MISOPHONIA: A SYMPHONY OF IRRITATION
Don’t waste your time looking up the definition of “misophonia,” because I’m about to explain it to you. In fact, I’m going to devote this entire blog post to it. I’m going to chew that word up and spit it out. Only, I won’t do it around my younger brother.
What is Misophonia you ask? Imagine you’re peacefully sitting at the dinner table when the sound of someone chewing makes your brain short-circuit. Your blood pressure rockets, your fight-or-flight response kicks in, and suddenly, your only option is to either scream or exit the room. Telling the person they sound like a cow might feel satisfying for a second or two, but trust me, it’s not worth the awkward fallout.
Misophonia, for those lucky enough to have no idea what I’m talking about, is an intense emotional reaction to certain everyday sounds. Think of chewing, slurping, licking, or gum popping. While most people would barely notice these noises, those of us with misophonia are sent straight into a spiral of rage and discomfort. Honestly, the word “homicidal” might float across our minds during these moments.
Before I sat down on my keyboard, I did a little research. I discovered that misophonia typically develops around age 12. Clearly, my brother and I were overachievers. We were early bloomers, blessed or cursed, because we displayed this auditory affliction by the ripe old age of 6-8 years of age.
Let me set the scene: It’s a school morning and Mom’s made us oatmeal for breakfast, as she often did. I’m sitting there, minding my own business enjoying my oatmeal, when I look up and see Tom glaring at me with daggers in his eyes. “MOM! TELL LISA TO STOP SLURPING HER OATMEAL!” he’d yell. Naturally, I stopped immediately. Are you kidding? Of course, I did it on purpose now because when siblings figure out each other’s buttons, it’s their duty to push them.
Tom, unable to take it anymore, would jump out of his chair and chase me around the table. If we ended up on opposite sides, we’d launch into the classic “which way are you going, huh? Huh?” standoff. Although I don’t remember Mom ever heeding Tom’s request and asking me to stop, it makes me chuckle to think of her saying, “Now Lisa, stop slurping your oatmeal. It’s annoying your brother”.
Fast forward to adulthood. Misophonia never packed its bags and left. It’s an uninvited guest at every meal, movie or quiet moment. I have so many stories about needing to leave a room to avoid snapping at someone.
Case in point: my husband is fully aware of my annoyance at hearing people eat, but since nothing phases him, he forgets. One day we were sitting across from each other at the table. He was enjoying a bowl of soup, and I wasn’t eating. I’d love to say I asked him politely to tone it down, but instead, I blurted out, ‘OH MY GOD, DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE SO MUCH NOISE?”
That’s when my cultural education began. My husband, who’s from Malaysia, explained that in many Asian cultures, slurping isn’t just acceptable – it’s encouraged. It’s considered a compliment to the cook. Naturally, I was skeptical, but on a trip to Malaysia, he pointed out the symphony of deliberate slurping at a Pho restaurant. I couldn’t unhear it.
I don’t know about my brother, but it’s not just food noises that set me off. I have a dog that licks her paws, and the sound has me leaving the room. I also find nose sniffing, gum popping, lip smacking just as annoying. I’ve been at a movie theatre and spent more time fixated on the popcorn-munching around me than on the actual film.
At the end of the day, misophonia might not be fixable, but it’s far from the end of the world. You learn to cope, or you make a quiet exit. If that’s the worst thing to happen to me, I better not complain. And because laughter is the best coping mechanism, I can’t help but chuckle when I recall my husband’s oh-so charming response to my plea about his noisy eating habits: “Why do you have to bitch so much?”
So, grab your favorite cocktail and raise your hand high: “To the innocent days before misophonia struck (which were very few). To the sibling battles fought over breakfast, and to the lifelong trauma inflicted by one fateful slurp. May every noisy eater out there enjoy their chomps, every misophonia sufferer know their closest exit, and may my brothers and I carry the scar of the great oatmeal war with pride and a whole lot of sibling love. CHEERS
