Here's an Itsy-Bitsy Phobia I Want to Conquer. I'll Never Adore Them, but Can I at the Very Least Be Normal Concerning Spiders?
I maintain the conviction that it is forever an option to evolve. I think you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, as long as the experienced individual is open-minded and eager for knowledge. As long as the person is prepared to acknowledge when it was mistaken, and work to become a more enlightened self.
Well, admittedly, the metaphor applies to me. And the lesson I am attempting to master, even though I am a creature of habit? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have struggled with, frequently, for my whole existence. The quest I'm on … to become less scared of those large arachnids. My regrets to all the different eight-legged creatures 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, dominant, and the one I see with the greatest frequency. Encompassing three times in the previous seven days. In my own living space. You can’t see me, but I'm grimacing with discomfort as I type.
It's unlikely I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least becoming a baseline of normalcy about them.
An intense phobia regarding spiders dating back to my youth (in contrast to other children who are fascinated by them). Growing up, I had a sufficient number of brothers around to guarantee I never had to engage with any myself, but I still freaked out if one was visibly in the same room as me. I have a strong memory of one morning when I was eight, my family unconscious, and trying to deal with a spider that had made its way onto the living room surface. I “managed” with it by retreating to a remote corner, almost into the next room (lest it ran after me), and discharging a generous amount of insect spray toward it. The spray failed to hit the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and annoy everyone in my house.
As I got older, my romantic partner at the time or cohabiting with was, automatically, the bravest of spiders between us, and therefore tasked with handling the situation, while I emitted low keening sounds and beat a hasty retreat. If I was on my own, my tactic was simply to vacate the area, plunge the room into darkness and try to forget about its presence before I had to enter again.
Not long ago, I was a guest at a companion's home where there was a notably big huntsman who lived in the sill, mostly just stationary. To be less fearful, I envisioned the spider as a her, a gal, part of the group, just relaxing in the sun and listening to us gab. This may seem quite foolish, 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 contemplate all the sensible justifications not to be scared. I am aware huntsman spiders won’t harm me. I recognize they eat things like insect pests (creatures I despise). I am cognizant they are one of the planet's marvelous, benign creatures.
Alas, they do continue to move like that. They travel in the utterly horrifying and somehow offensive way possible. The appearance of their multiple limbs transporting them at that alarming velocity triggers my caveman brain to go into high alert. They claim to only have eight legs, but I maintain that increases exponentially when they move.
However it isn’t their fault that they have unnerving limbs, and they have the same privilege to be where I am – perhaps even more so. I have discovered that employing the techniques of making an effort to avoid have a visceral panic reaction and run away when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their good points, has actually started to help.
The mere fact that they are furry beings that move hastily with startling speed in a way that causes me nocturnal distress, is no reason for they deserve my hatred, or my shrieks of terror. It is possible to acknowledge when I’ve been wrong and driven by unfounded fear. I doubt I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and escorting it to the garden” level, but you never know. A bit of time remains within this veteran of life yet.
