🔗 Share this article

I am someone who believes that it is always possible to change. I believe you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, provided that the old dog is willing and willing to learn. Provided that the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and work to become a improved version.

OK yes, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an important one, a feat I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. My regrets to 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 imposing, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing three times in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who adore them). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to handle any directly, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (in case it chased me), and emptying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of dealing with it, while I made whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my method was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the window frame, primarily hanging out. To be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a gal, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and listening to us chat. This may seem rather silly, but it worked (to some degree). Alternatively, making a conscious choice to become more fearless proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I understand they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (the bane of my existence). I know they are one of nature’s beautiful, benign creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way imaginable. The vision of their many legs propelling them at that frightening pace triggers my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They claim to only have eight legs, but I maintain that increases exponentially when they get going.

But it is no fault of their own that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. I have discovered that employing the techniques of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are furry beings that dart around with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” level, but miracles happen. Some life is left left in this veteran of life yet.