Here's an Itsy-Bitsy Phobia I Want to Defeat. I Will Never Be a Fan, but Can I at the Very Least Be Normal Concerning Spiders?

I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to evolve. I believe you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, provided that the old dog is receptive and eager for knowledge. So long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, although I am a creature of habit? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have battled against, often, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but my project has been at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to engage with any directly, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and emptying a generous amount of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to return.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the window frame, mostly just stationary. As a means to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, one of us, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us gab. It sounds rather silly, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, actively deciding to become more fearless worked.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they eat things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs propelling them at that frightening pace triggers my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they move.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and driven by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” stage, but miracles happen. There’s a few years for this old dog yet.