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Foolishness and Monarchical Hubris Sunk Andrew, and It Might Persist Yet
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- By Joshua Tucker
- 08 Apr 2026
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There's an Itsy-Bitsy Phobia I Want to Conquer. I Will Never Be a Fan, but Can I at Least Be Reasonable Regarding Spiders?
I am someone who believes that it is always possible to change. My view is you absolutely are able to teach an old dog new tricks, on the condition that the old dog is open-minded and ready for growth. Provided that the person is ready to confess when it was wrong, and strive to be a improved version.
Alright, I confess, I am the old dog. And the lesson I am trying to learn, despite the fact that I am decrepit? It is an significant challenge, a feat I have struggled with, repeatedly, for my all my days. I have been trying … to grow less fearful of the common huntsman. Pardon me, all the other spiders that exist; I have to be grounded about my capacity for development as a human. The focus must remain on the huntsman because it is imposing, commanding, and the one I encounter most often. This includes on three separate occasions in the recent past. Within my dwelling. I'm not visible to you, but I'm grimacing and grimacing as I type.
I doubt I’ll ever reach “admirer” status, but I’ve been working on at least attaining a standard level of composure about them.
I have been terrified of spiders from my earliest years (in contrast to other children who find them delightful). Growing up, I had plenty of male siblings around to make sure I never had to engage with any myself, but I still became hysterical if one was clearly in the immediate vicinity as me. One incident stands out of one morning when I was eight, my family still asleep, and trying to deal with a spider that had ascended the lounge-room wall. I “dealt” with it by standing incredibly far away, nearly crossing the threshold (in case it pursued me), and emptying a generous amount of bug repellent toward it. It didn’t reach the spider, but it succeeded in affecting and disturb everyone in my house.
As I got older, whomever I was in a relationship with or cohabiting with was, automatically, the least afraid of spiders between us, and therefore in charge of managing the intruder, while I produced frightened noises and beat a hasty retreat. When finding myself alone, my method was simply to exit the space, turn off the light and try to ignore its existence before I had to enter again.
Recently, I was a guest at a friend’s house where there was a very large huntsman who made its home in the sill, for the most part lingering. To be more comfortable with its presence, I imagined the spider as a female entity, a girlie, part of the group, just chilling in the sun and listening to us yap. Admittedly, it appears quite foolish, but it was effective (somewhat). Put another way, actively deciding to become less scared did the trick.
Be that as it may, I’ve tried to keep it up. I think about all the rational arguments not to be scared. It is a fact that huntsman spiders are not dangerous to humans. I understand they eat things like buzzing nuisances (my mortal enemies). I am cognizant they are one of the world's exquisite, benign creatures.
Unfortunately, however, they do continue to walk like that. They propel themselves in the most terrifying and borderline immoral way imaginable. The sight of their multiple limbs propelling them at that terrible speed induces my ancient psyche 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 taking the steps of making an effort to avoid instantly leap out of my body and flee when I see one, trying to remain composed and breathing steadily, and deliberately thinking about their beneficial attributes, has actually started to help.
The mere fact that they are fuzzy entities that move hastily extremely quickly in a way that invades my dreams, does not justify they deserve my hatred, or my high-pitched vocalizations. It is possible to acknowledge when my reactions have been misguided and fueled by baseless terror. It is uncertain I’ll ever reach the “scooping one into plasticware and relocating it outdoors” level, but one can't be sure. Some life is left left in this old dog yet.
Joshua Tucker
Lena Hoffmann is a seasoned journalist with a passion for uncovering stories that matter, specializing in German current affairs and digital media trends.
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