Quiet & Tiny: How the Tiny House Movement Could Pair with Misophonia
Walden wasn’t on my American Literature syllabus. In only 16 weeks, our class simply didn’t have time to analyze yet another work by Thoreau and still provide a diverse survey of the first half of the United States’s literary history. So my professor only mentioned it and moved on.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about that idea: a man in his late 20s living alone in the woods of Massachusetts for two years, letting nature rather than other people provide for his needs.
So despite all the other assigned readings and schoolwork I was responsible for, that semester, I read Walden.
And with that, transcendentalism led me to my biggest obsession: minimalism.
How could I, in the 21st century, sustain myself among nature instead of among people-produced misophonia activators?
Down the Internet rabbit hole I went in search of my own Walden cabin.
Before long, I discovered the tiny lifestyle trend. It sounded almost too idealistic: my own space, trading less rent—money earned from hours working around activators—for a smaller, sustainable home base. In other words, work less, for the meager cost of downsizing my belongings, learning more hands-on skills, and avoiding shopping sprees. I almost sobbed at how easy it sounded to never again need to spend my days in an open office.
But beyond the ever-effective motivator of having more money, what appeals most to my misophonic, future-tripping thought process is the idea of mobility.
Not all tiny homes sit on a trailer, but the wheeled ones, though legally considered RVs, are exactly the house I’m hoping for.
Being of college-age, I’ve coped with my misophonia long enough to know that when I remain in a place or routine for too long, the severity of my specific activators changes to suit that lifestyle. This idea of a person’s misophonia growing accustomed to a partner or setting is sometimes informally referred to as “the honeymoon” effect based on how the loved ones of someone with misophonia may not have specific activators associated with them until after the person with misophonia has grown especially close to them.
For example, a misophonic person may not be activated by breathing until after a few months or years of being with their partner who is a heavy breather. This honeymoon effect may be one of the reasons why family members tend to produce some of the strongest activators in someone with misophonia.
But with the mobility of a tiny house trailer, the setting—and thus, its sounds—can change whenever these setting-specific activators start to develop.
As I mentioned in my previous post about avoiding routines, I find that my misophonia is most manageable when I can keep it from predicting activators, and I hope to someday see how my misophonia is affected by nomadic living—a lifestyle that having a house on wheels would allow.
The tiny house movement isn’t meant for everyone. Despite numerous success stories, it might not be best to raise kids or pets in such a small space. And depending on where you want to live, tiny house living may not be safe and/or may lead to legal trouble, as claiming a trailer as a permanent place of residence has its challenges.
But for misophones with less restrictions on living, the tiny house movement could be worth looking into. Since my experience ends with my 90 sq ft dorm room, here are some resources I’d recommend starting with:
Walden by Henry David Thoreau
The Misophonia Podcast – Season 5 Episode 25 (Leanne)
The Art of Frugal Hedonism: A Guide to Spending Less While Enjoying Everything More by Annie Raser-Rowland & Adam Grubb
Playing with FIRE (Financial Independence Retire Early): How Far Would You Go for Financial Freedom? by Scott Rieckens
Even if tiny living isn’t a fit for you, opting for a more minimalist lifestyle could positively impact your mental health—after all, stress can exacerbate misophonia symptoms. Consider downsizing and/or decluttering your space and your time if you can: a little less to worry about can go a long way.