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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to change. I believe you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, provided that the old dog is willing and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and work to become a improved version.

Alright, I confess, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, an issue I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my entire life. I have been trying … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my capacity for development as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is sizeable, commanding, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes a trio of instances in the last week. Inside my home. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who adore them). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to handle any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had made its way onto the family room partition. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and discharging a significant portion of pesticide toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, my romantic partner at the time or sharing a home with was, automatically, the most courageous of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I produced low keening sounds and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my method was simply to vacate the area, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I was a guest at a pal's residence where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who lived in the casement, for the most part lingering. To be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a gal, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us yap. It sounds rather silly, but it had an impact (to some degree). Or, actively deciding to become less phobic worked.

Whatever the case, I’ve tried to keep it up. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they eat things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The appearance of their numerous appendages transporting them at that frightening pace induces my caveman brain to kick into overdrive. They claim to only have eight legs, but I believe that increases exponentially when they get going.

However it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has actually started to help.

The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that dart around extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “scooping one into plasticware and taking it outside” phase, but one can't be sure. Some life is left left in this veteran of life yet.