There's an Minuscule Anxiety I Want to Defeat. Fandom is Out of Reach, but Is it Possible to at the Very Least Be Normal About Spiders?

I firmly hold the belief that it is always possible to evolve. My view is you absolutely are able to train a seasoned creature, on the condition that the mature being is open-minded and willing to learn. As long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was mistaken, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

OK yes, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am trying to learn, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an major undertaking, a feat I have struggled with, often, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the other spiders 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 run into regularly. Encompassing a trio of instances in the last week. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but a shudder runs through me with discomfort as I type.

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

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to guarantee I never had to engage with any myself, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the living room surface. I “handled” with it by retreating to a remote corner, nearly crossing the threshold (lest it ran after me), and spraying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it managed to annoy and disturb everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or living with was, as a matter of course, the most courageous of spiders in our pairing, and therefore in charge of handling the situation, while I emitted low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my method was simply to leave the room, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I stayed at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who lived in the casement, primarily hanging out. As a means to be more comfortable with its presence, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a one of the girls, part of the group, just lounging in the sun and overhearing us yap. It sounds extremely dumb, but it had an impact (to some degree). Or, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic proved successful.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I recognize they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, non-threatening to people creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and almost unjust way conceivable. The sight of their multiple limbs carrying them at that alarming velocity triggers my primordial instincts to enter panic mode. They are said to only have eight legs, but I believe that multiplies when they move.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have frightening appendages, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that taking the steps of making an effort to avoid immediately exit my own skin and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Just because they are furry beings that dart around at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and driven by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and relocating it outdoors” level, but you never know. There’s a few years left in this veteran of life yet.