Sometimes healing starts with a spider

But Who Kills Your Spiders?
Practical Online Dating Wisdom from a Romantic Heart

When I decided to start dating again after my divorce, everyone had advice.
Update your wardrobe. Try this app or that app. Lower your standards.

But no one prepared me for the real challenge: remembering how to trust my own judgment again.

This newsletter is for anyone navigating the strange wilderness of modern dating—with practical tips, honest stories, and a healthy dose of humor about the journey from first swipe to genuine connection.

All while handling your own spiders along the way.
(That’ll make more sense in a second.)

In this email:

• Opening lines to rescue you from dead-end dating app chat

• The origin of the question “But who kills your spiders?”

Opening Lines That Work

Most dating app convos die because they start with “Hey.”

If their profile made you smile—or at least didn’t make you shudder—give them a little grace on the opener and jump-start the conversation with something better.

Ask a real question. Give a real answer.

Here are a few that work

• What’s something you’ve been really into lately? I started taking pottery after watching The Great Pottery Throw Down.

• If you could instantly master one skill, what would it be? I’d jump straight to running marathons. No training plan. Just speed.

• What’s a childhood food you still love? I’m still a frozen-peas-straight-from-the-bag kind of girl.

The best questions reveal something unexpected. And the best answers show you're here for more than a match—you’re here to connect.

But Who Kills Your Spiders? (The Origin Story)

When my retired kindergarten teacher neighbor learned I was a divorced mom who works full time and had just bought a house in the woods with propane, septic, spring water and seventeen stairs to the front door, she looked at me in horror.

"But who kills your spiders?" she whispered, clutching her cardigan closed.

"I do," I replied. "But I don't kill them. I catch them, take them outside, and politely ask them not to come back."

What my neighbor didn't know was how long it had taken me to reach even that level of spider confidence. In the beginning, I was equally terrified of both spiders and meeting strangers from the internet. Both required courage I wasn't sure I possessed.

That first night in my new house, I encountered a massive house spider on my bathroom wall. I stood frozen, staring at it.

I thought about calling my daughter to loan me her stuffed panda for emotional support. I considered knocking on a neighbor's door. Instead, I took a deep breath and moved forward.

The capture was neither graceful nor confident—a clumsy dance of fear and determination. But somehow, I managed to release the spider. “You’re welcome to the garden. Please don’t come back inside.”

And I didn’t feel relief.
I felt something better.
Pride.

I had faced a fear alone.
I had handled it.

After two decades of online dating—in my 20s and again in my 40s—I’ve learned to tell the difference between the black widow spiders of life (the ones that need swift action) and the harmless wanderers (the ones that just need a nudge and a boundary).

The most important thing I’ve learned?
I don’t need someone else to handle them for me.

What's Your Spider Story?

I’d love to hear either

🕷️ The worst opening line you’ve ever received on a dating app
OR
🕸️ A moment when you surprised yourself by handling something you once thought required someone else

Just hit reply. I read every single one.

And if this made you smile, forward it to a friend who’s also learning to kill their own spiders (or let them live, respectfully).

Blue skies,
Carla