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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to change. I think you truly can train a seasoned creature, as long as the mature being is receptive and ready for growth. As long as the old dog is ready to confess when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am trying to learn, even though I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, something I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes three times in the last week. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to confront any myself, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and spraying a generous amount of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I emitted frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the window frame, primarily hanging out. To be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a her, a gal, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. It sounds quite foolish, but it worked (to some degree). Alternatively, actively deciding to become less phobic proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The sight of their numerous appendages carrying them at that alarming velocity causes my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they move.

Yet it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they merit my intense dislike, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and driven by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and relocating it outdoors” stage, but you never know. A bit of time remains within this veteran of life yet.