Eggshells

A few weeks ago I found a wonderful Facebook group for parents of children with misophonia. In the past I've found great comfort in these online tribes. Talking to people with a shared experience, the only ones who really "get it", being able to both draw on and offer support, has been incredibly helpful. It's cold comfort to know that I'm not alone, but it's definitely some kind of comfort - tepid, perhaps, not cold.

I waded in enthusiastically, a wide-eyed new Miso Mutha full of ideas, hope and optimism. I was heartbroken to read the stories of families torn apart by misophonia, of mothers and daughters estranged, of marital breakdowns, of anxious withdrawn kids and drained, exhausted mothers. I won't let that happen to us, I vowed.

So I researched, I learned, I completed an excellent course with Misophonia Education, I wrote a presentation for schools, I started this blog, I found an amazing therapist, and above all I discussed everything with my daughter openly and honestly, every step of the way. I was all over it. Less than a month later, Cactus cannot bear to be in the same room as me.

It turns out that The Misophonia Monster is unimpressed by my skills and resourcefulness. We have accelerated rapidly to the point where anticipatory triggers have us both treading on eggshells around each other. As her mum (and as a grown-up) I'm torn between wanting to have a tough but nescessary conversation to help her move through this, and just giving her all the space she needs to avoid my painful triggers. It's unsustainable and we can't go on like this, but that's the nature of the beast. There's a good post here on allergictosound.com about why those closest to a misophonia sufferer are often the biggest triggers. And here's a hope-filled, positive post about how honest communication has helped this couple to prevent misophonia from ruining their relationship.

I suspect that there may be more going on today than the misophonia, but it's virtually impossible to engage with someone who cannot breathe the same air as you. We are, at least, communicating through the medium of Facebook cat videos. Which might actually be a tiny chink in the Miso Monster's armour.

So I'll carry on tiptoeing over those eggshells for a while until we somehow move on. Or we run out of cats.