Spiderphobia

What is it about spiders that can make a fifty-year-old woman run through her house screaming like a three-year-old? That can cause such fear that, had I a flamethrower at hand, I would indeed destroy the very roof over my head just to make sure those long, creepy legs curled into its body upon death?

According to an article I recently read on the Verywell Mind site, “If you find a spider in your home, you may react in one of two ways: either screaming and running away or freezing in place.”

✔ Yep.

“You may be unable to kill or trap the spider yourself, relying on a friend or family member to rescue you from the situation.”

✔ Yep.

“If you are alone, you may actually leave the house rather than deal with the spider.”

Ah—negative.

Leave the house and not know where it goes?!?!

I don't think so.

It's precisely the fear of not knowing where it may go that kept me standing guard this week when I came across a spider in my foyer. I knew my son was on his way over for a visit, so I stood there, broom in one hand and Lysol Antibacterial Kitchen Spray in the other, awaiting his arrival.

For the record, the kitchen cleaner only pissed the spider off.

While I stood guard, I tried to tell myself it was silly to be so afraid of something so small. Forget the fact that he sauntered across my welcome rug like John Wayne. This is literally something I could step on and crush—were I brave enough to get that close.

The article suggested cognitive reframing as a way to overcome arachnophobia.

Cognitive reframing basically boils down to changing the way you look at something so you no longer perceive it as dangerous or stressful.

Okay.

I can give that a try.

For the sake of science...

Growing up, if I came upon some animal that scared me, my family would say, "It's more afraid of you than you are of it." Yeah, right!

Maybe if I try to think about the situation from the spider's point of view, I can reach a place of compassion rather than pure terror.

SPIDER JOHN WAYNE POINT OF VIEW:

I'm walking along, minding my own business, when something suddenly slams down near me.

A giant boulder—with five smaller boulders attached at the front.

The smaller boulders have bright red paint on the tops of them. I wonder if this is some sort of sacrificial altar.

I freeze in place and look up at the gigantic form that has just appeared before me. The boulder bits are attached to a long stalk with black, prickly hairs sprouting from it.

[Don't judge, ladies.]

This thing is taller than the Empire State Building. It bends, and two enormous eyes peer down at me.

Then a cave opens below the eyes and the most horrible sound erupts from the giant.

Terrified, I run.

Anywhere safe is my goal.

When I move, the sound from the beast intensifies. It lifts the boulders I now realize must be its feet (only two, how odd) and begins to thrash about, another foot joining in the stomping.

The beast retreats.

I'm under a tissue I saw on the floor. Not a very sturdy hiding place, but I dare not move.

I wait for a moment before deciding to peer out.

The beast is back.

Its head is lowered, eyes scanning the area.

It spots me!

I see a better hiding place and run for it. As I leave the shelter of the tissue, the beast sees me and that horrible, piercing sound starts again.

High above me, a hand swings into view, wielding something that pelts me with a rain of horrible liquid. It smells foul.

It stings.

Frantic for my life, I run for the shoe.

The giant stomps its feet, flailing its arms and wailing.

I've never been more terrified of anything in my life....

Nope. I can't do it! There is no way he is more terrified than me!

Irrational fear, by definition, is a fear without reason or understanding. I don't have to understand why something so small can make me come completely unglued.

And apparently cognitive reframing isn't going to help me much either. Maybe he will find it helpful for his Peoplephobia. 

But it would be nice if you'd come to the rescue when I scream anyway.

And for the love of God, don't let it get away!