They say you should do one thing everyday that scares you. Fears have the power to constrain exploration and development and therefore keep us from living a full life. If we face our fears, we might learn things aren’t as scary as we thought. But facing something you’re afraid of takes a lot of energy and courage. It often feels unnecessary, so we go on avoiding that which terrifies us because there is something even more worrisome on the other side… not knowing what will happen. I think for many of us, that’s the greater terror.
Some fears are unjustified or irrational. I don’t know why the sight of a spider, even a tiny one, causes me to sharply inhale, freeze, turn pale and perspire. I think it’s the legs. Even the sight of a web is enough to make me abandon a cleaning or gardening project, or pull my car over and search, terrified for the bugger in order to avoid a car accident when it inevitably drops down before my eyes. On the rare occasion I’ve had no choice but to gather the nerve to kill a spider, I cannot kill it enough. It is a hysterical shoe slamming desperation that requires adequate emotional recovery time.
So how did I find myself in line amongst grade school children waiting my turn to hold Rosie, the Butterfly Pavilion‘s resident tarantula? I think it was a combination of two things: I was on vacation and believe you try new things on vacation, and I figured if the kids could do it, so could I. So I handed my brother, Joey my camera and we got in line. Few times in my life I can recall being so simultaneously horrified and excited.
I sat across from Rosie’s handler barely breathing. I couldn’t take my eyes off the enormous and hairy specimen in his lap.
“Whatever you do, do not throw her,” he said as he gently scooped her up with one hand.
I nodded. He took my hand with his free one and held it firmly above his own. As he was about to place Rosie into my sweaty palm, I shrieked and ripped my hand away.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I took a breath, wiped my palm on my jeans and tried again. The man was patient.
“Okay, ready?”
I nodded.
Again, I ripped my hand away at the last second. “I can’t,” I said, the heat of panic, tears and defeat rising in my face, and motioned to get up.
“How about I let one of her legs touch you first?” the handler offered.
I looked at my brother, standing nearby, smiling with the camera. I reluctantly nodded.
It took every ounce of resolution to not pull my hand away as Rosie’s front leg lifted toward my fist. I expected it to scratch, and have weight to it, but what I felt instead was soft and light as a feather.
“Okay, I’m ready now.”
Again the handler took my hand palm up and kept his own firmly beneath mine. I tensed as he placed Rosie in my hand. I was amazed by how light she was. I stared at this giant spider, the size of my palm, speechless. Poor Rosie, such a sweet name for such an ugly and terrifying creature.
After what felt like minutes, but was probably less than one, the handler said, “I’m going to have her walk onto my hand now.” He touched her backside and she walked across my hand onto his. The sight of this was worse than the sensation.
Once Rosie was safely with her handler, I exhaled and smiled victoriously. I was given a sticker proclaiming ‘I held Rosie’ and proudly stuck it to my chest.
“Did you see that!?” I asked Joey, as if he was not less than three feet away the whole time. “I held a tarantula! I can do anything now!”
“I was scared you were going to crush that thing,” he answered.
Rosie taught me a lot about fear and the perception of things. I thought she would be heavy, scratchy, and run up my arm, leap onto my face, stare into my horrified eyes and sink her monstrous fangs into my nose. But instead she was almost sweet. The people at the Butterfly Pavilion understood perception when they named her Rosie instead of something evil like Ursula or Cruella.
Ever since I held Rosie I have weeded without gloves, pushed aside webs with my bare hands and even let spiders live! Little did I know I cured my arachnophobia with systematic desensitization, otherwise known as exposure therapy.
I am left wondering what else I’m afraid of. What else is holding me back from living a full life? Is it fear of the thing itself or my perception of the thing? I believe it is the perception, but even greater is the unknown of not knowing what will happen…
I will never forget Rosie. She represents the epitome of fear. I had no idea what would happen. My imagination told me I’d be bitten. Logic told me the establishment wouldn’t allow children to hold a giant spider if it was dangerous. Reality showed me I am brave. I survived, unscathed and better off in the end. What actually happened in the end was more wonderful than any scenario my mind had conjured up when I was staring into the many black eyes of fear.
Maybe not knowing what will happen is all the more reason we need to find out…
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| Me, horrified. Rosie, chillin. |
Your expression in this photo is priceless!!! I love it
Congratulations. Try a snake next time. Out of necessity I finally at 31 took driving lessons. I was scared to drive. Not the mechanics. Just the thought of being on the road and not in control of what all the other drivers might do to cause me an accident.
It's never too late – good for you!! Thanks for reading, Annamaria.