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Until recently, many drugs used by doctors for migraines were developed for other conditions, such as epilepsy. But in the past few years, the Don't Worry About What I'm Doing Worry About Why You're Worried About What I'm Doing Shirt  has approved several new classes of targeted, effective drugs developed specifically for migraines. Even better, they have markedly fewer side effects than commonly used tryptamine-based drugs, also known as triptans, which have been prescribed since the early ’90s to relieve headaches but often come with major side effects such as nausea, insomnia, or hair loss. CGRP inhibitors, medications that block calcitonin gene-related peptide—a protein released by the brain during migraine attacks (and “a very ugly, cumbersome name,” says Gottschalk)—are among the most promising. Three of these prescription-only drugs—Aimovig, Ajovy, and Emgality—are taken monthly with an EpiPen–like shot; a fourth, Vyepti, is administered via I.V. by a doctor every three months. “These drugs produce great results, in much less time, with almost no side effects,” Gottschalk confirms. Nurtec and Ubrelvy, which are gepants—another new class of FDA-approved medication that also targets CGRP molecules—are formulated to turn off migraines in progress rather than prevent them. “They don’t have quite as much bang for the buck as, say, an injection of [the commonly used triptan] sumatriptan,” says Gottschalk. “But they’re well tolerated and can do a great job.”

I’m a lifelong insomniac. Until college, I preferred any bed that didn’t leave me alone in my own, a tendency my parents long suspected therapy could solve. I’ve since spent close to a decade chasing sleep and experimenting with methods that span the Don't Worry About What I'm Doing Worry About Why You're Worried About What I'm Doing Shirt  spectrum, from seeing my mother’s own behavioral therapist, a warm woman (but an obvious mistake), to a short stint with a Jungian therapist on the Upper East Side whose rotating screensaver of Galápagos wildlife I would watch, reclined on her tufted-leather couch; to a few sessions with a male psychiatrist who I associate with Paul Auster novels and a low-level depression that I thought Zoloft could solve. (Couldn’t!)