Migraines are invisible.

Which means no-one can see just how much devastation they cause.

On the inside, it’s like a big-budget disaster movie. Tornados wreak havoc, tsunamis broil out of control, volcanos erupt sky-high. Everywhere you look the landscape has been ravaged beyond recognition and there’s desolation as far as the eye can see.

But on the outside it’s more like desert island discs; all is calm and barely a ripple breaks the surface.

This leaves me with a dilemma.

Option A

Mope around and complain all the time

Pros: people know more about what it’s like and what I’m going through

Cons: it makes me feel worse and I’m not very good company

Option B

Smile, keep calm and carry on

Pros: it distracts me from the pain and it keeps me focused on the positives

Cons: people don’t realise how bad it is, or think I must be faking it altogether, or I get comments like “you’re looking bright and well, you must be doing so much better” when actually I feel like I’ve just been hit by a ton of bricks.

My default position tends to be Option B. When I’m with people I much prefer to laugh and joke and chat and maintain as much sense of normality as I can.

Occasionally, I find myself making forays into Option B. After all, it can be lonely feeling that nobody knows or understands what’s really going on inside.

But it doesn’t happen often. Because most of the time I think I’m in denial, even to myself.

I’ve become quite the expert at disconnecting from the pain and discomfort over the years. It’s a coping mechanism that’s served me fairly well, on the whole.

But recently I’ve had a bit more time to think and reflect. I’ve discovered a fresh perspective, and one that’s not all that pleasant to realise – when I disconnect from myself, from all the torment inside, I also disconnect from the people around me.

But I find it so hard to be honest about how I’m feeling, about how my whole body actually feels like a rag doll caught up in a permanent hurricane. I don’t admit it to other people; I rarely even admit it to myself.

I don’t know why.

When people ask ‘How are you?’ I find myself saying ‘Oh, I’m ok’.

A few of my nearest and dearest might be privileged to a ‘Not very good’ or ‘A bit rough’ on a really bad day.

And I expect them to be telepathic, to know everything from the look on my face or the tone of my voice. But my face and my voice have had years of practice at pretending things are ok, so they don’t actually give much away. I’m not a good actor (ask anyone who’s ever played poker with me), I’m just so used to shutting off and ignoring it all.

I’m not being deliberately awkward.

I’m not trying to hide anything on purpose.

So why?

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s because the migraines are constant. And that has seriously warped my perception of ‘normal’.

When I used to have episodic, one-off, start-stop migraines, it was quite obvious to myself and everyone around that SOMETHING TERRIBLE IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW. I’d go from feeling well to feeling the worst I’d ever felt (sadly not an exaggeration) to feeling well again in a couple of days. The storm was fierce, but it would pass. It’s like when we get freak weather – it’s all anyone talks about.

But in this current round I’ve now had 9 months of continuous migraines. 9 months. That’s 270 days, or 6,480 hours, of which 68 hours have been migraine-free (I record these as part of my attempt at a solution focused approach).

That means only 0.01% of the last 9 months have been migraine-free. The most recent migraine-free hours were in November – that’s two whole months away. Right now, I actually cannot remember what it feels like to not have a migraine.

When a bad storm comes, we can hole up inside and stay warm and dry, waiting for it to pass. But when it lasts for days, we slowly adapt. There comes a point when we can’t stay home any longer, something forces us out. Maybe we need a pint of milk, or we need to check on a friend. So we put on every waterproof we’ve got and out we go – head down, hood up – into the storm.

The weather hasn’t changed, but our attitude and our perspective and our response has changed. And we get used to it. Yes, we prefer beach barbecues in the sun, but this is what we’ve got right now, so this is what we deal with.

It becomes our normal.

So when I say “I’m ok” I mean “chronic migraine ok”, which isn’t really ok at all, but by comparison to what it could be I’m having an ok day.

When I say “not very good”, I mean “chronic migraine not very good”, which let’s face it isn’t very good at all.

But this is what I’m realising – if migraines are invisible, then I’m the only person who knows what I’m going through. So if I don’t tell anyone, then nobody knows. And there’s no point getting frustrated that nobody knows what I’m going through if I don’t tell them!

But how do I do that without becoming a boring, moping, complaining ‘sicky’ person all the time??

The “I’m ok” response has become deeply ingrained over the last few years. It’s what I had to do to get by. But I’m done with just getting by.

And I’m beginning to wonder whether there might be a mystery Option C…

So I’m wondering:

How can I become more connected with what’s going on inside without it completely destroying me?

How can I learn to live in a more open and connected way with the people around me while I’m also living with chronic migraine?

Writing this blog has helped me to start being honest with myself and to share what I’m finding out with those around me, but I’ve still got a long way to go.

Over to you…

Do you have an invisible condition that wreaks havoc on the inside but shows nothing on the outside?

How do you communicate this to friends and family?