Although I've always been pretty independent (thanks mom, Granny, Aunts Brenda, Sharon, Debbie, Pam), I've noticed the ways in which this divorce has made me more independent--beginning with (pause for effect) my arachnophobia!

Well, almost.

You see, he (names are removed to protect the innocent) was the spider-killer in the family (I think witnessing my full-blown panic attack, complete with hyperventilation, because of a spider bite, did this) even waking up at 3 am on election day to kill a spider that somehow found its way onto my face. Looking back, I should've known that would be an omen for the day. Now that he's gone, the spiders think they've won and have seemingly multiplied. It's them or me...

And it ain't gonna be me.

Let's take it back to the beginning, shall we? Kay was the little girl who wasn't afraid of snakes, but the idea of a spider completely mortified her. Seriously, I couldn't even look at a picture in my science book (spiders killed my interest in science, not the education system). And if one were to get to close to me??? Let's just say that when I was around 7 or 8, I almost caused a wreck because I climbed from the back to the front seat where my mom was driving, all while screaming in her ear.

My arachnophobia evolved into a different kind as I got older. We'll call this "the brown recluse era". No longer was I afraid to look at them, I had to look at them in order to figure out what species they were and whether or not they could kill me. This brand of phobia began while I was at the beauty shop one Saturday morn. Instead of watching "One Saturday Morning" like any good 'tween, I was watching a show on the Discovery channel. The show was about people who died from spider bites. Many didn't even know they were bitten until it was too late. The culprit: brown recluse spiders. After watching that show, suddenly it seemed like brown recluse spiders were EVERYWHERE! I would hear about them on the news and the radio and how they're prevalent in the Kansas City area (mainly Raytown and Lee's Summit), and like to hide in closets.

To this day, I am panicked when going into my closet for anything. Especially if it's been undisturbed for a while.

Fast forward to adulthood. My interaction with the eight-legged freaks became minimal. That, or I was undergoing some freaky kind of exposure therapy. Either way, they began to bother me a little less. Shoutout to the high rise spiders of Chicago (another gang terrorizing the Windy City) who taunted me from outside my apartment window, when all I wanted to do was make a sandwich, and the spider in my childhood home that held up his end of the bargain and left me alone because I was too drunk and tired, to deal with him.

After The Great Panic Attack of 2014, we relocated to DC and found a home at Wesley Seminary. This house is a very, very, very old house and faces a backyard of sorts, so frequently seeing spiders, bugs, and other wildlife became more the norm. I still get a kick out of the fact that a seminary has parson spiders all around, but no one else really understands why that's so funny until I offer a lengthy explanation and by then, the moment has passed.

#dorklife I have no shame in my game.

Anyway, back to the topic. Because my day job requires it, I still reside in the same building post-divorce. This means that the spider killing now falls on my shoulders, and mine alone. I recently emptied a bottle of Raid that I bought not even a month ago because I began treating the perimeter, and doorways of my apartment on a weekly basis after failing to kill a spider (a brown one no less) on Father's Day. Seriously y'all, I've been spraying Raid like I'm pouring brick dust to keep my enemies at bay.

Fun fact: the day I purchased the Raid I was so delirious that I referred to it as "spider killing spray". The sales associate rightfully stared at me in bewilderment.

My sincerest apologies to my colleague who would be absolutely offended by my new role as Monica: Spider Hunter, but in addition to the Raid treatments, I happily vacuumed one who found his creepy little way underneath my bucket of cleaning supplies, and refused to go to the office until I killed one who ventured onto my welcome mat (I have since added the welcome mat to the treatment list). Needless to say, I'm getting pretty good at this thing.

Am I cured? No. I would still prefer minimal interaction, but, as I said, this evolved independence has required me to face my fears--literally and figuratively. So whenever I start to get down on myself, I remember that the 3-year-old who lost her shit when a daddy long legs had the nerve to crawl on her (now that I think about it, this may have been the catalyst for my phobia...and yes, I know daddy long legs are not spiders), is now a badass spider killer. So she can do anything.

Including purchasing a new can of Raid. Did I mention that it's empty?