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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to change. I believe you absolutely are able to instruct a veteran learner, provided that the experienced individual is willing and ready for growth. So long as the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and strive to be a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am a creature of habit? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have grappled with, often, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my potential for change as a human. The target inevitably is the huntsman because it is sizeable, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Including three times in the recent past. Inside my home. Though unseen, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but my project has been at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders since I was a child (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to ensure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and emptying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I produced whimpers of distress and ran away. In moments of solitude, my strategy was simply to exit the space, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its being before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I visited a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who resided within the sill, for the most part lingering. To be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a gal, in our circle, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us chat. This may seem quite foolish, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less scared proved successful.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I contemplate all the logical reasons not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like insect pests (the bane of my existence). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and borderline immoral way possible. The vision of their many legs propelling them at that frightening pace triggers my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have eight legs, but I believe that triples when they move.

But it isn’t their fault 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 making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Just because they are hairy creatures that scuttle about with startling speed in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” stage, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains within this seasoned learner yet.