Lessons I’m Carrying Forward From 2025
- midnightmamaknits
- Jan 2
- 3 min read
As the calendar flips and we collectively feel that quiet nudge to “do more” or “do better,” I’m choosing something a little different this year - Intention.
2025 taught me a lot about my knitting life - what fills me up, what drains me, and what I want to protect moving forward. These lessons didn’t come from big, dramatic moments. They came from half-finished projects, slow rows, and that low-level pressure to always keep up. So instead of resolutions, I’m carrying lessons.
It’s Okay to Walk Away From Projects That No Longer Bring Joy
I have a few (ok, A LOT) of projects that are over five years old. Did I mention they're unfinished?
Blankets. Sweaters. Hats. They’ve been moved from bin to bin, shelf to shelf. Every once in a while I pull them out, look at them… and feel absolutely nothing.
No excitement. No motivation. No joy.
And that’s my answer.
Knitting doesn’t come with an obligation clause. Just because I started something doesn’t mean I owe it a finish - especially when it actively weighs me down. Carrying guilt over unfinished work doesn’t make me a better maker, it just makes knitting feel heavier than it needs to be.
So I’m letting those projects go. Not because I failed—but because I grew enough to recognize what no longer serves me.
Knitting Slowly Is Not a Flaw
I don’t knit fast. I never have.
And to make things even slower, I genuinely love smaller yarn weights - the kind that reward patience and take their sweet time becoming something wearable.
For a long time, I treated that like a problem to fix. But here’s what I’ve learned: knitting slowly doesn’t mean knitting poorly. It doesn’t mean I’m less committed, less talented, or less “serious.” It simply means my process looks different.
When I criticize myself for being slow, I end up pushing myself toward projects I don’t actually want to make—projects chosen for speed instead of joy. And we already know how that story ends (If you missed the first paragraph - go back and re-read. LOL).
Slow knitting keeps me connected to why I knit in the first place. And that matters more than how fast I can cast on the next thing.
Making Space for Knits That Are Just for Me
I truly love knitting for others.
There is nothing quite like seeing someone light up when they receive something handmade—knowing they understand the care, time, and intention that was stitched into every row. That shared excitement is special, and it’s something I’ll never stop valuing.
But this year, something shifted.
Finishing my very first sweater (Sweater Weather Sweater by @barleyandflax - above) - one that fit, one that I wanted to wear - sparked something I hadn’t fully acknowledged before. I love my knitting. I’m proud of my knitting. And I want to wear my knitting. That means more sweaters. More scarves. More designs.
For me.
This doesn’t mean I’m done making for others. It simply means I’m allowing myself to be a little more selfish with my needles - and recognizing that my creativity deserves to be visible on my own body too.
Admiration Doesn’t Have to Turn Into Comparison
I adore seeing what other makers create. I love scrolling through finished projects, new designs, colorwork that makes my jaw drop. The talent in this community is incredible, and I genuinely enjoy celebrating it.
But sometimes along the way, admiration can quietly turn into comparison.
I’ve learned that while it’s okay to aspire - to learn, to grow, to be inspired - it’s also important to recognize where I am right now. I’m still learning. I’m still evolving. And my knits, in this season, are worthy too.
Other people’s brilliance doesn’t diminish my own. There is room for all of us. And I love how this community lifts each other up.
Slowing Down to Protect What Knitting Means to Me
Social media makes it easy to feel like everyone is constantly producing - project after project, post after post. And if I’m not careful, that quiet pressure creeps in: I didn’t post today. I’m falling behind.
But here’s the truth I’m holding onto:
Knitting is my solace. My quiet. My creativity.
I don’t want any of that pushed aside to meet deadlines that only exist in my head. I love this space. I love this craft. And I want to protect the way it feels - not rush it into something it was never meant to be.
Carrying This Forward
These lessons aren’t rules. They’re reminders.
Reminders that joy matters. That slower isn’t worse. That comparison steals more than it gives.
Here’s to a year of knitting with intention, honesty, and a whole lot more grace.
If you’re carrying lessons of your own into this year, I hope you give yourself permission to honour them too.
Crafting through chaos,
Stacie
