There's an Minuscule Phobia I Want to Overcome. Fandom is Out of Reach, but Can I at Least Be Reasonable Regarding Spiders?

I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to change. My view is you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the old dog is receptive and eager for knowledge. So long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and strive to be a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, I am that seasoned creature. And the lesson I am working to acquire, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, something I have grappled with, repeatedly, for my entire life. My ongoing effort … to grow less fearful of those large arachnids. Pardon me, all the remaining arachnid species that exist; I have to be realistic about my potential for change as a human. It also has to be the huntsman because it is imposing, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. This includes a trio of instances in the last week. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but a shudder runs through me and grimacing as I type.

I doubt I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving a standard level of composure about them.

I have been terrified of spiders since I was a child (unlike other children who adore them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to make sure I never had to confront any directly, but I still panicked if one was obviously in the immediate vicinity 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 “handled” with it by standing incredibly far away, practically in the adjoining space (in case it pursued me), and discharging a significant portion of insect spray toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, as a matter of course, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with dealing with it, while I emitted whimpers of distress and ran away. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to enter again.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the sill, for the most part lingering. In order to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a 'girlie', a girlie, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us yap. It sounds extremely dumb, but it had an impact (to some degree). Alternatively, the deliberate resolution to become less scared did the trick.

Be that as it may, I've made an effort to continue. I think about all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I know they eat things like flies and mosquitoes (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to scuttle like that. They move in the utterly horrifying and almost unjust way possible. The appearance of their many legs propelling them at that alarming velocity triggers my primordial instincts to go into high alert. They ostensibly only have the typical arachnid arrangement, but I am convinced that multiplies when they are in motion.

Yet it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – if not more. My experience has shown that taking the steps of working to prevent instantly leap out of my body and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay calm and collected, and consciously focusing about their good points, has begun to yield results.

Simply due to the reality that they are hairy creatures that dart around extremely quickly in a way that haunts my sleep, doesn’t mean they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. I am willing to confess when fear has clouded my judgment and driven by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “trapping one under a cup and taking it outside” stage, but you never know. Some life is left within this veteran of life yet.