Fear is weird. It’s one of those universal human experiences that manages to be both deeply personal and strangely collective. We’ve all felt that prickle on the back of the neck when the lights go out. Whether it's a child's literal fear of little and big monsters hiding in the closet or an adult's metaphorical dread of "monstrous" debt or health scares, these figures haunt us. But where do they actually come from? Honestly, the history of monsters is basically just a history of what humans were afraid of at the time. They aren't just bumps in the night. They are mirrors.
Why We Invented the Little and Big Monsters
If you look back at folklore—real, gritty folklore, not the sanitized Disney stuff—monsters served a very practical purpose. They were cautionary tales. In the 19th century, parents in the UK told kids about "Jenny Greenteeth," a river hag who would pull them into the water if they got too close to the edge. Was Jenny real? Of course not. But the danger of drowning in a stagnant pond was very real.
These little and big monsters acted as a sort of primitive safety manual.
It’s actually fascinating how the scale of the monster correlates with the scale of the anxiety. Little monsters, like the domovoi in Slavic folklore or the duende in Hispanic cultures, usually represent domestic anxieties. They hide your keys. They spoil the milk. They are the personification of the "little" things that go wrong in a household. Big monsters, however, are existential. We’re talking about the krakens, the dragons, and the giants. These guys represent the uncontrollable forces of nature—the storms that sink ships and the fires that level cities.
The Psychology of the Shadow
Carl Jung, the famous psychiatrist, had a lot to say about this. He didn't call them monsters; he called it "The Shadow."
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Basically, everything we don't like about ourselves—our aggression, our selfishness, our weird impulses—gets pushed down into the basement of our subconscious. When we can't face those parts of ourselves, we project them onto the outside world. We create little and big monsters so we have something tangible to fight. It is much easier to slay a dragon in a video game or a movie than it is to slay the "monster" of your own procrastination or ego.
Think about the classic horror movie tropes. The monster is almost always a manifestation of a societal taboo. In the 1950s, big monsters like Godzilla were literal stand-ins for nuclear radiation and the trauma of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the 1980s, the "slasher" was a response to urban decay and the breakdown of the traditional family unit.
We need them.
Without these personifications, our fears are just abstract, floating clouds of cortisol. Giving a fear a face—even a scary one—gives us a target. It makes the fear manageable.
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From Bedtime Stories to Modern Anxiety
It’s not just for kids. You’ve probably noticed how monster movies have changed lately. We’ve moved away from the giant, rubber-suit lizards to more psychological, "little" monsters. Think of films like The Babadook or It Follows. These aren't just creatures; they are metaphors for grief and trauma.
When a kid asks if there are little and big monsters in their room, they aren't just being "imaginative." Their brains are literally practicing for the real world. Developmental psychologists, including researchers like Dr. Jacqueline Woolley at the University of Texas, have studied how children distinguish between fantasy and reality. Kids use "monsters" as a way to categorize things that feel dangerous but don't have a name yet.
If you’re a parent, the worst thing you can do is just say "monsters aren't real."
To a kid, they are very real. Their amygdala is firing just like yours does when you see a suspicious charge on your credit card. Instead of dismissing it, many child psychologists suggest "monster spray" (usually just water and a bit of lavender). It sounds silly, but it gives the child agency. It teaches them that they have tools to deal with the little and big monsters they will inevitably encounter as they grow up.
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The Physicality of Fright
Have you ever wondered why your heart races even when you know the monster on the screen is just CGI?
It’s the "High-Low Road" of fear processing. When you see something scary, the information hits your thalamus and takes two paths. The "low road" is a fast-track to the amygdala. It screams "RUN!" before you even know what you're looking at. The "high road" goes through the sensory cortex, where your brain calmly realizes, "Oh, wait, that’s just a guy in a suit."
The thrill of little and big monsters comes from that split-second delay between the two roads. It’s a safe way to trigger a biological survival mechanism.
Actionable Steps for Managing Your Own Monsters
We all have them. Some are little (the fear of a typo in an email) and some are big (the fear of failure). Here is how you actually handle them without losing your mind.
- Name the beast. In many ancient myths, knowing a monster’s true name gave you power over it. This works in real life too. Instead of saying "I feel stressed," say "I am experiencing the Monster of Financial Uncertainty." It sounds goofy, but it externalizes the problem.
- Check the lighting. Monsters thrive in the dark. In a literal sense, keep your environment bright if you're prone to night terrors. In a metaphorical sense, bring your fears into the light by talking about them. Secrets are the fuel for little and big monsters.
- Vulnerability is a weapon. The most "monstrous" people are often those who are most afraid. Understanding that most "big monsters" in our lives—bullies, toxic bosses, aggressive strangers—are usually just acting out their own internal "little monsters" can change your perspective from fear to pity.
- Limit the input. If you spend four hours a day scrolling through doom-and-gloom news, you are basically feeding the monsters. Your brain can't tell the difference between a threat on your phone and a predator in your living room.
Monsters will always be with us. They evolve as we evolve. From the "monsters" on ancient maps marking unknown territories (Hic sunt dracones) to the monsters in our modern digital shadows, they remind us that we are still figuring things out. They are the boundary markers of our comfort zones. To live a full life, you don't need to get rid of the little and big monsters—you just need to learn how to lead them.
Stop checking under the bed. Start looking at why you’re looking. That’s where the real power is.