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I am someone who believes that it is never too late to transform. I think you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the mature being is open-minded and eager for knowledge. So long as the individual in question is ready to confess when it was wrong, and strive to be a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am attempting to master, although I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have battled against, repeatedly, for my all my days. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward the common huntsman. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be pragmatic about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I run into regularly. This includes on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. Inside my home. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (unlike other children who adore them). During my childhood, I had plenty of male siblings around to guarantee I never had to confront any directly, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (in case 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 irritate everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whoever I was dating or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for handling the situation, while I emitted whimpers of distress and ran away. If I was on my own, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to ignore its existence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the window frame, for the most part hanging out. As a means to be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a female entity, a girlie, one of us, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us gab. This may seem rather silly, but it worked (somewhat). Or, actively deciding to become less scared worked.

Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they prey upon things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). I am cognizant 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 utterly horrifying and almost unjust way possible. The appearance of their multiple limbs carrying them at that alarming velocity induces my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They claim to only have eight legs, but I maintain that triples when they are in motion.

But it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – perhaps even more so. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of trying not to have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, trying to remain still and breathing, and consciously focusing about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Just because they are furry beings that dart around with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they merit my intense dislike, or my girly screams. It is possible to acknowledge when fear has clouded my judgment and fueled by irrational anxiety. I’m not sure I’ll ever reach the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” phase, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains within this old dog yet.