🔗 Share this article

I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to evolve. I believe you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the experienced individual is open-minded and ready for growth. Provided that the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am trying to learn, although I am decrepit? It is an important one, an issue I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, commanding, and the one I run into regularly. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least achieving Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who find them delightful). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still freaked out if one was clearly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “handled” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it ran after me), and emptying a significant portion of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, by default, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I made frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its presence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I visited a friend’s house where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the sill, for the most part stationary. In order to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a her, a girlie, one of us, just lounging in the sun and listening to us gab. This may seem quite foolish, but it was effective (a little bit). Or, actively deciding to become less phobic did the trick.

Regardless, I've made an effort to continue. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to move like that. They move in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way conceivable. The sight of their many legs transporting them at that frightening pace causes my ancient psyche to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have eight legs, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they move.

But it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that implementing the strategy of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that move hastily with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when I’ve been wrong and motivated by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” phase, but miracles happen. There’s a few years for this seasoned learner yet.