it face to face. Some would say not to let migraine define me, but I say such words set me up for failure. I can’t run from who I am. Whether written by the hands of perspective or genetics, choice or fate, my labels are mine to own.
To all my fellow migraine warriors out there struggling with the physical and psychological pain of our illness, I see your courage and I understand who you are. With respect, I tip my hat to you, no matter which hat I’m wearing.
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Originally published at WebMD.com on 4-18-22.
