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I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to transform. My view is you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the old dog is open-minded and eager for knowledge. Provided that the person is ready to confess when it was mistaken, and strive to be a improved version.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am trying to learn, even though I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have battled against, frequently, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing a trio of instances in the recent past. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the living room surface. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (lest it chased me), and spraying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I produced whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the casement, for the most part stationary. To be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a one of the girls, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. This may seem quite foolish, but it worked (to some degree). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become more fearless worked.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they prey upon things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The sight of their multiple limbs transporting them at that alarming velocity induces my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

However it isn’t their fault that they have scary legs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that employing the techniques of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, working to keep still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and driven by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” phase, but you never know. A bit of time remains within this veteran of life yet.