Here's an Minuscule Fear I Want to Conquer. I Will Never Be a Fan, but Can I at the Very Least Be Calm About Spiders?

I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. I believe you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the experienced individual is willing and willing to learn. So long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. Including three times in the last week. Inside my home. You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least achieving a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and discharging half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or living with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I produced low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to return.

Recently, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, for the most part lingering. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a girlie, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it worked (somewhat). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become more fearless proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they consume things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They move in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way possible. The sight of their multiple limbs transporting them at that frightening pace induces my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that triples when they get going.

However it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that implementing the strategy of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left left in this old dog yet.