Here's an Tiny Anxiety I Want to Defeat. Fandom is Out of Reach, but Can I at Least Be Reasonable About Spiders?

I firmly hold the belief that it is never too late to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the old dog is open-minded and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am working to acquire, even though I am decrepit? It is an important one, a feat I have struggled with, frequently, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. Apologies to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. This includes a trio of instances in the last week. Within my dwelling. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving Normal about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to ensure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still freaked out if one was obviously in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “managed” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it pursued me), and spraying half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or living with was, by default, the bravest of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I made frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. In moments of solitude, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its presence before I had to enter again.

In a recent episode, I visited a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who resided within the window frame, mostly just lingering. In order to be more comfortable with its presence, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. This may seem quite foolish, but it worked (to some degree). Alternatively, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic did the trick.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I understand they consume things like insect pests (my mortal enemies). It is well-established they are one of the world's exquisite, non-threatening to people creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They travel in the deeply alarming and almost unjust way conceivable. The vision of their multiple limbs transporting them at that alarming velocity induces my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They ostensibly only have eight legs, but I believe that triples when they get going.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

The mere fact that they are hairy creatures that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. I’m not sure I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” level, but one can't be sure. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.