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I am someone who believes that it is always possible to transform. I think you truly can instruct a veteran learner, provided that the mature being is open-minded and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was wrong, and strive to be a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am trying to learn, although I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, something I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to develop a calmer response toward huntsman spiders. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes a trio of instances in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to confront any directly, but I still became hysterical 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 “managed” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, practically in the adjoining space (lest it ran after me), and emptying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I made low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to forget about its existence before I had to return.

Recently, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the window frame, mostly just hanging out. As a means to be less fearful, I imagined the spider as a her, a one of the girls, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and listening to us chat. This may seem rather silly, but it worked (a little bit). Or, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless did the trick.

Be that as it may, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they consume things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the planet's marvelous, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The vision of their many legs propelling them at that alarming velocity triggers my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They are said to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that triples when they get going.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are hairy creatures that dart around extremely quickly in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” stage, but miracles happen. Some life is left left in this old dog yet.