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I firmly hold the belief that it is always possible to evolve. I believe you truly can train a seasoned creature, provided that the experienced individual is willing and willing to learn. Provided that the old dog is prepared to acknowledge when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am working to acquire, although I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have battled against, often, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is large, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes a trio of instances in the last week. In my own living space. I'm not visible to you, but I’m shaking my head and grimacing as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving Normal about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any directly, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it chased me), and spraying half a bottle of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whomever I was in a relationship with or living with was, by default, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I emitted frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my method was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I stayed at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the casement, mostly just lingering. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a gal, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and overhearing us chat. Admittedly, it appears extremely dumb, but it was effective (somewhat). Put another way, making a conscious choice to become less phobic did the trick.

Regardless, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I understand they consume things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). 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 propel themselves in the most terrifying and somehow offensive way conceivable. The sight of their multiple limbs transporting them at that terrible speed induces my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They claim to only have eight legs, but I believe that multiplies when they get going.

But it isn’t their fault that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. 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 still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Simply due to the reality that they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that invades my dreams, doesn’t mean they merit my intense dislike, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I am willing to confess when my reactions have been misguided and motivated by unfounded fear. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” stage, but one can't be sure. There’s a few years within this seasoned learner yet.