My Misophonia Journey: A Light-ish Rant

A personal narrative about misophonia.

I was around 11 years old when it started. I have a vivid memory of my sister frowning at me for mimicking my Mum swallowing: one of the few triggers I had back then. If that’s when it started, it has escalated hugely over the past decade and a half.

School, as I’m sure it is for anyone with Misophonia, was a massive hurdle. It was my main source of anxiety. I couldn’t concentrate, I was snapping at people seemingly for no reason and the general low mood and irritability definitely affected some friendships.

One day my filter seemed to falter and I aggressively let out a “SHUT UP” directed at a friend opposite who was over-animatedly chewing gum. I was as shocked as she was.

Back home, my list of trigger sounds was increasing and it seemed the people I spent the most time with were becoming the worst culprits.

With the disorder commonly manifesting during early teen years, people were quick to brush it off as hormonal outbursts, but I knew that what I was experiencing was different.

This is what led me to find the word Misophonia quite early on. Although I had an amateur diagnosis, there was no research. All I could find were abstract Youtube videos attempting to represent the inner rage ‘dramatic’ people like me felt.

Fast forward a few years and I can barely sit in the living room with my Mum. It would take a lot of courage to leave my room and go and spend some quality time with my favourite person. Within minutes I would either snap in general conversation because I was caught off guard by her loudly gulping a cup of coffee, or I would pretend I’d forgotten I needed to do something and retreat back to the safety of my bedroom. It was (still is) like walking on egg-shells around me.

I would often find her drinking tea or eating her breakfast whilst standing in the kitchen because she knew it would trigger me in the other room. Now I’ve developed a superpower which allows me to be fully engrossed in the TV, as well as in-tune to when she picks up her drink to the timing of the swallow.

I also experience the funky addition of some visual triggers. Avoiding these is less easy to hide; it usually involves me towering large sofa cushions on top of each other to block that line of vision—my poor Mother. Maybe I could just close my eyes? Or perhaps try not having Misophonia.

Part of my journey with Misophonia has been attempting to empathise with ‘the other side’.

Imagine being ill and your misophonic friend or partner not being able to take care of you because your coughing and spluttering is making them want to silence you (in more ways than one). I understand it’s unfair and comes across as incredibly critical and controlling-borderline psychotic even. And it’s because of this understanding that I can spend days agonising in your company before I feel such despair that I have to communicate it to you.

Yet, somehow it is always interpreted as confrontational.

Whilst a few people in my life have adapted to my disorder, not many seem to have a genuine interest in understanding it, which feels incredibly isolating. It can be easy to blame these individuals but the truth is that outside of the small but growing scientific community researching Misophonia, no one has heard of it.

I was in a relationship for 2.5 years and I am confident there was never so much as a Google search on her part. We fought a lot and, annoyingly, all arguments would take place in the only room with a ticking clock which taunted me (clocks have been a trigger of mine since I was a child).

There was one day where I had to stop mid argument to take the clock off the wall and put it in another room, because I could feel my anxiety from the trigger being brought into the argument. I had felt the compulsion to do this on countless occasions before, but I never had the confidence to act on it because to an outsider it’s such a bizarre action. To no surprise I was called ‘pathetic’ and ‘weird’.

Over time, I’ve learned to find the humour in my disorder. But the humour can only truly be shared with fellow Misophonics because an outsider jumping on the bandwagon somehow just doesn’t sit right.

Trust me when I say I have had countless cringeworthy moments: I’ve broken restaurant etiquette and worn earphones at the table, prematurely hung up on a mouth breathing customer, cried when I forgot my earphones on a long train ride, wound up more stressed after a meditation session because the guide pronounced his ‘T’s funny and attempted to non-patronisingly coach friends on how to eat hot soup without slurping.

Perhaps my personal frustration has been over-portrayed in this blog so I would like to balance the scale and express my utmost appreciation for the community of outsiders (also referred to as family and friends). Misophonia causes hostility and confusion and the unpredictability is extremely difficult to live with. You could easily give up on us and find someone ‘normal’ and easy to spend your time with, but somehow you find the will to keep trying and so, from the bottom of my heart, I love and thank you sincerely.

But please—for the love of God—steer clear of me when you have the sniffles.