“I hate it!” cried my dear friend. “I hate the idea that they exist. Why do they? They terrify me, and I wish they didn’t exist at all. Why can’t we find a poison and wipe them out forever? No one needs them. Other creatures could easily take their place. I just hate spiders so much!”
“I hate rats.”
“I hate snails.”
“I hate people who are too different from me!”
It’s a well-established fact that hatred often stems from fear. We tend to despise the things that frighten us. Far too often we replace “I am afraid” with “I hate.” In reality, hate is so often a mask for fear.
"I hate my partner’s ex! That person is so horrible! Why did my partner ever meet them, why did they have to have children together? Why do I now have to put up with this person interfering in my daily life?”
We call the ex “horrible” because they trigger fear responses in our limbic system. For many people, it is easier to say “I hate” than to admit “I am afraid.”
This made me reflect. I’m not especially fond of spiders myself. I’d be quite content if they didn’t exist. I’m afraid of them to the point that my fear has been diagnosed as a phobia. But despite my fear, I don’t want anyone to harm them. Whenever someone offers to help me, I make it clear that killing the spider is not an option. It’s not the spider’s fault that I’m afraid—it shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.
Like the fear of spiders (or frogs, or snails, or birds), such fears are irrational. We cannot truly explain what is so dangerous about these creatures that justifies our terror. And because we cannot explain our fear, our brains reframe it as “disgust” or “hate.” That way, we can convince ourselves there are “reasons” we are “forced” to dislike them.
A new partner’s reaction to an ex is remarkably similar to a reaction to spiders..
Simply knowing that we must enter a room—or a relationship—where the “spider” is present can be deeply unsettling. Depending on personality, we may feel anxious, nervous, irritable, panicked, or even tearful.
Some people refuse to enter the space at all until the spider has been removed or hidden from view. Some demand proof that it has been killed—flattened beyond recognition. In relationships, this is like the new partner who insists the ex must not be seen or heard: no phone calls, no texts, no contact except through the new partner. They want to control handovers, to prevent the ex from “coming back to life.” They insist on being present at any event where both parents might attend. They demand that the ex never be mentioned by relatives, that friends delete or unfollow them on social media, even that children refrain from speaking about their other parent in the new partner’s presence.
Then there are those whose approach to spiders resembles mine: terrified, but unwilling to kill. We accept their existence, even though they make our skin crawl. It isn’t their fault—that’s just the way they are. (In relationship terms: the ex exists because a child was born, and the child needs both parents. Encounters will inevitably happen, though we may prefer to keep them outside our “living space.”) We seal the gaps in our homes to keep them out, yet accept that sometimes they’ll appear in public spaces. The only way to avoid them completely would be to live in a sterile, isolated world.
In relationships, this is when the new partner and the ex simply avoid each other as much as possible. The new partner doesn’t spend their time insulting the ex, monitoring them online, or fuelling conflict. They choose to ignore the ex’s existence as far as is realistic.
In public settings, responses vary. Some may exchange polite small talk. Some will attend child-related events but avoid direct interaction. Others will agree to divide events so as not to meet at all.
And remember: these decisions cannot be made by one person alone. If one parent wants to attend an event but the other refuses to cope with their presence, negotiation follows. Often, the stronger personality prevails.
Finally, there are people who can share a home with spiders without making a fuss—as long as the spiders don’t crawl on them or invade their food. For many households, spiders are simply part of life.
In relationships, these are the partners who already have children from previous relationships. For them, the presence of an ex is normal and unavoidable. They approach it with varying levels of acceptance: from seeing the ex as a nuisance, to engaging in amicable co-parenting, to fostering genuinely friendly, extended family dynamics. They may still have disagreements and difficult moments, but they also share joyful times, family gatherings, and cooperation. They often describe themselves as co-parents, part of a “large extended family.”
These people are not afraid of the ex, and so they don’t feel hatred. Why not? Because they know. They’ve lived that life themselves. Being an ex and a co-parent is familiar territory—they understand it from the inside.
The “hate” we feel towards an ex often masks a deeper fear — much like the irrational fear many of us feel towards spiders. An ex, like a spider, can feel unpredictable and unknowable: their influence can spread quietly, like a web, and we can’t always tell whether tomorrow will bring good or trouble. You have choices — to run and hide, to sweep the web away with a broom, to try and destroy the spider, or to reframe it as a harmless creature that catches flies and learn to live alongside it. Whatever you choose is yours; don’t let others tell you what you may or may not be afraid of.
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