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I maintain the conviction that it is never too late to evolve. My view is you truly can train a seasoned creature, provided that the old dog is receptive and eager for knowledge. Provided that the old dog is willing to admit when it was in error, and strive to be a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am attempting to master, although I am a creature of habit? It is an important one, an issue I have struggled with, frequently, for my all my days. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the other spiders that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is sizeable, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the previous seven days. In my own living space. Though unseen, but a shudder runs through me at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “enthusiast” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming a standard level of composure about them.

An intense phobia regarding spiders from my earliest years (unlike other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and attempting to manage a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by positioning myself at a great distance, almost into the next room (lest it ran after me), and spraying a significant portion of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and annoy everyone in my house.

In my adult life, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, by default, the bravest of spiders out of the two of us, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I produced low keening sounds and fled the scene. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to forget about its existence before I had to re-enter.

Recently, I stayed at a pal's residence where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, for the most part hanging out. In order to be less fearful, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a girlie, in our circle, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us gab. It sounds rather silly, but it worked (a little bit). Put another way, actively deciding to become more fearless worked.

Whatever the case, I've made an effort to continue. I reflect upon all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I recognize they consume things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I know they are one of the world's exquisite, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The sight of their numerous appendages transporting them at that terrible speed causes my ancient psyche to enter panic mode. They are said to only have eight legs, but I maintain that increases exponentially when they move.

Yet it is no fault of their own that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that employing the techniques of working to prevent have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, working to keep calm and collected, and deliberately thinking about their positive qualities, has actually started to help.

Simply due to the reality that they are fuzzy entities that scuttle about at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they warrant my loathing, or my shrieks of terror. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and motivated by unfounded fear. I’m not sure I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and escorting it to the garden” level, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains left in this old dog yet.