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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to evolve. I believe you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the old dog is willing and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am attempting to master, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, something I have battled against, repeatedly, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing a trio of instances in the previous seven days. Inside my home. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but my project has been at least achieving Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to handle any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (lest it ran after me), and emptying a significant portion of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I made frightened noises and fled the scene. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to forget about its being before I had to enter again.

Recently, 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 hanging out. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a girlie, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and overhearing us yap. This may seem quite foolish, but it worked (somewhat). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become more fearless worked.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they eat things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The sight of their multiple limbs carrying them at that alarming velocity triggers my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They are said to only have eight legs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about extremely quickly in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and driven by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but miracles happen. There’s a few years for this seasoned learner yet.