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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to transform. I think you truly can train a seasoned creature, provided that the mature being is willing and eager for knowledge. Provided that the old dog is ready to confess when it was in error, and work to become a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. This includes three times in the previous seven days. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to ensure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it chased me), and spraying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I emitted frightened noises and ran away. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to leave the room, douse the illumination and try to ignore its being before I had to return.

Recently, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the window frame, for the most part lingering. In order to be less scared of it, I imagined the spider as a her, a one of the girls, one of us, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. This may seem extremely dumb, but it had an impact (to some degree). Or, actively deciding to become less scared proved successful.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The vision of their numerous appendages propelling them at that alarming velocity triggers my ancient psyche to go into high alert. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I maintain that triples when they get going.

However it isn’t their fault that they have frightening appendages, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and flee when I see one, working to keep composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has begun to yield results.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains left in this seasoned learner yet.