There's an Itsy-Bitsy Anxiety I Hope to Defeat. I Will Never Be a Fan, but Can I at the Very Least Be Calm Regarding Spiders?

I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to evolve. I think you truly can instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the old dog is open-minded and willing to learn. Provided that the individual in question is willing to admit when it was wrong, and work to become a improved version.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have battled against, repeatedly, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic 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 run into regularly. This includes a trio of instances in the recent past. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

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

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to confront any personally, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it pursued me), and emptying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I produced low keening sounds and ran away. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to forget about its being before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who lived in the sill, for the most part hanging out. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a her, a gal, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and listening to us gab. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it was effective (a little bit). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless worked.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The vision of their many legs carrying them at that terrible speed causes my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that multiplies when they get going.

But it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” stage, but miracles happen. Some life is left for this veteran of life yet.