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I firmly hold the belief that it is always possible to transform. My view is you truly can instruct a veteran learner, as long as the experienced individual is open-minded and willing to learn. So long as the individual in question is willing to admit when it was in error, and endeavor to transform into a more enlightened self.

Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the trick I am attempting to master, despite the fact that I am set in my ways? It is an major undertaking, something I have grappled with, frequently, for my entire life. I have been trying … to become less scared of the common huntsman. Apologies 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 imposing, dominant, and the one I encounter most often. Encompassing on three separate occasions in the recent past. Within my dwelling. You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head at the very thought as I type.

It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least achieving a baseline of normalcy about them.

I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (as opposed to other children who are fascinated by them). In my formative years, I had ample brothers around to make sure I never had to handle any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was visibly in the same room as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family slumbering on, and facing the ordeal of a spider that had crawled on to the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, practically in the adjoining space (for fear that it pursued me), and discharging half a bottle of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and irritate everyone in my house.

With the passage of time, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, by default, the least afraid of spiders in our pairing, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I made frightened noises and fled the scene. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, douse the illumination and try to forget about its existence before I had to enter again.

Recently, I visited a companion's home where there was a particularly sizable huntsman who made its home in the sill, mostly just lingering. In order to be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a 'girlie', a one of the girls, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us gab. This may seem extremely dumb, but it worked (to some degree). Alternatively, the deliberate resolution to become more fearless proved successful.

Be that as it may, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I contemplate all the rational arguments not to be scared. I know huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they consume things like buzzing nuisances (the bane of my existence). I know they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Yet, regrettably, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way imaginable. The sight of their multiple limbs carrying them at that terrible speed triggers my primordial instincts to kick into overdrive. They ostensibly only have a standard octet of limbs, but I believe that triples when they get going.

However it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have just as much right to be where I am – possibly a greater claim. My experience has shown that employing the techniques of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and retreat when I see one, attempting to stay still and breathing, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has proven somewhat effective.

Just because they are fuzzy entities that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that haunts my sleep, does not justify they warrant my loathing, or my high-pitched vocalizations. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and motivated by irrational anxiety. I doubt I’ll ever attain the “catching one in a Tupperware container and taking it outside” level, but miracles happen. A bit of time remains within this old dog yet.