Imbi Neeme is a recovering blogger, ardent novelist and spreadsheet enthusiast. Her manuscript The Spill was awarded the 2019 Penguin Literary Prize and published by Penguin Random House Australia in 2020. She lives in Footscray, Melbourne.
Learn more about her at: https://imbineeme.com/
Her latest book, "Kind of, Sort of, Maybe, But Probably Not" is now available: https://a.co/d/4oJYvog
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Q: In your Guardian article on Misophonia, you mentioned how the symptoms you experienced in childhood were from a time where the condition didn’t have a formal name or diagnosis yet. How did your parents, friends or others view you at that time?
Neeme: I didn’t dare tell any of my friends because I felt a deep shame about this monstrous rage I felt towards something that was normal – and indeed necessary – human behavior. My parents and sister knew because I spent mealtimes at the far end of the table with a finger firmly wedged in my ear, but they put it down to being a ‘quirk of personality’. People have asked me why my parents didn’t take me to a specialist, but the 80s really was a different time. Seeing a psychologist was something that only people in the movies or American sitcoms did.
Q: The article details examples of real world situations you had to deal with, in an era before technology such as noise cancelling headphones. Besides “wrapping a jumper” around your head, were there other coping techniques you came up with to survive?
Neeme: In the 90s, I rarely traveled on public transport without my trusty CD Walkman. But if the batteries were dead, I would just endure. For some reason, I never felt like I could change seats to get away from whatever noise was triggering me. I think I was worried that the person’s feelings would be hurt if I moved away from them. I look back at this now and realize a) they probably wouldn’t have even noticed me moving seats; and b) considering the amount of pain their eating noises were causing me, it made no sense to prioritize the feelings of a complete stranger over my own.
Q: It wasn’t until you were 40 that you found out on Twitter the name of your personal demon: Misophonia. Was this a relief, and was this the catalyst for you coming out slowly, as you described it?
Neeme: It was a huge relief! I was not alone in my monstrous rage. Being able to name that rage provided me with a reference point for connection and conversation with others, and for me to slowly feel less of a monster.
Q: Having lived through your teen years with this condition, what is some advice you can give teens who are struggling with the disruption on their personal relationships that this is having?
Neeme: Be honest and take time to educate the people around you. Just the other day, I was starting to make coffee with one of my work colleagues when someone behind us began slurping their lunch in a very loud and extremely grating way. I immediately tensed up and stopped talking. My colleague noticed this, and after quickly identifying the source of my distress, said “Let’s go to another floor, shall we?”. I could have hugged him. Before I had outed myself as a misophonic, he might have taken my behavior personally (“Have I said something to upset her?”) and he wouldn’t have known I needed to get away from the noise as fast as possible.
Q: With the benefit of hindsight now, do you have advice you can give parents or friends of teens with Misophonia?
Neeme: Let them eat in a separate room or with headphones if they feel they need to. It’s not something they will just grow out of. Also, don’t take it personally if they can’t stand the noise you make when you eat or sniff or exist. It’s not you they are angry at, and it’s not something they have control over.
Q: Your latest book, “Kind of, Sort of, Maybe, But Probably Not”, has a main character Phoebe Cotton who lives with Misophonia. Is it safe to say that Phoebe, and her friends Suze and Monty, draw from your own personal experiences?
Neeme: Every character I write has a little bit of myself in them. Hopefully this has something to do with my desire to find commonality with everyone, rather than being a form of narcissism.
I had never read a book which had an overtly misophonic protagonist in it, so I endowed poor Phoebe with my condition. I also gave Suze another of my afflictions, which was being in love with boys that were far more in love with themselves than anyone else. Thankfully I did actually grow out of that one.
Q: Your book brings to mind the coming of age novels by Judy Blume, who tackled taboo issues that teens dealt with such as scoliosis. Which authors were your inspiration for your writing career?
Neeme: Judy Blume definitely had a huge influence on me. I devoured her books when I was young. As I grew older, the work of Kurt Vonnegut, Jeanette Winterson and Haruki Murakami have also impacted me. I wouldn’t dare describe my own writing like any of theirs. But I think everything I read has some influence on what I write. The books I’ve read are like nutrients in the soil, and the flower that has subsequently grown is its own thing (I’m hoping my writing is like an actual flower, and not just a pretty weed).
Q: In hindsight while reflecting on your journey, if you could do it all over again, would you choose to grow up without Misophonia? This might seem like a strange question, but I hope you understand where I'm coming from.
Neeme: No, I completely understand where you are coming from. It might sound weird, but I’m proud of my misophonia. I think my heightened sensitivity to my surroundings is a superpower of sorts. If I could choose anything, I would prefer to have grown up in a time where it had a name and there were things like Loop Earplugs on the market.
Q: Any parting words of encouragement for teens?
Neeme: Talk to the people you care about, identify and employ coping strategies, and live your life as fully as you can. Misophonia may be an important part of who you are, but it is not all that you are. And you are wonderful!
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Buy "Kind of, Sort of, Maybe, But Probably Not" at https://www.amazon.com/Kind-Sort-Maybe-But-Probably/dp/1761341065/
Follow her on Instagram.
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