Here's an Minuscule Anxiety I Aim to Conquer. I Will Never Be a Fan, but Is it Possible to at the Very Least Be Reasonable Regarding Spiders?

I am someone who believes that it is always possible to change. My view is you truly can train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the old dog is willing and eager for knowledge. So long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the skill I am trying to learn, even though I am decrepit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have struggled with, frequently, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change 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. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least achieving Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to handle any directly, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it ran after me), and emptying half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or living with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I made whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to ignore its being before I had to return.

In a recent episode, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the casement, primarily lingering. In order to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, one of us, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. This may seem extremely dumb, but it had an impact (a little bit). Alternatively, 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 rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they prey upon things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way possible. The sight of their many legs carrying them at that alarming velocity triggers my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they get going.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have scary legs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that move hastily with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by irrational anxiety. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” stage, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this old dog yet.