Have you ever been sitting with your loved ones, enjoying a nice meal, when suddenly the normal sounds that people make while eating have made you want to dive across the table and tackle one of your dining companions? Sounds harsh, I know, but if you said yes, you're probably like me and have misophonia.

Miso-what? Sure, it sounds like a condition you get from eating too much soup or a far-off land in a storybook, but it's actually a disorder where people have selective sound sensitivity that triggers a rage-like response. And for many of us, it's tied to the cringe-inducing sounds of eating: crunching, smacking, slurping — it's all bad. We can't entirely control our reaction to it, nor can we necessarily predict which sounds will set us off. But if you have it, you know, because mealtime becomes torture. Then the real fun starts: People thinking you're intolerant and rude.

I can remember vividly the times where I've been around people whose eating was especially offensive to my ears — almost like a form of sound PTSD. There was the time that my best friend and then-boyfriend and I came home after a night out, and they crushed a bag of pita chips, while I sat on the edge of the bed with my hands covering my ears, praying for it to stop. Then there was another old boyfriend who loved to eat peanuts and chew ice, which led to me spending many a Yankees game wincing in agony. And pretty much any time my oldest sister gets her hands on crunchy snacks — tortilla chips and salsa have become my enemy, and I'm not still not convinced she wasn't raised by wolves.

I know. I sound mean.

But that's the thing about misophonia — if you throw someone side-eye, visibly wince, or react in any way, really, they think you're just an ogre. They stare at you, wide-eyed and blinking, trying to reconcile how you could possibly be so temperamental over something so minor. "There's no way to eat this without making noise!" my family has said to me a thousand times. In fact, I spent my childhood and most of my young adulthood thinking I was just irrational. Until the day several years ago when I was watching TV and Kelly Ripa referenced a New York Times article about misophonia, and it all clicked. "I have this! This is me!" I thought. Finally, I had an answer. I'm not a jerk, I just have misophonia.

I sent the article to everyone in my family. Here it is! The reason why I'm always biting your heads off when we're eating! (No pun intended.) They begrudgingly accepted it but still groan every time I ask them to chew more quietly. My parents have asked me a million times what I'm going to do if I end up with a man whose eating drives me insane. "It's simple," I say. "I could never marry a loud eater. I'd probably end up smothering him in his sleep."

Even now, it's a disorder that's not extremely well known or understood. And researchers can't even track how many people suffer from it yet. I mean, who wants to lay claim to being an otherwise calm person who feels disproportionate rage (correction: rage and disgust) from the tiny act of chewing? But we're out here, the struggle is real, and my case is nothing compared to others whose stories I've seen over the years.

So the next time you're around someone who seems pained by the sound of your eating, don't judge them. Sure, they might just be a jerk (unlikely), but they also might be suffering from misophonia (more likely). Or it could be your own table manners (possible)!

Just kidding. It's not your fault. But bear with us, please. Just take a deep breath, ask questions if you want, and for the love of god, chew with your mouth closed.

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