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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to change. I think you can in fact train a seasoned creature, provided that the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. As long as the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and work to become a improved version.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the trick I am attempting to master, even though I am set in my ways? It is an important one, something I have battled against, repeatedly, for my entire life. I have been trying … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. This includes on three separate occasions in the recent past. In my own living space. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who adore them). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the general area as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and discharging half a bottle of insect spray toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb 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 between us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and fled the scene. In moments of solitude, my tactic was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to enter again.

Recently, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the casement, mostly just hanging out. As a means to be less scared of it, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a gal, in our circle, just relaxing in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. It sounds extremely dumb, but it was effective (a little bit). Or, actively deciding to become less phobic did the trick.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I know they consume things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and almost unjust way imaginable. The sight of their many legs propelling them at that alarming velocity causes my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I am convinced that multiplies when they are in motion.

However it is no fault of their own that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that taking the steps of trying not to instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are hairy creatures that move hastily extremely quickly in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” phase, but one can't be sure. There’s a few years within this old dog yet.