Today my misophonia is really playing up, which is not helpful when you’re all trapped in the house together. For anyone who doesn’t know what misophonia is, it’s a neurological disorder where certain triggers (mainly sounds, some movements or smells) prompt a really strong fight or flight response.
I wrote about it for Red magazine a few years back so if you want to know more click here >. It’s the bane of my life but has been generally manageable for the past 10 or so years; partly through being freelance thus avoiding offices and busy trains and the like, partly through self care – enough sleep and exercise really helps – and a lot through trying to retain a sense of humour about it all.
However, during Covid I’ve felt the beast rear its ugly head again, particularly as we’re all stuck in the same space for much of the time. I’m bugged by the boiling kettle, the stirring of a cup, the waggling of a foot and it’s just harder to do what I usually do, which is basically a runner before anyone catches on.
Trouble is, when someone knows you well, they spot all the signs anyway – the moving of the hair over the face to block a view, one finger in an ear to try and temper any sound, moving erratically to get out of a room . . . and then you feel found out and they feel cross because it’s something everyone has to live with. I really, really wish we didn’t.
Anyway, there is a botanical connection. Well, one of the lining up kind anyway. One personal remedy I have is to arrange things up to create some kind of order that I am in control of – as opposed to the disorder of Misophonia being in control of me. This can definitely appear a bit odd with random objects; I have been known to subconsciously line almost every item on the kitchen worktop up, thus confusing the next person who takes the helm (helpful for tidying the spice rack though).
Lining plants up. That’s a different matter though. I can arrange collections of flowers and seeds and natural objects to my hearts content in the name of work, and the result is a beautiful display as well as necessary calm. Deep breathing also helps (although sometimes this really is easier said than done when you’re running around multi-tasking!), in which I’ve taken to repeating botanical plant names in my head, like I’m about to take a Latin exam. Calming and useful.
Currently sat in my studio trying to employ these techniques so I can get on with the rest of the day, I wonder if these ailments and their coping mechanisms are all tied into the primitive urge to survive. Fight or flight is certainly thought to have evolved in early humans as a response to the potential dangers of the hunter-gatherer world: fight the enemy or run away from it, with a third reaction to just freeze in the hope that the enemy doesn’t see you.
Deep breathing helps put the breaks on the stress-related production of adrenaline (a hormone designed to help us fight or flee) by stimulating the parasympathatic nervous system and thus aiding digestion, metabolism and relaxation. While deliberately grounding yourself in the moment and engaging with things you can actually see, hear and physically feel (non-triggering items such as flowers, seeds and rocks, in my case) also serves as a reminder that this moment will pass.
A few more active inhales and exhales (botanically names a few herbs at the same time) and carefully arranged and annotated lines of berries, hips and haws on my show and tell table (I do actually have one of these) and hopefully this particular episode of flight or flight will be over too. No doubt my ancestral cavewoman would be doing much the same right now too.