What I Wish People Understood About Misophonia

There's a moment I replay in my head sometimes.

I'm sitting at a dinner table with people I love. Someone starts chewing. And inside me, something shifts. My chest tightens. My jaw locks. Every nerve in my body screams at me to leave. But I stay, because how do you explain that to people? How do you say "the sound of you eating makes me feel like I'm in danger" without sounding like you've lost it?

That's misophonia. And if you're reading this, you probably already know.

But here's what I wish the people around me understood.

It's not a choice

I can't just "tune it out." I've tried. For years. You know those moments where someone says "just ignore it" and you want to scream? Yeah. If I could ignore it, don't you think I would have by now? My brain processes certain sounds as threats. That's not a preference. That's neurology.

It's not about you

When I flinch at the sound of your typing or leave the table mid-meal, it has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I love you. I want to be here. My nervous system just has a different opinion right now.

It's exhausting in ways people don't see

The sound itself is only part of it. There's the anticipation. The scanning. Walking into a space and immediately mapping every potential trigger. Choosing where to sit based on who's likely to eat, tap, or sniff. That background hum of hypervigilance? It runs all day. By evening, I'm not just tired. I'm depleted.

It carries shame

Because the reactions feel irrational, even to us. I've felt guilty for being upset by sounds that don't bother anyone else. I've questioned whether something is wrong with me. I've hidden it, minimized it, apologized for it. For years.

But here's what's changing for me

I've started to understand that my nervous system isn't broken. It's sensitive. And sensitivity, when you learn to work with it instead of against it, can actually become a strength. I've been learning regulation techniques, breathing practices, and ways to create space between the trigger and my response. It doesn't make the sounds disappear. But it gives me something I didn't have before: a way through.

You're not alone in this. And you're not broken.