Source: AI-Generated Image
Where Your Fear Is, Your Task Is.”, Carl Jung.
For as far back as I can remember, cockroaches have been my biggest fear. Childhood memories of hiding in bomb shelters with these creepy crawlers around are etched vividly in my memories. Strangely enough, I found them scarier than the actual bombs during those days. It wasn’t just me; my siblings and friends shared this fear too. Back then, I thought everyone in the world was terrified of cockroaches like I was. But as I grew up, I discovered that some people not only weren’t afraid of them but actually ate them! It was shocking to realise that my fear wasn’t universal.
Over time, I learned to deal with cockroaches when necessary, but the fear never left me. Even killing them was a daunting task; I always worried they’d turn around and attack me. So, I often resorted to running, screaming and hiding while super-humans around me took care of the problem. Consequently, I don’t recall many instances where I personally confronted a cockroach, ever.
Despite my aversion and fear of cockroaches, I’ve never been one to shy away from other frightening or eerie elements, unlike most people I have ever known. I’ve had a lifelong love for horror movies and literature, enjoying novels like Bram Stoker’s Dracula at a remarkably young age. While my goth phase may have waned with time, my passion for horror movies remains strong. Unlike many of my female friends, I regularly attend horror movie screenings, both as a nod to my past and a testament to my enduring love for the genre. My family views me as unusually brave and fearless, a reputation that saw me tasked with venturing into dark basements or nighttime excursions, unbothered by the spectre of being alone in dark, creepy places others feared.
As a scientist, I naturally spent a lot of time trying to understand why I had such a strong dislike and fear of these insects. Scientifically, I learned that the fear of cockroaches, known as katsaridaphobia, stems from a combination of evolutionary responses, physical characteristics of cockroaches, health concerns like allergies and disease transmission, psychological factors such as past negative experiences or learned behaviours, and cognitive biases like the availability heuristic.
Cockroaches are so feared that scientific studies, like “Cockroaches are scarier than snakes and spiders: Validation of an affective standardized set of animal images (ASSAI),” highlight their terrifying reputation. The study aimed to validate a set of animal images, including cockroaches, crucial for small-animal phobia research. Results showed that cockroach images were rated as more unpleasant than spiders, snakes, butterflies, and cats, particularly by women (72.9% !).
Cockroaches’ association with unclean environments and disease, coupled with their quick movements and allergen potential, triggers fear responses in many individuals. Media portrayals and cultural perceptions also contribute to this fear by reinforcing negative stereotypes about cockroaches as repulsive creatures. Understanding these scientific reasons can aid in managing cockroach phobias through targeted interventions and education.
As I expanded my research further and delved into spiritual and psychological reasonings, especially researching ideas of fear explored by Carl Jung, I started questioning the roots of this particular phobia. In certain old belief systems, fears are considered as omens, reflective of our inner psyche and reactions to life’s challenges. Modern psychology also recognises how creatures like cockroaches, with their negative reputation, can mirror aspects of our hidden fears and shadow selves.
One night, amid frustration and reflections on my life’s challenges, I encountered a a particularly deformed and ailing cockroach I named “Creepy.”
That week is etched in my memory. I had recently concluded another project that didn’t pan out, and although Covid played a significant role in most recent failures, I was exhausted from facing one disappointment after another. The constant setbacks left me feeling vulnerable, making it challenging to gather enough courage to pursue my ambitions and goals. I was contemplating selling everything and retreating to an off-grid location, living a hermit’s life. It was one of those phases many of us encounter, a prolonged period of challenges and setbacks that makes everything seem cursed.
Now, during a moment of self-pity and reflection, I had come across this creature. While brushing my teeth, I noticed it, a frail and deformed cockroach with crooked antennae, missing legs, and a misshapen wing. Initially, I felt like it was staring at me! I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pity for this mutant-ET-like creature, wondering about its history of survival given its current condition. Being alone that night, I felt helpless and could only secure the bathroom to prevent Creepy from escaping.
‘Creepy’. Source: Own Images
A few nights later, as I was getting ready for bed, I came across Creepy once more in the same spot, seemingly unfazed even with a tiny drain fly nearby. Realising that Creepy might be blind only deepened my sympathy for him. However, seeing him repeatedly triggered anxiety and nightmares, prompting me to relocate to another room in my home.
When my partner returned from his trip, I told him about my avoidance of the main bedroom because of Creepy. Although he offered to deal with it humanely, I chose to confront my fear and slept in my bedroom again. His reassurance that he hadn’t seen any cockroach the previous night also comforted me. I reminded myself of the numerous, far more challenging obstacles I had successfully overcome in the past. Surprisingly, Creepy was nowhere to be found that night, confirming my belief that he had left. He was an insect after all, not a kitten!
Sadly, my peace didn’t last long. The next night, he had returned! There he was, in the same spot where I had first seen him, and he seemed smaller and more frail. Whether it was my intuition or just an assumption, I felt that the cockroach was blind and too malformed to function properly, needing help. Despite these thoughts, I initially ignored it, went upstairs, and started watching a movie. Coincidentally, the movie happened to focus on compassion and the interconnectedness of all beings. It stirred a sense of guilt within me, which led me to fetch some digestive biscuits for Creepy. I scattered biscuit pieces in front of him and quickly left. My partner thought I was acting irrationally, convinced that the cockroach was definitely consuming the drain flies and ants common around the basins. I was convinced he was mistaken. That night, although the nightmares returned, they were slightly less traumatic than before.
For the entire week following that incident, I delved into deep reflection and research about my fear of cockroaches. I pondered on why this fear gripped me so tightly, how I could analyse and understand it better, and whether it revealed something significant about my psyche. The question of whether I could overcome and heal from these fears lingered in my thoughts as well.
I continued to feed Creepy throughout that week, offering various food items, yet I hesitated to return to my bedroom. I relocated all my toiletries upstairs, avoiding the bathroom where he often appeared near the basin late at night. One night, my partner reached a breaking point with my crazy obsession and fear of the cockroach. He presented me with an ultimatum: either seek professional help or he would take care of the cockroach himself, allowing me to resume my normal life. I hesitated, feeling emotionally conflicted and unable to make a clear decision. Part of me sympathised with the deformed cockroach, while another part attempted to apply spiritual teachings about compassion and the interconnectedness of all living beings. However, deep down, I secretly hoped that Creepy wouldn’t survive much longer. My research into cockroach lifespans suggested he had about two more months to live, which oddly brought me a sense of relief.
One night, my dog was attacked by another dog and had to stay overnight at the animal hospital, leaving me feeling extremely upset. Since my partner was away as usual, and I was not in a mood to talk to anyone, I found myself going downstairs to seek comfort in the bathroom. To this day, the reason behind this action remains a mystery to me. Tears streamed down my face as I sat there, overwhelmed by sadness. In the midst of my emotional turmoil, Creepy appeared, seeming to watch me with a newfound awareness. His antennae moved, and even his tail twitched, showing signs of life that surprised me, as he had been mostly motionless in all his previous appearances, It was almost as if he sensed my distress and shared in my pain. Exhausted and emotionally drained, I eventually fell asleep in my own bed, a place I had avoided for months. Surprisingly, I did so without placing towels under the bedroom door, a habit I had adopted since Creepy entered my life!
That night, I had no nightmares at all, which was a relief. It marked the beginning of my real research into my exaggerated fear. I researched the literature about fear again, stumbling upon two insightful statements that resonated with me:
“If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us.”, Hermann Hesse
“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”, Carl Jung
I started wondering: what was the deep-seated fear or dislike I held towards myself? What quality did a cockroach possess that triggered such a strong aversion and dread in me? I never felt this fear towards animals or other insects. As a child, I was naturally curious, diving into scientific studies with enthusiasm. I excelled in subjects like zoology and demonstrated proficiency in handling diverse animals, from mammals to microorganisms in laboratory settings. In college, I even won a prize for my research poster on the spinning behaviour of a unique Trinidadian spider, a subject I passionately studied and researched for months as part of a project focusing on arachnids. These spiders were undeniably more eerie and unsettling than Creepy the cockroach. Reflecting on this, I began to explore the deeper spiritual and psychological meanings associated with cockroaches.
Further research revealed the deep spiritual significance and symbolism attributed to cockroaches in various cultural and belief systems. I learned that in many traditions, roaches and beetles symbolise rebirth, resilience and endurance, demonstrating the capacity to flourish in harsh conditions and triumph over challenges. They teach us about adaptability, urging us to be flexible and open to change, which promotes growth in diverse circumstances. Additionally, these creatures reflect aspects of our ‘hidden fears’ and ‘shadow selves’, encouraging introspection and internal growth. They also represent resourcefulness, inspiring us to find creative solutions to problems and to develop resilience. In spiritual contexts, cockroaches symbolise purification and renewal, encouraging us to let go of negativity and embrace spiritual clarity for personal evolution.
It suddenly dawned on me that the cockroach embodied everything I lacked at that moment in my life. My fear wasn’t about the cockroach itself, but rather envy. I envied its resilience and adaptability, traits that allowed it to conquer any obstacle. My behaviour, like changing rooms and experiencing nightmares, contradicted the strength I saw in Creepy. As I saw Creepy for what he truly was, a vulnerable mutant, I saw myself mirrored in him. I realised I was also a struggling mutant, in need of care and stability. Unlike me, Creepy stuck to his routines, showing unwavering determination despite his numerous challenges. This realisation prompted me to seek solutions, and I came across two other quotes that deeply resonated with me:
“Thinking will not overcome fear but action will.”, W. Clement Stone
“There is no illusion greater than fear.”, Lao Tzu
That was my turning point. That night, I made a choice. I returned to my bedroom, unfazed by Creepy’s newfound nesting spot in my toothbrush holder. I got another toothbrush stand and resumed using my bedroom and bathroom as usual for the next couple of months. Creepy kept to his routine of hanging around the basin, and I kept feeding him occasionally. Despite my efforts to keep things clean, the populations of ants and drain flies remained steady, and I doubted Creepy ever caught any of them. Sometimes while doing my nightly skincare routine, I’d even chat with Creepy as I applied lotions and brushed my teeth. It became a bit of a joke in the family, with partner and friends teasing me about my “new Creepy lover”! Interestingly, all my nightmares and anxiety disappeared during this time.
Ancient beliefs often mention our potential for telepathic connections with our pets, and I’ve experienced this with all my animals. One night, while upstairs watching TV, I suddenly felt uneasy, thinking something might be wrong with Creepy. I checked the bathroom, but he wasn’t there. An hour later, as I brushed my teeth, he still hadn’t shown up. Then, out of the blue, I turned and saw him slowly inching toward me on the floor. It startled me, but I stayed calm. He even touched the front of my Ugg slipper with his antenna, which felt creepy, even for Creepy. When I moved, he followed surprisingly fast. It was a level of agility I hadn’t seen before, considering I’d never seen Creepy move much, let alone that fast and certainly never on the bathroom floor! I sensed he might be nearing the end of his life. It had been nearly four months since I first met Creepy, which seemed quite old for a cockroach based on my research.
The next day, I found Creepy near the shower, lifeless and upside down. I felt really sad and cried a lot. When my partner tried to remove him, I stopped him. Instead, I took Creepy and placed him in a bird’s nest I had.
I first thought about giving him a fusion of a Viking burial by a stream. Eventually, I placed the bird’s nest containing Creepy within a bush in front of my home. I checked on him for a while, but then I stopped. To this day, I haven’t checked on the burial site, trusting that nature has taken its course.
‘Creepy’. Source: Own Images
I’ve encountered a few cockroaches since, none of them mutants, and certainly none became my accidental pet. Surprisingly, none of them have evoked fear or disgust in me. Those negative feelings died and were buried with Creepy! Somehow, Creepy helped me navigate through some of life’s toughest lessons, and now, these creatures no longer scare me. Another noticeable change occurred in my life: I regained my confidence, security, and resilience. Since then, everything has improved, my relationships, my career, my happiness, and my sense of purpose.
Carl Jung’s statement “Where Your Fear Is, Your Task Is” seems to suggest that our fears often point us towards areas in our lives that require attention, growth, or resolution. In the context of my journey with Creepy, I found that facing my fear of cockroaches led me to confront deeper insecurities and challenges within myself. By addressing and overcoming this fear, I not only gained a newfound sense of courage and resilience but also embarked on a path of personal growth and transformation.
Facing my fear of Creepy became a pivotal moment. It symbolised my willingness to confront challenges head-on and emerge victorious, leading to positive changes in various aspects of my life. Through this journey with Creepy, I learned valuable lessons about courage, resilience, and the transformative power of facing our fears.
Written by: Gaia from Cosmic Program
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