Here's an Itsy-Bitsy Phobia I Aim to Defeat. I'll Never Adore Them, but Can I at Least Be Calm Concerning Spiders?

I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to change. My view is you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the old dog is willing and willing to learn. Provided that the person is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have struggled with, often, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Including three times in the recent past. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to confront any directly, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, almost into the next room (in case it ran after me), and emptying a significant portion of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I made whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to ignore its being before I had to enter again.

Recently, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the casement, mostly just lingering. To be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a her, a gal, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it was effective (a little bit). Alternatively, actively deciding to become less scared proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they prey upon things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The sight of their multiple limbs transporting them at that terrible speed triggers my caveman brain to go into high alert. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they get going.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that employing the techniques of trying not to have a visceral panic reaction and flee when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and driven by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” stage, but you never know. A bit of time remains left in this old dog yet.