You know those funny memes featuring a creepy crawly, often a spider, with captions suggesting it’s time to set the house ablaze? Hilarious, right? I can vividly picture myself pouring gasoline on a spider, tossing a lit match, and sprinting away, flailing like one of those inflatable figures outside car dealerships, completely indifferent to the potential loss of my belongings. Because, ugh, spiders.
I remember a particularly chaotic moment when my sister, mom, and their families visited. We spotted an unusually plump spider scuttling across the floor, and our collective freak-out was absurd. We screamed and leaped onto couches and tables, nearly spilling our strawberry daiquiris. In a panic, I grabbed a flip-flop and delivered a powerful smack to the spider, only to discover it burst into a swarm of tiny spiderlings. We hadn’t realized that the fat spider was a mother carrying her brood. Without a second thought, I sprayed the tiny arachnids with household cleaner, feeling no guilt whatsoever. My skin crawled just thinking about that mother spider dragging her horde across my floor. I even snapped a photo of the aftermath and shared it on social media. Each year, I’m reminded of that image in my Facebook memories.
Today, I view that picture with a different lens. Instead of getting squeamish over the tiny, lifeless spiderlings, I now feel a pang of sympathy for them.
This change in perspective might seem odd, but I think it coincided with my journey toward embracing my sexuality. I was stuck in a heterosexual marriage for over a decade, feeling trapped and struggling to accept a part of myself that felt unacceptable. I didn’t want to be gay, nor did I want to face the upheaval that would come with embracing my truth. Yet, like that spider and her babies, I had no control over who I was.
I remember the moment it all clicked. One evening, after my then-husband went to bed, I sat alone on the couch, working on my novel about two women falling in love (of course!). Suddenly, a little spider dashed across the floor. Normally, I’d reach for something to squash it, but this time, I just couldn’t. It was a tiny creature, just trying to navigate its world, likely baffled by its surroundings. I actually found it somewhat cute. I lifted my feet off the floor to avoid contact, not wanting to squash it.
I pondered what that little spider was doing beyond just existing. It didn’t choose to be a spider, just as I didn’t choose my identity. It may seem strange to empathize with a bug, but I couldn’t shake the thought. Should I be punished for my existence? In some places, yes — I could be extinguished simply for being perceived as undesirable. It struck me how much fear and ignorance can dictate life or death, both for spiders and for people.
I carefully captured the spider and released it outside. The next day, I felt uneasy knowing it was free to roam my home, so I started using a Tupperware to trap any bugs I found, allowing my son to escort them outside. I might understand them, but touching them was still a no-go.
Now, I live in a new home after ending my marriage. My kids often help with the “bug rescue missions” we undertake when we find an intruder in the house. Sometimes, I just let them be. I have a washer and dryer in the garage, and a delicate spider named Oliver has made a web above the dryer. He’s not bothering anyone and even helps manage smaller pests. I make sure to press the dryer button without disturbing his home.
Recently, I noticed a trail of ants on the doorknob leading to the backyard. I remembered I’d opened that door after applying coconut oil on my hands the night before. I decided to leave the ants be, thinking they’d find what they were after and move on. Sure enough, the next day, they were gone, presumably satisfied after their little feast. My doorknob remained unscathed, and no one in the house suffered because of a tiny trail of ants enjoying a coconut oil snack.
I do take preventive measures around the house every few months, especially since I live in Florida, surrounded by dense woods. I can’t have a complete free-for-all, as I don’t want any surprises while I sleep. However, I no longer feel the urge to destroy my home over an unexpected spider. He may be an insignificant arachnid, but that’s not his fault. So I do my best to let him live.
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In summary, my relationship with bugs has transformed from fear and revulsion to understanding and empathy. This evolution reflects my personal journey of self-acceptance and the awareness that all creatures, big or small, deserve to exist without fear of persecution.