Here's an Itsy-Bitsy Anxiety I Want to Conquer. I'll Never Adore Them, but Can I at the Very Least Be Reasonable Concerning Spiders?

I am someone who believes that it is always possible to change. My view is you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the experienced individual is open-minded and willing to learn. So long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was wrong, and work to become a better dog.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am trying to learn, although I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have battled against, repeatedly, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. This includes on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming Normal about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who adore them). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any myself, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the general area 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 crawled on to the living room surface. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (in case it chased me), and spraying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or living with was, by default, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I made whimpers of distress and fled the scene. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its existence before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the window frame, for the most part hanging out. In order to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. This may seem rather silly, but it was effective (a little bit). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less scared did the trick.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The sight of their many legs carrying them at that alarming velocity causes my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that employing the techniques of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and fueled by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” stage, but miracles happen. There’s a few years for this veteran of life yet.