What it’s like to eat with a Tiger at the Table

How do you explain something invisible?
Something that sounds absurd to anyone who hasn’t felt it themselves?

Trying to explain misophonia to the unaware can be incredibly difficult. Sometimes it feels easier to say nothing at all—to downplay it, dismiss it, or try to laugh it off. At worst, you risk sounding crazy. At best, you get a confused smile and an awkward,

“Wait, so chewing sounds actually hurt you?”
Yeah. They do.

But misophonia is more than just a hatred of sound. It’s complex. It’s personal. And unless someone can truly put themselves in your shoes, it’s hard for them to understand—especially if they come from a different generation, a different culture, or a time when mental health just wasn’t talked about.

I’ve heard it all:

“It’s just a behavior problem.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
(Someone once even told me it was demons.)

And honestly? I don’t usually argue when this happens. People like that rarely want to understand.
But for those who do—I start with this:

It’s Like Eating With a Tiger at the Table

That is what I tell them.

That’s the title of this post, the title of this blog, and it’s the title of the book I’m working on. Because nothing else I’ve said seems to make it click like that does.

Imagine sitting down for dinner. Everyone’s laughing, talking, enjoying themselves. But for me? It’s like there’s a tiger at the table.

I’m on edge. I don’t feel safe. My heart is racing, my body is tense, and my brain is screaming:

Get out. Run. Fight. Do something.

The sound of chewing, smacking, slurping, burping—any one of those might set it off. And once it does, there’s no coming back. I’m not being rude. I’m not overreacting. I’m not misbehaving.

I’m trying to survive dinner with a tiger at the table.

The Stories They Don’t See

That analogy gets their attention—but stories are what really drive it home.

When I was a kid, I would hide while my family ate dinner.

On a good day, I was holed up in my bedroom with headphones on, watching Monk on my Sony portable DVD player.

On a bad day, I was hiding in a hot car, sitting in a dirty public restroom, or standing outside in less-than-ideal conditions—anything to escape the sounds.

These aren’t dramatic exaggerations. This was my reality. I didn’t just dislike eating with others. I often couldn’t do it.

What Life Looks Like Now

But here’s the part I always make sure to say:

I don’t live like that anymore.

I’ve grown. I’ve found ways to cope. I’ve worked on myself. I still get triggered sometimes, and I still have to manage it—but my life is very much “normal” these days.

I go to restaurants. I eat with friends. I don’t have to hide.

I smile when I say this—not because the journey was easy, but because I’m proud of how far I’ve come.

To Those Who Want to Understand

Not everyone will get it. And that’s okay. Some people won’t try.

But for those who do—thank you.

Misophonia is real. And for people like me, having someone listen, ask questions, or just believe us makes all the difference.

So next time someone tells you they’re struggling with sound, try to hear them. Not just the words—but the story beneath.

Because for some of us, dinner really does feel like eating with a tiger at the table.