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I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to change. I think you truly can teach an old dog new tricks, provided that the experienced individual is willing and willing to learn. So long as the individual in question is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a better dog.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the trick I am working to acquire, even though I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, an issue I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures that exist; I have to be realistic about my possible growth as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing three times in the previous seven days. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least becoming Normal about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to ensure I never had to handle any directly, but I still panicked if one was visibly in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the family room partition. I “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it ran after me), and discharging half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and annoy everyone in my house.

As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for dealing with it, while I emitted frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to forget about its being before I had to return.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, mostly just stationary. As a means to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a her, a one of the girls, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us gab. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it worked (a little bit). 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 understand they consume things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their multiple limbs carrying them at that terrible speed causes my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they move.

But it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, trying to remain calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are hairy creatures that dart around extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my girly screams. I can admit when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains for this old dog yet.