Our Chronic Pain Story: Finding a Way Forward Through My Daughter's Daily Migraines ❤️

My daughter started to get the occasional headache in her early teens, usually while playing volleyball. Nothing a tylenol wouldn't fix. Then she began having migraines here and there. We weren’t surprised—migraines run in our family, and I get them several times a week myself. I just hoped she wouldn’t start getting them as frequently as I did.

Over the next few months, the headaches became more frequent and lasted longer and the migraines more intense. By age fifteen, she had what seemed like a migraine that never stopped! The pain was 24/7. From the moment she woke up until the moment she fell asleep, she was in unbearable pain. She even had pain in her dreams, so she never truly got relief.

By Grade 12, she was only able to take one class per semester—and even then, she attended only about 30% of the time. She had once been a straight-A student, but now she couldn’t even make it through a single class. Most days she was in bed from morning to night, getting up only to use the bathroom.

Her world had become so small. No outings, no friends, no family dinners or vacations. We tried to keep the house quiet so that noise wouldn’t worsen her migraines, and she stayed in a dark bedroom with ice packs, just trying to make it through each day.

We tried everything—medications, treatments, elimination diets, and supplements—but nothing seemed to ease her pain. Neurologists, physiotherapy, massage, osteopathy, craniosacral therapy, acupuncture, chiropractic adjustments, counselling, anti-inflammatory diets, migraine diets, countless medications and supplements.... Occasionally, something would reduce her pain slightly for a few days, but the relief never lasted.

After several years of things getting progressively worse, I finally pleaded with an ER doctor to refer her to the British Columbia Complex Pain Clinic. Three months later, we got an appointment. The pain specialist we met with listened carefully to our story. He told us we’d done an excellent job trying medications, treatments, diets, and lifestyle changes—but since none of those were making a difference, it was time to start looking at her pain differently.

He said it made sense that she would have migraines here and there, since they run in the family. But this underlying, 24/7 head pain had developed into a pain syndrome.

He explained it like this (I won’t use quotes because I can’t remember his exact words):

Her nervous system was like an overly sensitive car alarm. Car alarms are supposed to go off when someone tries to break in, but some are so sensitive, they go off when someone brushes past the car, when a cat hops on the hood, or even when a leaf rolls down the windshield.

Similarly, her brain had become hypersensitive to the smallest shifts or changes—loud noises, bright lights, weather changes, hormones, stress, homework deadlines, annoying little brothers, or even being asked to unload the dishwasher.

He said we might never know what started it— often it starts with stress, illness, injury, concussion, or some combination of these—but what mattered now was that her pain system had been “switched on,” and our job was to coach her brain to turn it off.

The goal, he explained, was to slowly increase her function, gradually exposing her to triggers so that her brain would relearn that they were safe and didn’t require pain as protection. Later, I learned this is called Slow Graded Exposure Therapy.

He told us to start with small weekly goals—manageable enough that she could succeed every day, regardless of pain levels. Each goal should be something she could do 90% of the time, and 10% of the time it might feel difficult. That small push is where the growth happens, he said. And since it would take real effort, he even suggested rewarding her—maybe $1 a day for meeting her goal.

I remember leaving that appointment empty-handed but somehow hopeful. There was no prescription, no referral—nothing tangible to hold onto except for this new explanation for her pain. But it made sense in a way nothing else had.

I thought, “365 days in the year… $365 in rewards. That’s nothing compared to what we’ve already spent.” We grabbed a coffee and began the five-hour drive home, feeling the first glimpse of hope we’d had in years.

Suddenly, her pain began to make more sense. It wasn’t just “a migraine that never stopped.” Her brain had become hypersensitive and was amplifying pain.

Some people feel amplified pain in their stomach, back, hip, or leg—she felt it in her head. We had been focused on fixing her neck, muscles, or nerves, but while that’s where the pain was felt, it wasn’t where it originated. The source was a pain system with the volume turned up far too high.

Her brain kept sending pain messages even when there was no ongoing tissue damage. Each new trigger—hormone changes, stress, bright lights—kept strengthening that pain pathway. The pain was absolutely real, and it was severe, but there was a way to shift it. Understanding that changed everything.

Once we got home, the real work began. As a counsellor and former teacher, I had a few tools for making charts and systems. My daughter and I brainstormed all the things she wanted to be able to do and broke them down into smaller goals—and then even smaller microgoals that felt achievable, even on her worst pain days.

We built a reward system that motivated her and set her up for success. The first week, she completed her first daily goal (even though she sometimes cried doing it). The second week, we added another. The third week, another. Some weeks we added two; other weeks, we stayed with the previous one.

The first few weeks were the hardest. Doing more when your pain is already high isn’t easy. But she had sat in that appointment with us, and the doctor’s explanation made sense to her too, so she was willing to push on.

Each weekly goal was hardest at the beginning of the week and easier by the end. Her brain was getting used to each new challenge. Within a couple of months, she was able to go on an hour-long outing each day. By five months, she could plan coffee dates with friends and know she’d be able to go.

Eventually, she didn’t need the daily rewards anymore—the real reward was getting her life back.

Her long-term goals included getting her driver’s license and attending university in the fall. But going out for one hour a day was still a long way from full-time university.

Because this approach was working, we decided she should attend one of the Pediatric Pain Rehabilitation Programs I’d learned about in my research. At first, I dismissed these programs—they were expensive, and they seemed to teach kids how to “live with their pain.” I didn’t want that. I wanted to fix it.

But over time, we realized that increasing function and learning to manage pain flares was the way forward. Continuing to chase the root cause might never get us anywhere. Besides, it kind of made sense that the root cause might be her pain messaging system. So we got in touch with the Cleveland Clinic Pediatric Pain Rehabilitation Program and arranged for a three-week inpatient stay.

Our daughter was nervous. So was I. We live in BC, Canada and Cleveland was far away. Somehow, she’d have to manage a 12-hour travel day when she could barely be out of bed for two hours at a time. We knew the trip would likely spike her pain, but we went anyway—because we were heading toward hope.

On the first day of the program, she had to be out of bed from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. She didn’t know how she would manage it—and neither did I—but somehow, she did. So did the other kids in the program.

They spent their days in pool therapy, physical therapy, psychology groups, and school support. In the evenings, they did crafts and visited together. It helped to not do it alone.

By the end of the program, she was out of bed all day, every day. She had new strategies for managing pain, a routine of stretching and calming her nervous system, and a group of lifelong friends who truly understood her.

Her pain was still intense, but she had learned how to function through it—with the hope that, over time, her nervous system would continue to calm and the “volume” on her pain would turn down. And that’s exactly what happened.

Now, five years later, she’s finishing her last two university classes. She lives independently, works part-time, and deals with the regular ups and downs of young adult life—roommates, professors, deadlines, dating, and all.

Of course, our story wasn’t as smooth as it sounds here. There were plenty of obstacles, bumps, and setbacks. But we became experts at falling off the wagon and climbing back on.

Today, my counselling practice focuses on supporting clients who are struggling with chronic pain—because I get it. I know how lonely and hopeless it can feel when no one seems to have answers, and nothing seems to help. I have also learned a lot, tried a lot, and found some very effective strategies for living well with pain so that the brain can start to turn the volume down on those pain signals.

My goal is to take everything we’ve learned and offer it to others, so they don’t have to spend years wondering what’s wrong or how to start healing.

Pain may be complex, but it’s not hopeless. Healing begins when we start to understand that pain isn’t always a sign of damage—it’s often a sign of protection. With time, gentle consistency, and support, the brain can relearn safety.

And if it can happen for my daughter, it can happen for you too. If you can relate to our story and are looking for someone to walk alongside you in this journey, feel free to reach out to inquire about working together. You can also ask your doctor for a referral to a pain specialist or look into pain rehabilitation programs in your area.

I wish you hope in a future with decreased pain and increased life.

~ Carla

Registered Clinical Counsellor (RCC)

Chronic Pain Coach

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