I have a problem. Well, yes, technically, I have many. But I want to focus on one that has become a source of eye-rolling around our house. It’s called misophonia, which basically means that people chewing their food drive me bat-poo crazy.
And no, I’m not making this “disorder” up. There are multiple articles on the internet about the condition, apparently suffered by thousands around the world. Doo chowing down on a turkey sandwich with pickles and crispy lettuce, one of my daughters methodically eating a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Mamaw partaking of an apple and spinach salad are the stuff of nightmares for me. If I’m tired or stressed out, or having a bad day, I literally cannot stand to be around even my loved ones while they are eating.
Sometimes it’s so bad I make awful comments, though I usually do try to invent an excuse for leaving the room before it comes to that. After all, it’s not their fault they are loud eaters or that I have super-sonic hearing, or that their mealtimes are corresponding with one of my I-don’t-like-any-of-you moments. Luckily, my family has grown somewhat accustomed to these “flare-ups” and rarely pay me any attention. In fact, I’m fairly certain they play the “How Agitated Can We Make Mom?” game during dinner at least twice a week.
So don’t feel too sorry for them. They’ve learned a few coping mechanisms, as have I, and we’re all optimistic that my hearing will soon follow the way of my declining eyesight. Until then, we’ll muddle through the misery of misophonia together. Just not over a bowl of popcorn.