Frequently Asked Questions

Why is there misophonia? What good is it?

Here's one theory about the beginnings of misophonia. Let's try it on for size. The first life on earth, such as single celled creatures, appeared about 3.7 billion years ago. The first vertebrates with brains appeared about 521 million years ago. The first social mammals appeared about 75 million years ago.

So what? Well, all these early creatures had to deal with the same primal instincts that we have to deal with today, such as self-preservation, food, territory, shelter, reproduction, and getting along with their neighbors. For our purposes here, we want to remember that every living thing since the beginning had to eat!

Before the social animals appeared, many of the efforts of these early creatures to deal with their primal instincts (including eating) were very selfish and very aggressive. These were not social animals, and they were not cooperative. They didn’t care if they got along with each other.

That meant these early animals were very competitive about food. Imagine birds fighting on your bird feeder to see who gets a spot—even birds of the same species. They push and shove and grab and rush. Early organisms, bugs, and animals would not only fight for food, but on occasion, they would eat each other. They could also eat their brothers and sisters! This has to be the most extreme example of what you might think of as competitive eating (look up the sand shark sometime). It wasn’t pretty.

The point is this: Somewhere way back in our history, we were wired for reflex, competitive eating. Especially when food was scarcer—and especially when we had competition (including members of our own species) for that food—Mother Nature provided us with an eating instinct that was aggressive, intense, and urgent. We ran, we jumped, we pushed, we bit, we grabbed. We often yelled and got angry, and we both connived and intimidated. Though it may sound strange, those feelings and behaviors were a skill set that ensured we got enough to eat. 

        But at some evolutionary point, with some animals on our earth, a new skill came along that was called “cooperation.” And as it turned out, some groups that could cooperate with one another were often more successful and reproduced more than the older, simply selfish, every-man-for-himself creatures did. We humans are inclined to think that this was a great evolutionary development.

But, unfortunately, when our brains develop new instincts, the old instincts don’t just disappear. They are simply covered over by new ones. They get buried, but they can still pop up now and then from the genetic pool. No one ever came along and totally redesigned—from top to bottom—the human brain. Mother Nature simply added new stuff to it. That means that we have lots of older selfish instincts inside of us, and we also have newer, more cooperative ones. 

       Misophonia falls into the older instinct category. In other words, competitive eating was a skill of sorts that we humans probably learned a long, long time ago. Since the development of agriculture (only 12,000 years ago) and civilization, competitive eating is no longer necessary most of the time. However, that does not mean that this instinct went away. It only got buried. And in some people the instinct may resurface at inappropriate times, perhaps due to the coagulation of certain multiple genes in their makeup that tend to code for competitive eating. When this competitive eating agenda, however, runs into the more recent genetic behavioral programs, like cooperation and sharing, we definitely have a problem!

 How is misophonia different from just not liking loud noises?

 Phonophobia is a persistent and strong fear of loud sounds that are not really associated with anything dangerous or harmful. These noises are often loud, like thunder or firecrackers, but no damage to the ear is involved with phonophobia. This fairly rare condition may result from unpleasant and sudden experiences that involved unexpected, loud noises. Misophonia, on the other hand, is a dislike of sounds that are a) usually softer and b) usually associated with the mouth or eating. People with misophonia can learn to fear sounds as well, but these are lower level sounds involved with eating and chewing.

 Is this the same as being a sensitive or easily overwhelmed child?

 No, though the two can overlap. About 15-20% of children, very broadly speaking, might be considered overly anxious, overly sensitive, or easily overwhelmed. Some of these children will also qualify as misophonic kids if one of their "sensitivities" involves mouth or chewing sounds, such as those that occur during family dinners. But kids we consider fearful are afraid of many other situations or things, like dogs, meeting new people, or separation from parents. These are not misophonic triggers.

Misophonia seems like a sort of nasty game of tag, like "Who's the bad guy?" the misophonic or the trigger producer? 

Misophonia can feel like an endless, unpleasant game of tag—“Who’s the bad guy?” Is it the person who makes the sound, or the person who erupts in panic, rage, or disgust when they hear it? This “villain hunt” is one of the most painful and misunderstood parts of the condition. Families, couples, and workplaces often drift into a moral interpretation of what is, in reality, a neurological reflex.

From the outside, the situation looks deceptively simple. One person chews, taps, breathes, or sniffs. Another suddenly reacts—sometimes with visible tension, sometimes with an impulsive outburst, sometimes by fleeing the room. Because the reaction seems intense, others may assume the misophonic individual is behaving unfairly or overreacting. Meanwhile, the person with misophonia feels trapped by an involuntary adrenaline surge, an automatic fight-or-flight response that hijacks rational thought in seconds. They wonder if the trigger producer is being inconsiderate—or worse, doing it on purpose. Both sides can feel blamed, judged, or cast as the antagonist.

This hidden game of tag is fueled by misunderstanding. The trigger producer thinks, “Why can’t you just ignore it?” The misophonic person thinks, “Why can’t you stop doing that?” Neither recognizes that misophonia is not a matter of willpower, manners, or moral failing. It’s a reflexive brain-body event—an inappropriate, involuntary adrenaline emergency sparked by specific sensory cues.

The real breakthrough comes when both parties step out of the “bad guy” frame altogether. Instead, they adopt a shared, compassionate model: misophonia is nobody’s fault. The reaction is real. The sounds are real. The suffering is real. And so is the possibility of teamwork.

When families and partners move from blame to collaboration—planning triggers, using signals, managing environments, and practicing regulated responses—the emotional temperature drops dramatically. Misophonia becomes less of a moral battlefield and more of a solvable, shared challenge.

No villains. No blame. Just two people working together against a tricky neurobiological glitch.