Here's an Minuscule Fear I Want to Defeat. I'll Never Adore Them, but Is it Possible to at Least Be Calm Concerning Spiders?

I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to transform. I believe you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the old dog is receptive and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and work to become a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have struggled with, frequently, for my entire life. I have been trying … to become less scared of those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be grounded about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to engage with any directly, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (for fear that it pursued me), and spraying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I produced frightened noises and ran away. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to ignore its existence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, for the most part stationary. To be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a 'girlie', a gal, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us chat. Admittedly, it appears rather silly, but it worked (somewhat). Alternatively, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they consume things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The sight of their numerous appendages transporting them at that alarming velocity triggers my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

However it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” stage, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains left in this veteran of life yet.