By Davan 
A little reminder from my life after divorce: There’s a moment I’ll always remember, one that really put things into perspective for me. It started when I came home one day to tell my then-husband about something that happened during my walk. I was excited to share my little encounter, so I mentioned that I thought I had seen a black widow spider. I was just trying to tell him a story, but before I could even finish my sentence, he cut me off. He immediately got right in my face, as though I had made a major mistake, and started aggressively questioning whether I even knew what a black widow actually looked like. He went on, raising his voice, asking me if I had any idea about the random facts surrounding these spiders, their habits, and their venom. I tried to explain, but at that point, it felt like no matter what I said, he was determined to prove me wrong. The more I tried to speak, the more he was fixated on showing off his knowledge, and it quickly became about him being right rather than listening to me. Trying to finish my story became a chore. I couldn’t even finish my simple observation without being drowned out by his aggression. The story wasn’t that complicated, after all.
I was walking along a trail when I thought I saw a black widow, but as soon as I caught a glimpse of its underbelly, I realized it wasn’t one at all. In fact, it wasn’t even close. But the initial shock was enough to give me a good jump scare, one that made me walk right into a pole! It wasn’t a big deal to me—just a funny, harmless little scare—but for him, it became the issue of the day. The argument kept escalating as I was trying to explain myself, and it felt like I could never get through to him. The worst part was that I’d actually been living in Colorado for a while and had encountered plenty of black widows on my hikes, so I knew what they looked like. Yet somehow, he was so consumed by the idea of proving me wrong that he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. As he ranted, it became clear to me that this wasn’t just about a spider anymore. It was about control, about dismissing my experience and making me feel small for not knowing everything. That night, after an exhausting back-and-forth, I couldn’t help but wonder: If I couldn’t even share a simple story about a spider without it turning into an argument, how could I possibly spend my life with someone like this? We were just about to move into our first home together—only two days before I was supposed to add my name to the lease—but I realized that this wasn’t the kind of relationship I wanted. That evening, I packed my things and left. I filed for divorce soon after, realizing that this moment was a symbol of everything that had gone wrong in our relationship. It wasn’t about the spider; it was about not being able to have a conversation without it spiraling into an argument. To remind myself of the lesson I learned in that moment, I got a tattoo of a black widow spider. Since I didn’t know what one really looked like in that moment of frustration, I made the spider red, which gave it inverted colors. It became a symbol of my strength and my decision to protect my peace and take control of my own space, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant the situation might seem to others. That tattoo reminds me that it’s okay to walk away from situations and people who drain you, even when the issue seems trivial to others. In the end, I’ve learned to value my own peace above all else. Stay “dull,” protect your peace, and love your space. 
