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I firmly hold the belief that it is forever an option to transform. I believe you can in fact train a seasoned creature, as long as the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. As long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and work to become a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am trying to learn, although I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have struggled with, frequently, for my entire life. The quest I'm on … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my capacity for development as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. Including a trio of instances in the last week. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who adore them). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to engage with any directly, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the general area as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (for fear that it pursued me), and emptying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I produced whimpers of distress and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to forget about its presence before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the window frame, primarily stationary. In order to be less fearful, I imagined the spider as a her, a girlie, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. It sounds quite foolish, but it had an impact (somewhat). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become less scared proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they eat things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and almost unjust way possible. The sight of their numerous appendages carrying them at that frightening pace causes my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They claim to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I believe that multiplies when they get going.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I’ve found that taking the steps of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and consciously focusing about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and motivated by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” stage, but one can't be sure. There’s a few years left in this old dog yet.