The months of May and June have been difficult ones for me, to say the least. The migraines that I’ve suffered from my whole life have attacked me with a vengeance. I’m working on the Philippians challenge, planning new writing projects, and looking forward to summer activities. And yet, I’ve had a migraine nearly every day since the beginning of May.
I know that there are many conditions much, much worse than migraines. So please understand: I don’t write this for sympathy. I don’t pity myself, so I don’t expect pity from anyone else. I write this for my sister, who suffers day after day from the same pain I have. I write it for others who have migraines and chronic pain, who desperately want their loved ones to understand the battle they fight nearly every second of every day. I write it for those of you who struggle with mental and emotional pain, which in many ways wounds a heart more than physical pain. And I write it for myself, as a reminder that most of the life-changing lessons I’ve learned have been because of pain.
If you’ve never had a migraine, let me describe it for you. It’s not a run-of-the-mill headache that eventually melts away with time. No, a migraine is the ambushing sniper of the headache world. It lies in wait until you finally feel strong enough to begin making plans—and then it attacks you, gleefully throwing a metaphorical ice pick, hatchet, or machete through your eye and into your temple. Within minutes, the pain is almost unbearable. My hair hurts. My eyelashes hurt. I can’t read or watch TV because the words, noise, and flashing lights worsen the pain.
And then there are the illnesses that accompany migraines: the waves of dizziness that bring on nausea that tears your insides apart; the constant alternating between freezing and overheating; the inability to get comfortable; intolerance for smells, lights, and sounds; and, along with that intolerance, a very low threshold of patience for people. If someone asks me what my pain is on the pain scale, I often feel a sudden urge to throw something very heavy at their head, then ask them what their pain registers on the pain scale. Instead, I mummify my head in ice, close my eyes, and lay in the dark, praying that God will take the pain away.
Sometimes He does, but more often, He doesn’t. I’ve had migraines that have lasted for weeks, and no matter how I’ve begged God for relief, He allows the pain to continue. I know that nothing God does is random, so when I’m lying in bed with pain beating a merciless drum in my head, I pray. I ask God what lesson He wants me to learn. And He reminds me:
I’ve learned that I can handle pain without needing painkillers. My first migraine after I finally got clean of painkillers came as a complete shock. I was positive that if I was obedient to God and stopped using, He would take the migraines away. Instead, they got worse. Again and again, I cried out to Him, asking Him why. And again and again, I heard Him answer: “’My grace is always more than enough for you, and my power finds its full expression through your weakness.’ So I will celebrate my weaknesses, for when I’m weak I sense more deeply the mighty power of Christ living in me.” (2 Cor. 12:9, TPT) This answer has never made the pain go away. But it soothes the storm in my soul and reminds me that there is a purpose for my suffering. If my weakness could ever be the showcase for God’s “mighty power,” then I welcome the pain.
I’ve learned yet again that Monty is God’s personal, hand-picked gift to me. Monty likes to solve problems; he calls it trouble-shooting. I sometimes think that God must have smiled when He brought Monty and me together, saying to Monty, “Trouble shooter, meet trouble maker.” Over the years, Monty has spent countless hours on Google, trying to find an answer for my pain. He also can take one look at me and know that a migraine has waylaid me, and he springs into action. Before I know it, I’m in bed, covered in ice, with the lights off. And Monty is next to me, holding my hand, reminding me that miracles can happen.
I’ve learned that I have to make peace with living “a maybe life.” I make plans like everybody else and fully expect that I’ll get to participate in those plans. Sometimes I do; other times, I spend the day in bed while life goes on without me. One of the most difficult parts of having migraines is disappointing people. It’s so hard to make that phone call where I have to say, “I’m so sorry. I just can’t do what we planned.” So many times, I hang up the phone, knowing I’ve let people down and ruined plans, and I want so badly to cry—but crying makes the pain worse. Still, every fiber of my being cries out, “I made those plans fully believing I’d get to be a part of them. It hurts me, too. I’m disappointed, too.”
I’ve learned to be sensitive to people in pain. I’ve learned about other chronic conditions that cause daily pain much worse than mine. And people with conditions like these are often told the same things I am: “You were fine a minute ago.” “But you look good.” Or (my personal favorite) “Have you tried Excedrin?” I’d like to offer a tip here to the well-meaning people who make these comments—looking good and feeling good are two entirely different states of being, and yes, we’ve all tried Excedrin. Like twenty years ago.
I’ve learned that seasons of intense pain often lead to personal breakthroughs. My creativity blooms after a season of pain. Gratitude floods me after these times of pain. And weeks of pain always, always bring me closer to Jesus.
I’ve learned that pain is temporary. Just when I think I cannot possibly tolerate one more minute of agony, the pain begins to fade.
I’ve learned to be grateful for the pain-free moments. These are the moments that I live for—I fill them up with every activity that brings me joy. When I’m back in bed with a migraine, I take these moments out of my mental safe deposit box and relive them, again and again.
I’ve learned that even in the midst of pain, I can keep living. I’ve developed a rich life of the mind because I’ve had to. When I’m bedridden with pain, I can close my eyes and access that life. I remind myself of verses I’ve memorized that make me stronger. I quote poetry (in my head). I remember happy times. And when I just can’t think anymore, I curl up with Seamus and feel his comforting presence next to me—my sweet boy knows when I’m in pain.
I don’t know if my migraines will ever lessen or go away. I wish I knew; I’m not very good at leaving the future in God’s hands. But through recovery, I’ve learned that I can handle nearly anything if I face it one day at a time. So just for today, I will fight through the pain and be grateful for the moments of beauty that come even in the midst of it. I’ll remind myself that migraines are a part of my life; they are not the sum total of it. To quote a favorite song of mine by Bon Jovi, “I just want to live while I’m alive.” If I wait to live until the pain is gone, I’m not going to be doing much living. I will miss so much—and the pain will win. I will not let that happen. I’ve lost too much time already, to addiction. So one day at a time, pain or no pain, I choose to live.
“I have faith that God often uses our deepest pain as the launching pad of our greatest calling.”Anon.
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All my love to you and Lisa . ❤️
Thank you, my Frister. We both know you pray for us continually. Love you so much.
Dear sister,
Thank you for writing all of this. Even in this post, there are so many, many things I could try that I don’t; I just seem to say…”Here it comes again…and I do start to feel sorry for myself; I have an extremely hard time handling guilt, especially with the migraines. I know I don’t try enough stuff, I give up and then go to the clinic which mostly never helps me; my negative thinking, my thoughts that go straight to awfulness never think these things that you wrote. Thank you so much for writing this. I’m printing it and going to keep it on my nightstand to read it or have someone read it to me to remember that there is so much to try, so much hope before I just give up and throw myself a huge pity party or go to the hospital. I also think that every headache clinic/pain clinic needs a copy of this to read in the waiting room! Maybe at my next migraine appointment in July, I will forget to pick it up and leave it on the table. And oh how much the person who is desperate with the pain will be blessed and helped….honestly, I feel, more than any doctor or counselor could! I love you and I am so incredibly thankful that if I have to suffer from this kind of pain that I have a dear, dear sister that understands, shares it with me and helps me so much. And yes, I have tried Exedrin as well! I remember Heather telling me once that the person on the commercial sure made it sound like it would help…I had to remind her that they are paid actors who probably haven’t ever even had a headache!!! Thank you, once more, for blessing my soul and providing me with resources, positivity and hope!!!
Love you so much!!!!!
Oh, Lisa–I think all of us feel sorry for ourselves sometimes when the pain gets bad. And you said it yourself–the hospital/clinic never helps. Ever. And it never will. The few times that it does work, the pain comes back so much worse. Every time you soldier through a migraine without going elsewhere for help, you build confidence in your ability to fight pain. And eventually, it no longer becomes an immediate response to wonder where you can go for pain relief. Having your thoughts go straight to “awfulness” as you put it, is another knee jerk response that we all have when pain comes. But you can train yourself to counter those thoughts with the truth. I can’t tell you how much you’ve blessed me with your words and your support. I thank God so often that, as you said, if I had to have this, at least my fellow soldier is YOU. I love you so very much and am so grateful you’re my sister and friend.
Thank you so much for this post Renee. Although I have not experienced these types of migraines , I know extreme pain to be real and terrifying in whichever form it attacks, physically, emotionally or psychologically. It is real and for many it is unbearable. It continues to traumatise our being and we often need out of body experiences from above to accept it and cope with it, to rest in it and to survive it. On our own it would drive us mad. We also need people such as your Monty to stand by our side, to understand, accept and to be of help when those times come. We need family and friends to accept the reality of who we are in such times and to lovingly step alongside us and not try and fix us when we can’t be fixed at that moment. We need no criticism but empathy, compassion and understanding. It is way too easy for others to tell us to try this that or the other. I think that it would be better to pray for that person in the name of Jehovah Rapha–the God of healing, along with actual deeds for that person if that is possible.
I remember my own story and how others not only prayed but delivered home cooked meals, especially for my family when I could not use my muscles, stand or do anything. I remember my family coming from overseas , one sister teaching me about medications I needed but was afraid off and helping me take them, another sister organizing a home maker so my wee home would at least be clean and I remember with love my special angel ( a Stephen ministry worker) stepping alongside me for three years. Faith in action in so many ways.
We are all like fragile eggs with many cracks, yet God will come on the scene in His timing, place His hands of healing over us and make us whole and new again. We will not know when or how but trust He will do so as He has promised he will.
I think this is a powerful story for all that suffer and one for us in lending a helping hand, so thank you for reminding us,
Klara–two things you said about pain that stood out to me: it is real, and it is traumatizing. Having people question your pain adds more trauma, and the initial trauma then becomes more painful. Pain is much easier to cope with when you have people praying and, as you said, putting faith into action. Thank you for the analogy of the cracked eggs–I will never forget that story. I love thinking about God gently taking that cracked egg and making it whole again. Thank you for sharing that story with me. Love to you.
Renee, Three Words. Depth, powerful, Beauty. As I read, and Inakways re-read your Blogs,, scratching the crevices of my brain. Really absorbed. You, Sparrow, I feel are the “poster child”, of Grit, determenation,Determined to remain drug, painkiller free, and you “fight on”. I always jot Dian notes as I read your Blogs. But, sitting here in my solitude of my kitchen, listening to the washer and dryer, yes it’s Friday, laundry and groceries. Sitting I am overwhelmed with today’s Blog, Along with all the others. I have yet to be disappointed in reading them.Not to sound selfish. I know you are not writing them only for me. Your+”troubleshooter”, Monty. What a Blessing he has been in your life. Just as Debbie has been in my life. Praise God, for both of them. When you do “boil it down”, it is God’s Plan, God”s test. Renee, you are getting “straight A’s. Your sensitivity to other’s pain. Looking good, feeling good, no, God has a higher/better plan for. As you not only inspire me, you inspire all who are Blessed with reading your Blogs. You are The Warrior Sparrow. I have learned, recently, the secret of being content, in any and every situation. Not to focus on my problems, but to see and others in pain or stress. Again, in knowing you, reading your Blogs, you have given me, Laser Vision, to Help others. Pray with others. An old Hymn,”One Day At A Time”, and a quote from my Mom, “Anything is possible through Jesus.Renee, great song, and I Am A Believer. Sparrow, from the bottom of my Heart thank you again for a wonderful, insightful Blog. Peace, Health, Love.
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Harold–your comments mean the world to me. I have never, ever thought of myself as a person with grit–I see myself as a fragile soul who is figuring out how to hang onto Jesus with tenacity and determination, day by day. So your comment about grit is so special to me. I’m so grateful that my blogs touch your heart. Thank you for the quote from your mom and for your never ending support and encouragement. This “warrior sparrow” is so blessed to call you friend.