Ellen ES Ceely

Migraine has played a part in most of my adult life. The first time I remember getting a migraine was when I was 17. I’d spent the day in the heat and I was dehydrated. By the time I got home I had to lie in the dark with a frozen washcloth over my eyes.

In my early 20’s it became a regular occurrence, usually lasting for days on end. By age 25 it was a weekly event with more minor headaches happening every day.

By the time I went to an acupuncturist as a last-ditch effort to treat my pain, I had about one day a week where I wasn’t in pain. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I told him. He looked like he wanted to cry. His name was Bob, and I’ll never forget how kind and compassionate he was, or how much acupuncture helped me.

The next big thing that helped me was therapy. For two years I saw a therapist and was treated, specifically, with the therapy technique known as EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). Within the first couple of months of starting, I started to have fewer attacks. At one point I went 11 weeks without any major issues. I’ve never reached that length of time again, but my attacks have remained lower in quantity and intensity even since quitting therapy over a year ago.

What does any of this have to do with writing? The one constant that kept me from giving up was writing.

Between migraine and nightmares, my mental health was at an all-time low in my late twenties. There’s a level of despair attached to being stuck in bed unable to think straight, drive, or even stand up that I’ve always found difficult to describe. There’s a different type of despair attached to dreaming every night about horrible things that make your adrenaline rush – things too horrible to put into words.

Writing brought my mind peace. Stories saved my sanity and made me feel like I was contributing something to the world rather than burdening those around me. Imaginary characters gave me the courage I needed when all I wanted to do was cry. They put into words what I was feeling, even though their situations looked vastly different from mine.

In my first book, Child of Shadows, the entire plot centers around defeating a book that controls nightmares. I couldn’t control my own nightmares, but watching my characters defeat theirs gave me hope.

In the third book in my series (which is still a work in progress), I have a character who struggles with migraine as a result of things she’s been through. I’ve been working on this story for at least 18 months, and it’s proven to be the most difficult book I’ve written. Which is why it’s not finished, but another book I dreamed up last fall is about to be published.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop believing or preaching how important creativity and art are when it comes to mental health and chronic illness. Society seems to frequently forget how valuable creativity is to the world. Creativity helps us express emotion, nurture empathy, and retain our humanity.

Writing has eased my pain (both physical and mental), nurtured my self-worth, and given me courage. The stories I write remind me of my values, the things I hold dear, and the things that truly matter.

So as I sit here a little foggy-brained because the heat is triggering my head, I guess I’ll end with this: I hope you do one thing today – and every day – that makes you feel alive, known, and loved. I hope you spend time making art in whatever form you most enjoy. I hope that your art brings you peace, joy, courage, and purpose. Even if you don’t share it with anyone else.

Writing has saved my mental health in more ways than one. I hope your art helps you just as much.