Zoya Makes Me Soooo Happy

There's "Stuff Kimmy Likes," and then there's "Stuff That Makes Kimmy REALLY Happy." This post is about one of the most consistent Happy-Makers in my life: Zoya Nail Polish.

Obviously, I haven't blogged in forever, give or take a couple of lifetimes, thanks to my uncooperative brain (which has Chronic Daily Migraine) and having been going through a very long, drawn-out, nasty divorce, but I just got word last week that I am OFFICIALLY and finally divorced, which I do like, and does make me very happy, thus, the mention here, on a blog where I write about things I like. Hopefully, I will feel like blogging more, now that the stress of that is behind me-- we shall see.

But anyway, Zoya. Pretty much everybody who knows me knows that I love Zoya. I mean, I luuuuurve Zoya, and I recommend it to everybody. And not just because I prefer the formula (super-smooth, with no fumes!), or that each collection is more beautifully dazzling than the one before (um, PIXIE DUST), or that they're always coming up with some new, smart way to engage their customers (hi, color spoons). And not even, well, because of this.

The biggest reason, no joke, is the people behind the brand. The people that have developed a loyal, cult-like Zoya following in some really simple ways. First, they created a superior product, of course. But, more importantly, in my book, is that they ENGAGE THEIR CUSTOMERS better than any company I know. (And I'm kind of a marketing junkie, I admit. I pay close attention to this stuff-- especially when it comes to Marketing to Women. Some would even call it "obsessed," which is fine-- I just really like when Marketing to Women is done right!) Zoya does it really right. On Twitter. On Facebook. Go look-- follow them! They create community around their product. They respond to people, they goof off with them, they share their excitement. THAT is probably the key-- they engage like they are excited to do it. And they're not afraid to show they're having fun-- just check out my favorite of their YouTube videos, if you want to see what I mean. That kind of stuff makes me really happy.

So, yeah, I could show you the cuteness of this right here

and all-caps-holler "RUN RIGHT NOW AND SNAG THESE CUTE LITTLE TINY BOTTLES WHILE YOU CAN," because, my gosh, they are so cute and teeny-tiny! But what I really want you to do is pay attention to how your favorite brands interact with you. Then, compare those things to what Zoya does to keep their products interesting, and the many unique ways in which they genuinely engage and include their customers in what they're doing. I'd be willing to bet that, at the very least, nobody will seem to have more fun doing it.

Thanks, Zoya Fairies, for making me happy, particularly, through some very difficult times. With your polish, with your delight, with your creative innovation, and your genuine interest in interacting with your customers, fans, and followers, y'all rock.

Luuuuurve,
KimmyDarling


** Disclosure ** 
Product samples have been sent to me for consideration by PR.

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Migraine Awareness Month #1: My First for the First

Since June is Migraine Awareness Month, I will be joining my fellow Migraine-Surviving Bloggers in the Migraine Awareness Month Blogging Challenge, and make my best effort to blog about Migraines on each day in June, with the intention of raising awareness. Each day, we (the bloggers) will each write about a given topic. To kick off the first of the month, today's topic is my first migraine.


Since they first started around age 5, I don't have a very clear memory of my first migraine attack. What I can tell you is that I can't remember not having them. I do remember what the pain felt like in my little body. It was crushing, and made my head feel gigantic and brutally heavy. I was a skinny kid, and it felt like my head was about five times too big for my body. I felt like a bobblehead, decades before I ever heard the term. (To this day, when the pain is above, say, a 7, I can't hold my head up.) The pressure inside my seemingly enormous head made my eyes ache from the inside, and my sinuses often hurt like crazy. My grandmother, Kaki, used to put Ben-Gay on my sinuses, in hopes of relieving some of that particular pressure. It usually helped a little, until I'd forget, and accidentally rub it in my eye. Ben-Gay is not for the eye area, in case you haven't heard. ;|


I vividly remember the first time I had to go to the emergency room for a migraine attack, though. I was about nine years old, and my Mom had taken my brother and me to the mountains for the weekend. We'd driven to our family's cabin in Mountain City, Georgia, a small town known more for its square-dancing venue than its exceptional, round-the-clock medical care. It was late on Friday night, and my head had been hurting since that afternoon. I couldn't sleep, in spite of Mom's best efforts to comfort me-- a cool washcloth for my forehead, light backrubs, guided body-scan meditations, using her words to transport me to my favorite tranquil spot (on the cool sand under the umbrella on the beach in Destin, Florida) in her soothing voice-- but not a thing could get me to rest enough to sleep. The anxiety from the pain was too much for me to handle, and, as the pain escalated, I eventually became hysterical. As I type this, I can remember exactly what it felt like to lie there in that hard, lumpy bed, sweating to death one minute, but shivering cold the next, trying as hard as I could not to come right out of my skin, screaming bloody murder. I simply could not take it.

Mom got us to the hospital (in our pajamas, as I recall), and I don't remember anything about being there except bright lights and a long needle going into my fanny. I don't know what they gave me, but I remember that it loosened up the migraine's grip. Unfortunately, though, it made me very nauseous. (Looking back, I suspect it was DHE45, which is what I give myself now, via a PICC line in my left arm.) I made it back to the house without getting sick in the car, but I vomited many times in the hours that followed. I can still feel the grit on my knees from the cool, grey-painted hardwood floor of the upstairs bathroom. I napped on that floor in-between bouts of throwing up, and remember the view of the claw-footed bathtub from that vantage point. 

One funny thing always sticks out about that night. At some point, while vomiting, I was shocked by what I was seeing come out. I started hollering, "MOMMMMM!!!! IT'S GREEN!!! I DIDN'T EAT ANYTHING GREEN, BUT IT'S GREEN AND LOOKS JUST LIKE PERT PLUS!!! Y'ALL COME LOOK!" And they did. So, after I was finished with this particular wave of nausea, before flushing the toilet, Mom and my brother and I stood and looked down into that old bowl, perplexed. Mom said, "well, maybe it's bile. But it sure looks like Pert Plus to me. Are you sure you didn't drink some? Where's the shampoo bottle?" Although really gross, the silliness was much-needed.

Since that day, I've never seen the Pert Plus Puke again, after having hundreds of possible opportunities to do so. But I will never forget it, or that night, or that little girl, feeling inexplicably, relentlessly tortured by her own body. It's been over 30 years, and it's still happening. I still don't understand it.

My brother & me. Kaki's house, ~1979.

Pain level right now: 5

-Kimmy

National Migraine Awareness Month is initiated by the National Headache Foundation. The Blogger's Challenge is initiated by www.FightingHeadacheDisorders.com.

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Ten Years On.

I'll not forget, and couldn't, even if I wanted to.

On September 11th, 2001, my eventual husband, Brian, and I lived in Alexandria, Virginia. Brian was in our bedroom, getting ready for work. I was up and on the computer in our guest room, drinking coffee and reading the Sweet Potato Queen's Messageboard of Love, as I did many mornings. At what must've been about ten till nine, a new thread popped up on the site that said a plane had hit the World Trade Center (written by a queen named Scarlette, if I'm not mistaken). "TURN ON THE TV," it said. "NOW." I hurried into our room and turned on CNN. There was Aaron Brown, delivering the news of this baffling accident, with the Twin Towers in the background, smoke billowing out of the North Tower. Like so many, I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. What kind of idiot pilot couldn't avoid hitting the WORLD TRADE CENTER? Had an amateur pilot lost control of his aircraft, after having had a heart attack or something? It was as perplexing a live image as I've ever seen, before or since.

I was glued to the TV, looking to Aaron for updates and explanations as to what was going on. We watched it all unfold in confusion as Brian continued getting ready to go to work at his office in downtown DC. But just after 9am, confusion turned to fear, as we watched with the world as the second plane flung itself, with all its might, straight into the higher middle floors of the South Tower. I've still never seen anything so shocking. It was simply unfathomable. But what became absolutely clear as the second plane hit was that this was no accident at all. Planes were deliberately flying into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, and people were surely dead or dying. Someone was using actual jet airplanes in suicide attack missions. Against us. On our soil. In New York City, home of the heartbeat of this country.

At 9:37, as we watched the news, the strangest thing happened. Our three-story townhouse shook abruptly for about a second or so, as if a large truck had run into it, head-on, at full speed. I screamed, and Brian and I instinctively ran to the windows to see what had hit us. I will never forget the image of what I saw from my vantage point-- absolute, utter stillness and quiet, under one of the most beautiful, blue, early fall skies I had ever seen. Brian saw nothing from where he looked, either. In that moment, I instantly felt insane. Terrified with confusion, I said, "but you felt it, right? You DID JUST FEEL THAT, RIGHT?!!" He had felt it, so if I had lost my mind, either he had lost his, too, or my mind was telling me that he had. I wouldn't know for ten more minutes.

Shaken, and even more baffled, I turned my attention back to the TV. Aaron was talking with someone who had called in from Florida, I think, to report on President Bush's whereabouts and next steps in responding to the tragedy. After a couple of minutes, the footer on the screen said something about reports of a fire at the Pentagon, but Aaron wasn't saying anything about it. It seemed like forever before it was addressed, though I'm sure it must have only been a couple of minutes, at the most. Someone called in from the Pentagon, and reported that there was, indeed, a fire there. The reporter, who had just driven into the parking lot, hadn't heard anything, and could not determine what had caused the fire. Aaron next said there were reports of a fire on the National Mall, and the footer on the screen matched this news. There were reports that the Capitol and White House had been evacuated. Every minute, it seemed as if there was a new piece added to what was becoming the DC part of the puzzle, each one increasingly frightening.

Finally, around 9:47 or so, Aaron took a call from Greta Van Susteren, who was at Reagan National Airport, four miles away from our house. She said she had come in from New York and was in the parking lot leaving the airport when she heard a large explosion. She could see smoke coming from the sky in the area of the Pentagon. I looked at Brian and said, "that's what it was, Brian. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what we just felt." Sure enough, when the specific timeline came out, it was confirmed. Somehow, from seven miles due south, we had felt the impact of the explosion caused by American Airlines flight 77's crash into the Pentagon. That moment of realization shifted everything about my perspective. The horror of images I'd seen in that last hour immediately became more real. My fear for our personal safety became rational; we lived in a city under attack, in a home not far from the first target.

I told Brian there was no way he was going downtown, and I didn't care what anyone said about it-- it just was not happening. His office was in the same building as the Passport Office. There was no way to know what the terrorists planned to do next-- could they do something to the Passport Office, in order to prohibit US Citizens from leaving the country? My imagination had clearly been outmatched by these lunatics-- they had thought to use airplanes as missiles, after all-- so it was easy to get carried away, thinking "outside the box," as the terrorists had, about the possibilities of what could come next. Thankfully, he stayed home, and, as we all know now, the Passport Office was not attacked.

As I live this day, ten years past the one that shook the United States to its very core, I am revisited by the grief that came with this tragedy. The anger brought about by such unrelenting violence toward the country I love. I see those familiar, terrifying images, and the barrage of emotions I felt as I watched them happening comes flooding back. My brain hasn't forgotten what I saw, and my heart clearly hasn't forgotten what it felt.

But what my heart also remembers is that this incomprehensible act of terrorism against us was the catalyst for the most profound unity I've ever felt in this country. It was palpable in the DC area, and I felt it in the community in subtle ways. Whether at the grocery store or in our neighborhoods, among strangers or those close to us, with the like-minded or those having the most opposing views, there was a change in tone. A difference in the energy within and surrounding us. I could feel a relaxing of the grip with which many of us, collectively and individually, had held onto unimportant things. We now shared an unspoken bond-- a knowing familiarity, somehow. An understanding of one another-- I didn't watch it with you, but I am here with you now, and, like you, I am changed. This bond stemmed from the love we have for America, and the pride we shared in being US citizens. There was also a profound affection that grew for the City of New York, and the grace, bravery, and dignity with which their community handled the horror of that day and all that came with it. Brian and I had been given "I [heart] NY" t-shirts as gifts the previous year, and I pulled mine out and purposefully, proudly wore it almost every day. For me, September 11th, 2001 was the day the United States became Our United States. United, indeed, by tragedy, but more profoundly by love, perseverance, and the grace of a future that we all, as survivors of those who had perished, had been given. This unity is what my heart most clings to about that day.

Countless things have changed for us all since then, individually and globally. In the US, many things are often regarded with a label of either "pre-9/11" or "post-9/11." Unfortunately, most of the unity I felt in the time that followed 9/11 has gradually disintegrated into what I perceive as more of an uncomfortable, defensive "Us and Them" atmosphere. I don't know if, as a country, we'll ever get past it and back to a similar sense of community and shared purpose we had ten years ago. I hope we do. I believe it's not something for me to worry about, but to consider and be mindful of as I make choices in my life. As I want unity, I shall approach the world with an attitude of unity. There can be an Us without a Them, and I believe that's just what we are. All the world, Us.

Today, I honor those of Us who were lost on September 11th, and I cherish the Us they left behind.

In gratitude,

Kimmy

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TODAY ONLY! Great Deal On One Of My LOVES!

Check out this time-sensitive offer on one of my faves.

I have shared my love for Zoya Nail Polish before, and, if you follow me on Twitter, you probably know I tweet about them a lot. Well, The Fabulosity That Is Zoya is celebrating International Women's Day (which is today-- Happy International Women's Day to you all!) by offering their STUNNINGLY BEAUTIFUL Intimate Collection for $25 + free shipping. I was lucky enough to have been sent this collection by The Polish Fairies, and I literally gasped when I opened the box-- it's that special. So this is a terrific opportunity to snag it at such a discount, given that it's regularly $48 + shipping. Go get you one!

And now, a note about the blog...

I know it's been a while, and my posts are way too few and far between. (Blame or thank Twitter for that-- it's my go-to outlet.) But here's what I'm thinking.

I like tons of stuff, and tend to "save them up," with the intention of blogging about them all, but then I (obviously) don't. So, going forward, I'm going to try to be better about posting what I'm liking WHEN I discover I like them, even if it means shorter posts and one-offs. Lemme know what you think of that plan in the comments.

But first, GO GET YOU SOME ZOYA! At the very least, follow them on Twitter, and "like" them on Facebook, because they are always cooking up new promos and deals for their followers and fans. Tell 'em I sent ya, even!

Then, after you're all Zoya'd-up, go have a fantastic afternoon.

Love,

Kimmy

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Guys-- Whatever You Do, Get THIS Part Of Her Gift Right

OK, so it's time again for me to reiterate the importance of Stocking Stuffers in making her feel special at Christmastime. So CLICK HERE to read what I said two years ago-- to this day, it's one of my most visited pages on my blog, because the tips there are timeless, and I'm betting you'll learn something.

Then, after having read that, you still need more gift guidance, feel free to visit Stuff Kimmy Likes: The Store for my favorite gift picks for this year. I've even gathered a bunch of unique Stocking Stuffer ideas that you may not have considered-- many still available to be shipped in time for Christmas.

Best of luck, gentlemen. YOU CAN DO THIS!

-Kimmy

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Because it is Invisible Illness Week, 30 Things About My Invisible Illness You May Not Know

This is one of those questionnaire things that some of my friends participating in Invisible Illness Week are answering and passing along. In solidarity with those who suffer an Invisible Illness, and in hopes of raising awareness, I've decided to share my answers, too. This is not a "fun" post, but one in which I am brutally honest about my experiences and feelings surrounding being chronically ill. Even if you know me very well, I doubt you know much of this stuff, because I don't normally share on this level. But today I am, so here goes. You've been warned... ; )

30 THINGS ABOUT MY INVISIBLE ILLNESS YOU MAY NOT KNOW

1. The illness I live with is: Chronic (Daily) Migraine

2. I was diagnosed with it in the year: 1975, when I was five, with Migraines. Confirmed in 1980 and specified as Classic Migraine without Aura. Diagnosed with Chronic (Daily) Migraine in 2004.

3. But I had symptoms since: 1975

4. The biggest adjustment I’ve had to make is: not having been able to work for the past few years.

5. Most people assume: that, because I maintain a positive attitude, I am far more "OK" than I really am. 

6. The hardest part about mornings is: those on which I wake in agonizing pain. (The migraines often start while I am asleep.)

7. My favorite medical TV show is: not on the air, apparently, because I do not have a favorite medical TV show. Wait, is Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew considered a "medical show?"

8. A gadget I couldn’t live without is: my iPhone. When I'm most home-bound, the internet is my lifeline to the outside world. The iPhone allows me to reach out, but I don't have to sit up to do it. The iPhone also makes it easier for me to track my illness/treatment, using various apps.

9. The hardest part about nights are: not being able to get comfortable enough to rest/sleep during an attack.

10. Each day I take __ pills & vitamins. (No comments, please.) Approximately 4-8 pills. Up to 3 injections.

11. Regarding alternative treatments I: am open to anything that makes sense, given my symptoms/patterns/triggers/etc., and have explored and/or tried almost every reasonable treatment option that's been suggested to me.

12. If I had to choose between an invisible illness or visible I would choose: a visible illness, in a heartbeat. I've found that most people who have never experienced a severe migraine have no idea what it is like. Because the extent of the pain I experience is not accurately depicted on the outside, it can be very isolating to endure it alone, on the inside.

13. Regarding working and career: I miss working/being a productive member of society/a full partner in my marriage far more than I could articulate here. No words.

14. People would be surprised to know: the degree to which my illness has devastated me, as well as the variety of ways it has done so. Sometimes I feel like Humpty Dumpty, looking for pieces of my old self anywhere I can think to look.

15. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality has been: my profound limitations, and the fact that I cannot expect/depend on my body to comply with my wishes, plans, or goals. And that sometimes we just flat-out don't get what we want. Period.

16. Something I never thought I could do with my illness that I did was: taking the initiative to start something that I thought was much too big for me to handle, yet too important to not try. I tried, and succeeded, and it's truly ended up being one of my proudest accomplishments. (But it's private, so no questions, please.)

17. The commercials about my illness: make me think violent thoughts about the advertising/marketing professionals responsible for putting them on the air. Particularly, whoever came up with the idea of putting Excedrin, Advil, or anything else into a different box with the word "migraine" on it. Hi, I can read. And it says here that it's the same medicine as the one without "migraine" in the name. So thanks so much. For the new box. That contains the old medicine. That didn't work under that name, either. [SMACK!]

18. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed is: Working. Thriving. Making money. Surpassing expectations. Being "the best" at something. My swagger. (But it IS coming back, bit by bit.)

19. It was really hard to have to give up: work, my income, feeling capable/talented, a sense of achievement, and eating lots of fresh bread. =)

20. A new hobby I have taken up since my diagnosis is: crocheting. I taught myself while in the hospital a couple of years ago, and I enjoy it.

21. If I could have one day of feeling normal again I would: accomplish something-- anything-- that I could be deeply proud of, no matter how big or small the task. I wish I could go back and work a day in my old Origins store with everybody who was there at that time (during the holidays, even), because I was good at it, and had such fun doing it. It may have been an hourly job with retail hours, and considered "a waste of my potential" by some, but the *feeling* I got doing that job well was invaluable, and I'd give anything to have that back. (Not the store-- the FEELING.) Helping people feel better about how they looked truly enriched my life.

22. My illness has taught me: that thinking I would be able to "push through" my migraines for my entire life was an unreasonable expectation. I was lucky to have been able to do it for 31 years before my body finally caved. I admit that I sometimes hate myself for not appreciating my own strength in having been able to "function" for that long, but choosing, instead, to be angry with/disappointed in my body for its having failed me, and, thus, dismissing all the victories that came before. I've learned that I should be kinder to myself, and it's often very difficult, as I am my own worst critic. When conscious of it, I make the choice to love and be grateful for my body, rather than undermining its efforts with negativity and resentments.

23. Want to know a secret? One thing people say that gets under my skin is: anything that feels like pity to me. Compassion is a wonderful thing, and I cherish it, but if I hear how "sorry" someone is for me more than, say, twice in one conversation, I start to have violent thoughts about whomever is saying it to me. And they get more violent with every instance it is said. Seriously. If you do feel sorry for me, I would just rather not know.

24. BUT I love it when people: follow my lead when I try to change the subject from my illness in conversations. I appreciate people caring and wanting to stay updated on my progress, but it really is one of my least favorite things to talk about in the whole wide world, so if I do try to change the subject, I'd love it if you'd let me. [You can bring it up! Just follow my lead, and move on when I do, k? K.]

25. My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is: "this is only right now." and "I've survived worse pain than this. I can do it again." And a photo I have of a precious child, my youngest BFF, whose look says to me, "You can do it, Aunt Kimmy!" And she's right. I can, and I do. So far, every time.

26. When someone is diagnosed I’d like to tell them: that, if pursuing an answer from traditional medicine, it is imperative that you be evaluated/diagnosed/treated by a Neurologist who specializes in Migraine, because there is still much too little known about the disease yet. Anything short of a migraine specialist is a waste of time, and a disservice to you. Think about it-- it's a BRAIN DISEASE, so you want to make sure you're being treated by someone with a full grasp of what your treatment actually DOES to your brain. 'Cause it's pretty important not to mess it up. I feel compelled to also say here that if your child starts to experience frequent headaches, the same rule applies-- take them to a Pediatric Neurologist who specializes in migraine. I implore you to never stop looking for answers until your child has relief of some kind. "He/she'll outgrow them" is not an answer. Keep looking. Read everything you can. Be your child's advocate. Do not stop.

27. Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is: the depth of the trauma of failed treatments. I realize now that hope is sometimes the most frightening thing in my world, because the disappointments over the countless things I've tried that didn't work have been so incredibly painful. I can hardly give it much thought without some part of me wishing I could just immediately cease to exist. Poof! Over. [Whew. Yuck. Next question.]

28. The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn’t feeling well was: When I was little, my mom was great at "talking me down outta the tree" when I'd become hysterical from the pain. I still try to hear her soothing words when I have trouble settling down from the anxiety that excruciating pain can cause. She'd rub my back and  say stuff like "It's OK… deep breaths… be still, now… I'm right here… Let's think of the beach… You're lying on the picnic blanket under the umbrella… You can hear the waves, and feel the breeze… You can do this… You can do this… " She was also really good at guiding me through a body scan meditation, which was/still is especially good when I felt the most uncomfortable in my skin. Sometimes, I have to be coaxed into relaxing, and she was so kind to always make such an effort to soothe me, when there was really almost nothing that anyone could do to make me feel better. She found what she *could* do for me, and did it without hesitation. My dad did, too. He has always rubbed my neck when my head hurts, and it really helps. His anti-headache neck rubs are The Ones By Which All Others Are Judged.

29. I’m involved with Invisible Illness Week because: my Invisible Illness has impacted my life in countless ways, but I tend to keep pretty quiet about it, because it's depressing! But if my experiences help anyone else out there who suffers, I'm happy to share it. I went decades without knowing others who had poor health, and I realize now how lonely that felt.

30. The fact that you read this list makes me feel: like somebody out there wants to understand me/my experience a little bit better. I am grateful if any words on this page get read by anybody but me, so if you can see this, thanks, whoever you are. =)

Love,

Kimmy

Click http://invisibleillnessweek.com to learn about Invisible Illness Week, and consider participating in "the note" project!

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I Like National Headache Awareness Week.

You may know that I've endured chronic migraines since I was five. Up until I was 34, I had an average of 3-5 migraines/week, which then turned daily. Since then (and I am now 40), it's been a challenge I never expected to be so difficult-- I eventually became unable to work, haven't been healthy enough to start a family, and am coming out of a couple of years of being virtually homebound. To say it's impacted every aspect of my life would be an understatement-- it's taken a toll on my mental wellness, my marriage, my self-worth, my confidence in my (seemingly long-gone) professional abilities, and my friendships. It's been the biggest challenge I've ever faced.

The good news is that I have made huge progress in the past year, thanks to finally having found a Neurologist who was willing to team up with me to find what might work FOR ME. He asks (lots of) the right questions, gives great consideration my answers and my past history, and is willing to "think outside the box" to develop a plan for effective treatment. For me, that plan included 5 1/2 month with a PICC line in my arm, giving myself IV meds every eight hours. Since the removal of the PICC line in December, I've self-administered the meds via syringe, as needed. It hasn't been perfect, especially considering my aversion to needles, but it's been progress that I have desperately needed. While I still experience debilitating attacks a couple of times a week, as well as "manageable" mid-level pain on other days, I am also enjoying pain-free time, which is something I hadn't had for many years.

I know that I am not the "typical" migraine sufferer, but I write this to share with you the seriousness that can come with this complex biological disease that is often dismissed as commonplace and insignificant. "Devastation" is probably a better word, actually. My extreme case doesn't affect my empathy for anyone else in the world who suffers from headaches of any kind, any severity, at any frequency. IT IS A PROBLEM, and it is my hope that awareness can help solve it.

So here is a link to information about National Headache Awareness Week. I hope you will check it out. Let others you know who suffer from headaches know that the cause is important to you however you see fit. And if you endure headaches on a regular basis, GET HELP. There are simple solutions out there for many, so, as a personal favor to me, don't suffer if you don't have to.

To that end, here are three books that I've found to be among the most informative and helpful. If your head ever hurts without relief, read them. More importantly, if someone close to you suffers from headaches, one of the greatest gifts you can give them is your understanding. It's common to feel helpless when someone around you is in pain you can't fix. Believe me when I tell you that YOU being informed profoundly helps the one who suffers.



Heal Your Headache: The 1-2-3 Program for Taking Charge of Your Pain

The Migraine Brain: Your Breakthrough Guide to Fewer Headaches, Better Health




Migraine-Free Cooking!


Thank you for your time and consideration. 

Celebrating being pain-free as I end this note (YAY!),
Kimmy
=)

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