🔗 Share this article

I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to change. My view is you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the mature being is open-minded and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill 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, repeatedly, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is 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. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought 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.

A deep-seated fear of spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to ensure I never had to handle any myself, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the general area 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 made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it pursued me), and emptying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I emitted whimpers of distress and fled the scene. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to re-enter.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who lived in the sill, mostly just lingering. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and listening to us gab. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it had an impact (somewhat). Or, making a conscious choice to become more fearless worked.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they prey upon things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way conceivable. The vision of their many legs propelling them at that terrible speed triggers my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They claim to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that triples when they move.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that taking the steps of trying not to have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Just because they are furry beings that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” phase, but miracles happen. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.