My husband doesn’t understand my love for spiders.  Or the fascination I have for them.  I don’t know that I can fully explain it myself, but I’ve always had a thing for them.

I do a catch and release with spiders in the house.  I can sit and watch them for hours, especially when they are spinning a web.  I like that they are predators and  I have a healthy fear as I don’t want them crawling on me.  I like to watch from afar.

In some Native American cultures seeing a spider means change, either an outward one or an inside one.  I’ve discovered that most of the time it is an inner change I’ve made when a spider makes its presence.

I believe all creatures are spiritual creatures and gifts from God, so really it is just God showing me part of Himself through the spiders I see.  A way we communicate, if you will.

Three times during my marriage, I’ve begun to have doubts as to why I have this relationship with spiders and if there was something wrong with me.  These are at the same time that my husband voiced his feeling of not being able to understand, thought it was weird and can’t figure out why I don’t kill spiders.

It caused a lot of doubt for me because we didn’t think the same way and that it wasn’t until halfway through our marriage that he voiced his feelings.

I actually had to do a great deal of soul searching as I felt my belief was being threatened in some way and that there was something wrong with me.

One night a few months ago a spider was crawling on the floor and I actually felt fear.   I’ve never been scared of spiders before.  But I felt it this time, right in my gut.

Then I began to question why I caught it in a jar and put it outside.

I suddenly felt stupid for doing so.  What the hell is wrong with me?

Why couldn’t I just kill it like a normal person?

I went back and forth with this thinking for some time.

I talked to God.  I tossed and turned.  I asked him to change me.

The next spider I saw….fear rose up..and I stomped on it.

Suddenly my joy for spiders were gone.  I felt nothing.

I pushed all my feelings for those 8 legs as far to the back as possible.

Finally I had to talk to my husband about all this.

I knew it wasn’t him or what he said, but that I instantly thought I was wrong.

Any disapproval I’ve ever gotten had made me feel wrong, wrong, wrong.

And wrong means to succumb to someone else’s will.

And then I topple.

I’m not good enough.

Not pretty enough.

Not smart enough.

Not enough of anything.

And it tears me down to a slave level that I’ve lived for half of my life.

Sexual abuse.  Molested.  Tortured.  Brainwashed.

And suddenly, I am here again.

And the devil will do anything to pull me under with him.

So I kept praying.  And remembering over and over the joy that spiders give me.

And I started to believe again.

They are my friends.

They have helped me for a long time.  In the hardest times.  I was never afraid.

I almost was going to change my Gravatar picture, but God said no, wait.

And he made them precious to me again.

I know it might sound strange to have this whole PTSD moment with spiders, but if you think about it, we’ve all lost something we love because people take it away from us.  Don’t lose what you have that makes you who you are.

In my case, I’m loving spiders again.  ❤











He leaves

My insides empty out

And I feel the death inside of me rise



I feel nothing.

All of my hopes and dreams

Dissipate above me

and rain like tar over my body

gluing me to this nightmare even longer

seeping through my pores

to match the poison inside

you left with me

this can’t be the same one who loved me

just minutes ago

the blackness of death

reaches my soul

the cycle is complete.


These words came to me as my husband left for work today.  I always crash after he leaves as the day becomes longer.  That’s when I realized what it was that I feel every time he’s gone…abandonment.  It started out about my husband leaving, but morphed into my true source of abandonment, my abusers.

I’ve never understood what abandonment meant or how it really felt to recognize it.  Today, I got it.  Today I could actually put the word with the feeling.  I was able to feel it and see it.  It is a start.

Sandy and the retribution.

I’m only using the name “mom” for a reference point.  She never earned the right to be called such a title and she of one of many abusers I had in my life.  I choose to call her my abuser, as it is the truth.

I was about 10 years old, hanging on to my mother’s dog, Sandy.  Sandy’s breathing was erratic and fast.  She laid on her side on the floor, while I spooned her, draping my arm across her shoulder.  I was petrified.  I knew this was it for her and she was going to die without my mother there to be with her.  I was all alone with just Sandy.

Sandy had a bad heart and was prone to anxiety attacks from loud noises.  There had been a jack hammer going all day long in our neighborhood.  It sent Sandy into a downward spin.  Some how I knew this wasn’t like the other close calls Sandy had in the past.  She was dying.

I tried to comfort her and held on tight.  It wasn’t long and her breathing slowed all the way down to nothing.  Then like a whisper she was gone.

I don’t know how long I held Sandy and cried, but it wasn’t long before my mind was tormented.  I was suppose to be baking cupcakes for my brother’s birthday, but I knew I would be in trouble for Sandy dying.  I also knew I would be in trouble if I didn’t make the cupcakes.  Scared out of my mind, riddle with daunting guilt, I slowly made my way off the floor and got the box for the batter.  There was no good choice.  I was going to be blamed either way.  For some reason I chose the cupcakes.

My mother walked in the door and screamed, “She’s dead!”

Then it all went black.

There is nothing worse than my mother’s screaming.  Blood curling.

I don’t know the exact words she used, but the jest was something like, “You are the reason for Sandy’s death because you didn’t take care of her.  You should’ve known better.  Don’t ever have any animals of your own, you’ll just kill them all.

Believe there was more, but that’s all I could really gather from all the years of trying to heal from this shit.

I’m still haunted til this day of those words, that were reinforced with more abuse.


Today I didn’t feel like walking the dogs, I had too much I wanted to get done and really they weren’t asking for one.  I called my husband because I felt guilty for not being able to walk them and couldn’t make a decision.  I was in AGONY.  I couldn’t ask for his help and I couldn’t do it, even though I felt I should.  Husband was willing.  In fact he told me before he left today to let me know if I walked the dogs, because he would do it if I didn’t.  Finally, I told my hubby, “You do it!”

After we hung up, the guilt, fear, worthlessness all flooded over me leaving me with no choice but to believe I AM a horrible dog mom and I don’t deserve to be one.  Just like everything else I am horrible at.  All my talents and gifts are just wasted because I always hold this same roadblock of not being good at anything.  What’s the point?  Why try?

I always feel defeated before I even try.

I wish I had a rebuttal to this line of thinking, but this always been a pretty tough one for me to shake.  And it comes up more often than I realize.  I feel better just writing it down and getting it out there.

Does anyone else have a mother who blames you for everything?