Here's an Itsy-Bitsy Phobia I Aim to Overcome. I Will Never Be a Fan, but Can I at Least Be Reasonable Regarding Spiders?

I am someone who believes that it is never too late to evolve. I believe you can in fact instruct a veteran learner, on the condition that the mature being is willing and ready for growth. So long as the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and work to become a better dog.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, something I have struggled with, often, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my possible growth as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing three times in the recent past. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to engage with any myself, 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 slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it pursued me), and spraying half a bottle of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I emitted whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, turn off the light 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 friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the casement, for the most part lingering. As a means to be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. It sounds quite foolish, but it had an impact (a little bit). Put another way, actively deciding to become less phobic proved successful.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they eat things like flies and mosquitoes (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The vision of their many legs propelling them at that frightening pace induces my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have scary legs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I’ve found that taking the steps of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their good points, has actually started to help.

Just because they are furry beings that move hastily extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and driven by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but miracles happen. Some life is left for this old dog yet.