The first time I got a migraine, I thought it was just a bad headache and a worse day. It was 2020, I was 19, midway through my undergrad and mid-lockdown. Everyone had something they were dealing with then, so I didn’t want to make a fuss. I took paracetamol, drank some water, and shut the blinds. But it came back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.
At first, I kept thinking, maybe it’s stress. Maybe I’m dehydrated. Maybe I’m just tired. It turns out it was none of those things and all of them at once. What started as a once-in-a-while inconvenience turned into five to seven days a week of searing pain behind my right eye, nausea that made food feel like a dare, and a sensitivity to light and noise that made opening my laptop feel like walking into the sun.
I started using the phrase “Migraine Town” as a jokey way to explain what I was going through. It felt easier to say, “I’m in Migraine Town today,” than to constantly explain the searing pain, the nausea, the sensitivity to light and noise, or to repeat “I have a migraine” every time someone asked why I wasn’t feeling myself. It became my shorthand. A small, slightly humorous shield against the invisible and exhausting reality of chronic migraines.
I tried everything. I did a full elimination diet. No dairy, no gluten, no citrus, no chocolate, no caffeine. I slowly reintroduced food groups like I was rewiring myself from scratch, terrified one bite would bring the pain crashing back. Even now, there are foods I avoid, not because I don’t love them, but because they might love me a little too much in the wrong way.
Even when you start learning your triggers, migraines don’t follow the rules. It’s not just one thing. Sometimes it’s too much caffeine. Sometimes it’s not enough. It can be stress, or excitement, or the air pressure, or the lights, or no reason at all. Living with migraines means trying to walk a perfect tightrope every single day. Too much or too little of anything can tip the balance, and you don’t know you’ve slipped until you’re already falling.
And then there are the migraine hangovers. Those days when the headache is gone but the exhaustion, brain fog, and dizziness linger, making even the simplest tasks feel monumental. The pain might have lifted, but my body is still recovering, and sometimes it feels like my mind is running on empty.
When I finally asked for help, I got put on medication that flattened me. Not the pain, just… me. I didn’t feel like I was hurting, but I didn’t feel much of anything else either. Not sad, not excited, not present. My thoughts felt like they were walking through thick snow, slow and heavy and always a few steps behind where I wanted to be.
We tried different meds. One gave me vertigo so bad I couldn’t walk straight. One made my skin itch like it was shrinking. Another one made my weight climb in ways that people felt weirdly entitled to comment on. I went back and forth between doctors, filled in headache diaries, and tried to get used to the word “chronic.”
For a while, I thought I’d cracked it. After graduating, the migraines slowed down. I was working from home, living quietly, and convinced maybe (just maybe) I’d grown out of them. But apparently, I’d just grown away from my triggers. No commuting, no fluorescent lights, no stress of shift patterns or noisy seminar rooms. The moment I stepped into my postgrad life, with its shared desks, inconsistent shifts and deadlines stacked like dominoes, it all came flooding back.
I’ve lost count of the classes I’ve missed. The events I’ve had to cancel. The social invites I’ve politely declined with a “maybe next time” and a soft lie about being tired when really, I’m in the dark, counting down the hours until the pain fades enough to open my eyes.
It’s hard not to feel like I’m falling behind. Like I’m stuck while everyone else moves forward without me. And it’s even harder trying to explain that no, it’s not just a headache. No, a coffee won’t fix it. No, I can’t “push through”. I’ve tried. I’ve sat in tutorials with tears behind my eyes and a smile that cracked at the edges because I didn’t want to seem dramatic.
Migraines don’t just hurt. They disrupt my entire routine, especially when it comes to studying. I can’t just pull an all-nighter before an assignment without risking a week of relentless pain afterwards. When multiple deadlines pile up, it becomes a nightmare trying to manage everything without triggering another episode.
I’m still figuring it out. The right meds, the right balance, the right way to live around something that doesn’t want to be ignored. But I’ve learned that rest isn’t a reward. That asking for help is necessary. That it’s okay to say, ‘this is hard’ because it is. And even on the days I find myself back in Migraine Town, I know now: I’m not alone there.
Migraines are the third most common disease in the world, affecting over one billion people, and yet they’re still widely misunderstood, dismissed, and underfunded. For many of us, it’s not a one-off pain, but a lifelong negotiation with our own bodies.
Featured Image Credit: Bethany Spain
