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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to transform. I believe you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the old dog is open-minded and ready for growth. Provided that the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was wrong, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

Well, admittedly, I am the old dog. And the skill I am attempting to master, although I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, a feat I have grappled with, frequently, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of huntsman spiders. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I run into regularly. This includes on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to confront any personally, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and trying to deal with a spider that had ascended the family room partition. I “managed” with it by standing incredibly far away, almost into the next room (in case it chased me), and discharging half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I made frightened noises and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to return.

Recently, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the sill, mostly just hanging out. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a girlie, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it was effective (a little bit). Put another way, actively deciding to become less phobic worked.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they eat things like flies and mosquitoes (the bane of my existence). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The sight of their numerous appendages carrying them at that terrible speed triggers my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They are said to only have a standard octet of limbs, but I am convinced that multiplies when they are in motion.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I’ve found that employing the techniques of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and fueled by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” stage, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains for this old dog yet.