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I maintain the conviction that it is always possible to transform. My view is you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the experienced individual is willing and ready for growth. As long as the person is willing to admit when it was wrong, and work to become a better dog.

Alright, I confess, I am that seasoned creature. And the skill I am trying to learn, although I am set in my ways? It is an significant challenge, something I have battled against, frequently, for my whole existence. I have been trying … to become less scared of huntsman spiders. Apologies to all the other spiders 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 sizeable, in charge, and the one I encounter most often. This includes on three separate occasions in the last week. In my own living space. Though unseen, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.

I'm skeptical I’ll ever reach “fan” status, but I've dedicated effort to at least attaining a baseline of normalcy about them.

A deep-seated fear of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who adore them). In my formative years, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any personally, but I still panicked if one was clearly in the general area as me. Vividly, I recall of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and attempting to manage a spider that had made its way onto the lounge-room wall. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (in case it ran after me), and spraying a significant portion of pesticide toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it did reach and irritate everyone in my house.

As I got older, whoever I was dating or sharing a home with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore responsible for managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and fled the scene. When finding myself alone, my strategy was simply to leave the room, plunge the room into darkness and try to erase the memory of its existence before I had to re-enter.

Not long ago, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who resided within the window frame, for the most part hanging out. As a means to be less scared of it, I conceptualized the spider as a female entity, a gal, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us yap. It sounds quite foolish, but it was effective (somewhat). Put another way, the deliberate resolution to become less phobic worked.

Whatever the case, I've endeavored to maintain this practice. I reflect upon all the logical reasons not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders pose no threat to me. I know they eat things like buzzing nuisances (creatures I despise). It is well-established they are one of nature’s beautiful, harmless-to-humans creatures.

Alas, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way conceivable. The sight of their multiple limbs transporting them at that terrible speed causes my caveman brain to enter panic mode. They claim to only have eight legs, but I maintain that multiplies when they move.

However it cannot be blamed on them that they have scary legs, and they have an equal entitlement to be where I am – if not more. I’ve found that taking the steps of trying not to immediately exit my own skin and run away when I see one, attempting to stay composed and breathing steadily, and intentionally reflecting about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.

Just because they are furry beings that move hastily at an alarming rate in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my girly screams. I can admit when I’ve been wrong and driven by baseless terror. I doubt I’ll ever make it to the “catching one in a Tupperware container and escorting it to the garden” stage, but one can't be sure. A bit of time remains for this old dog yet.