Picture this: My partner is munching on a blackberry just inches from me, and it feels like the world is exploding with each crunch. I lean back, shooting him a glare that could melt steel. He chuckles, edging closer, crunching louder, and teasing me about my “craziness.” In a moment of frustration, I dash out of the room, my heart racing. If anyone’s nuts here, it’s him for making that fruit sound like a sonic boom!
I’ve been told I’m not the most “normal” person in various scenarios. When someone sneezes in a car, I throw down the window like I’m gasping for air. At Costco, if a lazy shopper drags his feet on the floor, I feel nauseous. And in the cinema, if I’m trapped next to someone who is loudly devouring popcorn, I have to change seats immediately.
But deep down, I know my husband is right; I am a bit quirky, and I embrace it. It turns out I have a genuine condition—misophonia. This neurological disorder, which literally translates to “hatred of sound,” leads to overwhelming feelings of anger or disgust triggered by specific noises.
I was overjoyed to discover that I’m not alone. Kelly Ripa, the well-known talk show host, publicly revealed her struggles with misophonia, mentioning how she has to vacate the premises when her husband eats a peach. I could hardly believe it! Here I thought I was the only one living with a fruit-munching maniac.
I excitedly share my newfound diagnosis with my partner.
“Who?” he asks.
“Kelly Ripa! The talk show star! We’re like soul sisters in misophonia!” I exclaim.
“That’s nice,” he says, casually crunching almonds as I contemplate whether I could toss a kitchen knife his way.
No matter how hard I try, I doubt he’ll truly understand my condition. The truth is, I’ve dealt with it my entire life. The sounds that drive me up the wall include running water, clicking pens, nail clippers, and even the hum of a lawnmower—it’s an endless list.
I’ve recently discovered ways to soften the impact of these irritating noises. Ironically, I’m also losing my hearing, so at age 44, I might need to wear hearing aids. Most women would be upset, but for me, it’s a relief. I can just switch them off when the world gets too loud.
It seems this sensitivity might run in the family. If I want to annoy my older sister, I just give her a call and rustle a plastic bag, which guarantees an immediate hang-up followed by her slurping cereal into the phone.
As I ponder the irony of needing hearing aids while grappling with this affliction, I glance at my six-year-old daughter snuggled next to me.
“Mom, can you quiet down your breathing?” she whispers.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I totally get it,” I reply, trying to suppress my laughter. “I’ll breathe in a different direction, or maybe just not at all.”
In this journey of misophonia, I’ve found camaraderie in shared experiences and the realization that I’m not alone. If you’re curious about other parenting topics, you can also check out information on baby food at this link or learn about home insemination at this link.