Migraining...
Proceed with Caution.
There’s a look I make when I’m migraining (yep, it’s a word I made up).
Not just a “headache.” Not “oof, I need a nap.”
I’m talking full-body shutdown with a soundtrack of fluorescent rage and background voices that sound like cannons.
And it always comes with that face—half-lidded glare, the weight of too many tasks pressing against my skull, and just enough restraint not to launch a stapler across the room.
I wasn’t trying to be clever. I wasn’t chasing a product idea. I was trying not to cry into my keyboard.
I created an AI image of a woman, glasses perched in her hair, face slack with pain, one eye squinting like she’s holding back a swear word, light piercing her skull like a laser, or a scream (probably all of the above).
She doesn’t physically look like me. Not really.
But the look on her face? That’s mine.
Every time the world demands a smile when all I’ve got is static and survival.
So I made a mug.
Not because I needed merch, but because I wanted this mug for myself.
Because I needed something to hold in my hand that matched the look on my face.
Something that said what I didn’t have the energy to explain:
Quiet the lights.
Mute the people.
And underneath that, in smaller print—just in case someone missed the memo:
Migraining… Proceed with caution.
I didn’t spiral. I didn’t overthink it. I didn’t talk myself out of it.
That alone felt like a miracle. Because usually, I second-guess everything I create. But not this.
There was something about it that just felt done. Like my nervous system recognized its own reflection and said, “Yes. That.”
I’m not even a coffee drinker, by the way.
This mug is for Whisper Water. Or Pepsi. Or whatever I’m surviving on that day.
It’s not about the drink. It’s about the truth it holds.
So here it is. A mug. A mood. A message. A moment I trusted myself.
If you want one too—for the sass, for the silence, for the survival—you’ll find it here:
Migraining… Proceed with Caution Mug
Whether you buy it or just breathe with it, thank you for reading this part of my story.
But for the record, if I’m holding this mug, it’s not a great day to ask me anything.