This season has been asking me to slow down in a different way. My paintbrushes have spent more time resting on the table while I’ve been reaching for yarn. Somewhere between all the frogging, re-counting, and “I think I finally get this” moments, a little sweater for my daughter has started to form. It isn’t finished yet, but watching it grow row by row has become its own kind of comfort.
Each stitch carries a memory of the women in my family who worked with fiber long before I ever did. My grandmother, Selma Weatherspoon, crocheted blankets and baby sets for years. My stepmother, Barbara, has made so many newborn blankets, including the one she made for my daughter when she was born. My own mother didn’t crochet, and I never had the chance to learn from my grandmother, so this craft found me later in life. I learned through YouTube tutorials, TikTok creators, and many hours of watching, pausing, and trying again.
Crochet has reminded me of learning to ride a bike. At first you think you’ve nearly mastered it, then the tension slips or the stitch looks off. But with practice, something clicks. My hands began to understand the rhythm. Soon I was making scarves, hats, and even a purse for my niece when she graduated college.
Somewhere along the way, I became one of those people with a yarn stash. I love catching yarn on sale. Last year I even made a Wooble dinosaur just to see if I could. Crochet has a way of inviting curiosity and possibilities every time I pick up a hook.
Working on this sweater has been surprisingly grounding. When my mind feels busy or overstimulated, crocheting brings me into the present moment. Stitch by stitch, it gives my thoughts a place to settle. It also connects me to something that feels generational. And yes, in a very modern twist, ChatGPT has helped me troubleshoot patterns when they turn into a different language halfway through.
As the sweater slowly grows, I keep picturing my daughter wearing it someday. I imagine how it will look with the colors she loves and how it will feel when she pulls it on during a cool morning. Even though it isn’t complete, the intention behind it already feels meaningful. It is a continuation of the love and creativity that was passed down to me and is now being passed through me.
Crochet may not be the medium I’m best known for, but right now it is teaching me patience, playfulness, and grace. It has reminded me that progress doesn’t have to be fast to be meaningful. Sometimes the beauty comes from being in the middle of the process, not the end.
Maybe that is the real gift of this season. Meaning can grow slowly, stitch by stitch, into something warm enough to hold.
