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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to change. My view is you can in fact train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the mature being is receptive and ready for growth. Provided that the individual in question is willing to admit when it was wrong, and strive to be a more enlightened self.

OK yes, the metaphor applies to me. And the skill I am trying to learn, even though I am set in my ways? It is an important one, an issue I have grappled with, frequently, for my entire life. I have been trying … to develop a calmer response toward those large arachnids. My regrets to all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is large, in charge, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Including a trio of instances in the last week. Inside my home. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but my project has been at least achieving a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders dating back to my youth (as opposed to other children who adore them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to confront any personally, but I still became hysterical if one was obviously in the same room as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of 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 (for fear that it chased me), and spraying a generous amount of pesticide toward it. The chemical cloud missed the spider, but it did reach and disturb everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or sharing a home with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore tasked with managing the intruder, while I made low keening sounds and ran away. If I was on my own, my strategy was simply to vacate the area, douse the illumination and try to forget about its being before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who made its home in the casement, for the most part hanging out. As a means to be less fearful, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a girlie, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and eavesdropping on us gab. It sounds rather silly, but it worked (a little bit). Or, making a conscious choice to become less phobic did the trick.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they eat things like flies and mosquitoes (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Unfortunately, however, they do continue to scuttle like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their many legs transporting them at that frightening pace causes my caveman brain to go into high alert. They claim to only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I am convinced that increases exponentially when they are in motion.

But it cannot be blamed on them that they have unnerving limbs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. I have discovered that implementing the strategy of working to prevent immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, working to keep still and breathing, and intentionally reflecting about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that dart around with startling speed in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when fear has clouded my judgment and motivated by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” phase, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this seasoned learner yet.