Duke1907
Arachnopeon
- Joined
- May 26, 2021
- Messages
- 38
Warning: This is going to be a long post. If you can't handle that, there's no reason to be a pissant about it. Just move along.
So this post is pretty much what the title makes it sound like. I wanted to share the story of how I overcame (and am still overcoming) my Arachnophobia. My hope is that this story can in some way help someone, anyone, to overcome thier own fear of spiders in any way possible. If it helps someone even just a tiny little bit, then it's done it's job. Maybe it won't. Maybe it's just a bunch of words. I don't know. But I'm going to state them here. Seems a good a place as any. Probably better than some.
Now first off, you must understand that when I say I had Arachnophobia, boy I mean had it and I had it bad. I had been torn up with it ever since I was a little boy (I'm 54 now) and to be honest I don't even know why I had it. I remember that my Dad and/or Grandfather (who both also hated spiders) would take me fishing from time to time and there would be these huge fishing or writing spiders hanging on thier webs from the pier that was there or the private dock(s) around. But none of those spiders never bothered me at all. All they ever did was run and hide when I got too close. Even that quickness would scare the bejesus out of me. It was a senseless, baseless fear. The kind of thing Yoda taught against.
Also, I grew up in some pretty thick woods in the Deep South, so even when not fishing, we still definitely had wolf spiders and other species out there of healthy tarantula sizes, dwarf and giant. Big old gray, hairy bastards. That being said, as far as I remember, not a single spider ever bit me or was even defensive toward me. But one would get onto me here and there (I was an outdoor kid so it was kind of bound to happen sometimes...I explored, climbed trees, dug in the ground, tramped through undergrowth etc,) and I would absolutely freak out and try to kill one if I saw one but no spider ever hurt me or threatened me in any way. I was just simply petrified of them, even the tiniest little spiderling. Now once, my grandfather was bitten by a black widow and he got sick af for about 3 days but he recovered fully. And I used to go out of my way to kill any spider I saw, either in the house or outside and that habit continued until well into my 50s.
Now This has all been just kind of a "preface" to what I want to say here. This has all been kind of how it started, my earliest memories of it.
More importantly though, what I want to talk about now is how it ended, or at least how it became less a part of me than it has ever been. It's still there to a degree. But it's quiet. Controlled, and therefore, basically inert.
So moving along, jump forward about 20-ish years. By then I was an adult in my early 30s I guess, and I was working at a manufacturing facility on the hourly clock. And like every hourly worker who ever punched a time card or clock, every day at noon I got the obligatory thirty-minute lunch-slash-smoke-break. (Just FYI, I've since stopped smoking).
Well during that lunch time every day, my standard routine, even during the Winter months on certain days (for the solitude...no one else wanted to come out on days like that), was to take my sandwich and Coke outdoors to this stone picnic table they had under a healthy little landscaped tree there, and eat my lunch with a few friends who'd all sit there with me. If you've ever been in that situation, you know how it is. We'd sit there and tell dirty jokes and pick on each other (or someone else), bum smokes and of course we'd always bitch about how much we "hated this place," and just generally be hourly employees on our lunch break. Par for that particular course.
Well, one sunny day I'm out there sitting with the regular crowd at that stone table and the rest of the crew is talking and laughing and going on but for some reason but I'm quiet, into my own thoughts, just sitting there having finished my lunch and not joining in the conversation at the mo.
Looking back all these years removed from then, I wonder if there was some cosmic purpose in that, at least within my own consciousness.
Because there's this little black jumping spider be-bopping across the tabletop, can't be more than maybe 1/8 of an inch. Tiny as it gets.
Now there was a time when I was younger when even that would've made me sh*t myself, so even at this time that senseless fear had already lessened, at least somewhat.Age dilutes one.
Well he (or she), the little jumper, comes trundling along, not sprinting, not skittering in a panicked, balls out bid for safer climes. It's just walking along calmly like she's not surrounded by careless, clumsy, loud-mouthed giants. She walks, calm as a briar, right up in front of me, stops, and looks up at me, stock still (but the little mouth parts are still furiously working up and down like tiny pistons), and just sits there. Doesn't move a muscle. Looking right into my face, far as I could tell. Stays like that. Now maybe he or she was trying to figure out how to get past me and into that tree. But maybe, just maybe, it came up to me and only me, for some reason I can't possibly fathom to this day. I like to believe that that is exactly what happened. It was like he or she owned this spot right here, and she had somthing' that needed sayin', and needed it said to me and nobody else, and needed it right then.
We all know how fast a jumper, even a tiny one, can scuttle. Why did it just stroll up to me like that? It boggles my mind sometimes still to this very day.
So yeah. I was hypnotized.
It was like "the Moment of Contact" or something. You know that moment people talk about when a lifelong student of gorilla or elephant behavior or something finally has one of them reach out and touch that person on the fingertip? Or shows the person some sudden, random act of affection or acknowledgment? The "Moment of Contact." Like when a child discovers that he's unafraid of snakes. Like when E.T. touched Elliot's hand the first time. It was like that. At least to me it was.
My "Moment of Contact." A fearless, tiny predator staring into the eyes of a monster who normally would have crushed it to death.
Now being in absolute fear of spiders for my entire life, I realized with some amount of disbelief that I was not afraid. I was infatuated.I think it must have sensed the danger. It's an animal. They can do that. But I think it looked at me and saw that infatuation too. That connection.
So slowly, without moving my upper body, (I didn't want to spook her away), I reach down and pull a weed stalk from it's sheath. I guess its about 6 or 7 inches long. Grass needed mowing that day.
Anyway, I place the tip of that stalk down right in front of that little bitty jumper. And instead of running for cover, that little thing jumped right onto that grass-stalk, turned and looked at me right in the peepers again, like it was saying "Well? What now, Simple Simon?"
So I gently tapped the tip of that stalk on the table and sure enough, she jumped back to the tabletop, turned around and looked at me again. Tap. Repeat. Tap. Repeat. Over and over again. Tap. Repeat.Every single time, she'd jump on or off of that grass stalk. She never once tried to run for cover. She was enjoying our game as much as I was, maybe a thousand times more.
Well I sat there and played "jump-on-the-grass-stalk" with that little bitty spider for the better part of my lunch break. Must have been about fifteen minutes nonstop.
The bell rang. It was time for me to go back to work.
When she jumped onto the stalk for the last time, I held it up to that little tree and she jumped right up into it and disappeared and that was the last I ever saw of that little jumping spider. That was about Spring or Summer 2003 I guess.
Well I couldn't stop thinking about that for a long time. I started researching spiders. All kinds of spiders. Jumpers. Wolves. Funnel-Webs. Six-Eyeds. Orb-Weavers. Tarantulas. I was still afraid. Still killed spiders on sight. Pitiful, right? Took me years and years to get out of that behavior.
But now I had something to offset that fear: intrigue.
I got my first Tarantula in May of last year. A G.pulchra. Now I have 26 tarantulas, about 20 different species, even a few OW's. I'm no longer afraid of spiders. I still don't like to run through a web at 5 am but hey...baby steps. But I no longer kill one if I see one, not even if it's inside. I don't fear them anymore. If I do see one inside, I try to cup it and put it outside.
I'll never forget that little bitty jumping spider as long as I live and as long as I'm in my right mind. She put me on the path to facing my fears. I thought about keeping some jumpers as pets but their lifespans are so short I figure "No. Let them live thier lives free with the time they're given."
Man I owe that little jumper a huge thank you. Never once have I ever been able to repeat that interaction. Believe me, since then I've tried and tried to play the grass-stalk-game with many of them. But the jumper always runs. Hell, I don't blame them. I'd run too.
There was something special about that little spider that day. Dare I say, maybe even something spiritual.
I know her time has come and gone. She's long since passed away. I know that. I hate it. God help me, I do. I wish she could have lived forever. But I'm grounded enough to know that this simply is not the way of things. We all owe a death, just like that old fellow said in "The Green Mile." There are no exceptions, animal or human.
But I will tell you this.
I wish I could go back and thank that little spider for what he or she did for me. For beginning the process of releasing me from that awful fear. As a matter of fact, I may have spoken a quiet thanks to it. I just simply can't remember. I hope I did. I should have if I didn't.
Because If I could thank her, I sure as heck would. I hope she lived happily.
This is all the truth as well as I can remember it. So if you have that fear, that senseless horror, all you need is one single moment in time within yourself to put it away. To overcome.
And if I could thank him or her, that fearless little jumping spider, I would mean it with all my heart.
So this post is pretty much what the title makes it sound like. I wanted to share the story of how I overcame (and am still overcoming) my Arachnophobia. My hope is that this story can in some way help someone, anyone, to overcome thier own fear of spiders in any way possible. If it helps someone even just a tiny little bit, then it's done it's job. Maybe it won't. Maybe it's just a bunch of words. I don't know. But I'm going to state them here. Seems a good a place as any. Probably better than some.
Now first off, you must understand that when I say I had Arachnophobia, boy I mean had it and I had it bad. I had been torn up with it ever since I was a little boy (I'm 54 now) and to be honest I don't even know why I had it. I remember that my Dad and/or Grandfather (who both also hated spiders) would take me fishing from time to time and there would be these huge fishing or writing spiders hanging on thier webs from the pier that was there or the private dock(s) around. But none of those spiders never bothered me at all. All they ever did was run and hide when I got too close. Even that quickness would scare the bejesus out of me. It was a senseless, baseless fear. The kind of thing Yoda taught against.
Also, I grew up in some pretty thick woods in the Deep South, so even when not fishing, we still definitely had wolf spiders and other species out there of healthy tarantula sizes, dwarf and giant. Big old gray, hairy bastards. That being said, as far as I remember, not a single spider ever bit me or was even defensive toward me. But one would get onto me here and there (I was an outdoor kid so it was kind of bound to happen sometimes...I explored, climbed trees, dug in the ground, tramped through undergrowth etc,) and I would absolutely freak out and try to kill one if I saw one but no spider ever hurt me or threatened me in any way. I was just simply petrified of them, even the tiniest little spiderling. Now once, my grandfather was bitten by a black widow and he got sick af for about 3 days but he recovered fully. And I used to go out of my way to kill any spider I saw, either in the house or outside and that habit continued until well into my 50s.
Now This has all been just kind of a "preface" to what I want to say here. This has all been kind of how it started, my earliest memories of it.
More importantly though, what I want to talk about now is how it ended, or at least how it became less a part of me than it has ever been. It's still there to a degree. But it's quiet. Controlled, and therefore, basically inert.
So moving along, jump forward about 20-ish years. By then I was an adult in my early 30s I guess, and I was working at a manufacturing facility on the hourly clock. And like every hourly worker who ever punched a time card or clock, every day at noon I got the obligatory thirty-minute lunch-slash-smoke-break. (Just FYI, I've since stopped smoking).
Well during that lunch time every day, my standard routine, even during the Winter months on certain days (for the solitude...no one else wanted to come out on days like that), was to take my sandwich and Coke outdoors to this stone picnic table they had under a healthy little landscaped tree there, and eat my lunch with a few friends who'd all sit there with me. If you've ever been in that situation, you know how it is. We'd sit there and tell dirty jokes and pick on each other (or someone else), bum smokes and of course we'd always bitch about how much we "hated this place," and just generally be hourly employees on our lunch break. Par for that particular course.
Well, one sunny day I'm out there sitting with the regular crowd at that stone table and the rest of the crew is talking and laughing and going on but for some reason but I'm quiet, into my own thoughts, just sitting there having finished my lunch and not joining in the conversation at the mo.
Looking back all these years removed from then, I wonder if there was some cosmic purpose in that, at least within my own consciousness.
Because there's this little black jumping spider be-bopping across the tabletop, can't be more than maybe 1/8 of an inch. Tiny as it gets.
Now there was a time when I was younger when even that would've made me sh*t myself, so even at this time that senseless fear had already lessened, at least somewhat.Age dilutes one.
Well he (or she), the little jumper, comes trundling along, not sprinting, not skittering in a panicked, balls out bid for safer climes. It's just walking along calmly like she's not surrounded by careless, clumsy, loud-mouthed giants. She walks, calm as a briar, right up in front of me, stops, and looks up at me, stock still (but the little mouth parts are still furiously working up and down like tiny pistons), and just sits there. Doesn't move a muscle. Looking right into my face, far as I could tell. Stays like that. Now maybe he or she was trying to figure out how to get past me and into that tree. But maybe, just maybe, it came up to me and only me, for some reason I can't possibly fathom to this day. I like to believe that that is exactly what happened. It was like he or she owned this spot right here, and she had somthing' that needed sayin', and needed it said to me and nobody else, and needed it right then.
We all know how fast a jumper, even a tiny one, can scuttle. Why did it just stroll up to me like that? It boggles my mind sometimes still to this very day.
So yeah. I was hypnotized.
It was like "the Moment of Contact" or something. You know that moment people talk about when a lifelong student of gorilla or elephant behavior or something finally has one of them reach out and touch that person on the fingertip? Or shows the person some sudden, random act of affection or acknowledgment? The "Moment of Contact." Like when a child discovers that he's unafraid of snakes. Like when E.T. touched Elliot's hand the first time. It was like that. At least to me it was.
My "Moment of Contact." A fearless, tiny predator staring into the eyes of a monster who normally would have crushed it to death.
Now being in absolute fear of spiders for my entire life, I realized with some amount of disbelief that I was not afraid. I was infatuated.I think it must have sensed the danger. It's an animal. They can do that. But I think it looked at me and saw that infatuation too. That connection.
So slowly, without moving my upper body, (I didn't want to spook her away), I reach down and pull a weed stalk from it's sheath. I guess its about 6 or 7 inches long. Grass needed mowing that day.
Anyway, I place the tip of that stalk down right in front of that little bitty jumper. And instead of running for cover, that little thing jumped right onto that grass-stalk, turned and looked at me right in the peepers again, like it was saying "Well? What now, Simple Simon?"
So I gently tapped the tip of that stalk on the table and sure enough, she jumped back to the tabletop, turned around and looked at me again. Tap. Repeat. Tap. Repeat. Over and over again. Tap. Repeat.Every single time, she'd jump on or off of that grass stalk. She never once tried to run for cover. She was enjoying our game as much as I was, maybe a thousand times more.
Well I sat there and played "jump-on-the-grass-stalk" with that little bitty spider for the better part of my lunch break. Must have been about fifteen minutes nonstop.
The bell rang. It was time for me to go back to work.
When she jumped onto the stalk for the last time, I held it up to that little tree and she jumped right up into it and disappeared and that was the last I ever saw of that little jumping spider. That was about Spring or Summer 2003 I guess.
Well I couldn't stop thinking about that for a long time. I started researching spiders. All kinds of spiders. Jumpers. Wolves. Funnel-Webs. Six-Eyeds. Orb-Weavers. Tarantulas. I was still afraid. Still killed spiders on sight. Pitiful, right? Took me years and years to get out of that behavior.
But now I had something to offset that fear: intrigue.
I got my first Tarantula in May of last year. A G.pulchra. Now I have 26 tarantulas, about 20 different species, even a few OW's. I'm no longer afraid of spiders. I still don't like to run through a web at 5 am but hey...baby steps. But I no longer kill one if I see one, not even if it's inside. I don't fear them anymore. If I do see one inside, I try to cup it and put it outside.
I'll never forget that little bitty jumping spider as long as I live and as long as I'm in my right mind. She put me on the path to facing my fears. I thought about keeping some jumpers as pets but their lifespans are so short I figure "No. Let them live thier lives free with the time they're given."
Man I owe that little jumper a huge thank you. Never once have I ever been able to repeat that interaction. Believe me, since then I've tried and tried to play the grass-stalk-game with many of them. But the jumper always runs. Hell, I don't blame them. I'd run too.
There was something special about that little spider that day. Dare I say, maybe even something spiritual.
I know her time has come and gone. She's long since passed away. I know that. I hate it. God help me, I do. I wish she could have lived forever. But I'm grounded enough to know that this simply is not the way of things. We all owe a death, just like that old fellow said in "The Green Mile." There are no exceptions, animal or human.
But I will tell you this.
I wish I could go back and thank that little spider for what he or she did for me. For beginning the process of releasing me from that awful fear. As a matter of fact, I may have spoken a quiet thanks to it. I just simply can't remember. I hope I did. I should have if I didn't.
Because If I could thank her, I sure as heck would. I hope she lived happily.
This is all the truth as well as I can remember it. So if you have that fear, that senseless horror, all you need is one single moment in time within yourself to put it away. To overcome.
And if I could thank him or her, that fearless little jumping spider, I would mean it with all my heart.
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