Letting My Feelings Pick My Needles

Apr 8
3 min read

The world feels like a bit of a sh*t show right now.

Every time I open my phone there’s something new to absorb – something loud, urgent, unsettling. News cycles refresh faster than I can process them. Stories that would have once lingered for weeks are replaced within hours. And lately, some of it hasn’t just felt far away and abstract. Some of it has hit closer to home. Close enough to feel in my core.

There’s this underlying sense that everything is slightly out of control. Systems. Conversations. Expectations. Even people. As someone who tends to carry the emotional temperature of the room – or the internet – that chaos doesn’t just stay “out there.” It seeps in.

It shapes how I knit.

Repetition as Rebellion

On days when the world feels unstable, I don’t reach for complicated charts. I don’t want surprise yarn-overs or tricky decreases. I want control. I want certainty.

I reach for stockinette or 1x1 ribbing.

I reach for projects where I know exactly what the next stitch will be before I even look down because knitting is something I can control. The world might be unpredictable, but if I knit into the front leg of that stitch, it will behave exactly the way it’s supposed to. If I follow the pattern, the fabric will grow. If I drop a stitch, I can fix it. There’s a cause and effect that feels grounding in a way that very little else does right now.

When everything feels loud, reactive, and messy, my hands crave repetition.

Click. Pull through. Slide off. Repeat.

It’s steady. It’s quiet. It doesn’t argue back.

Anchored in Creation

When the world pulls in every direction, I choose a point to anchor to.

I open my notebook. I sketch. I swatch. I start shaping an idea that’s been tugging at me. Designing becomes the focus. It’s not about twisting cables tighter or concentrating harder. It’s about building something joyful... on purpose.

I pour that restless energy into colour combinations that feel hopeful. Into textures that make me smile. Into shaping a piece that someone else might knit months from now – maybe on their own heavy day – and feel a little steadier because of it.

Designing feels productive in a way that doesn’t drain me. It gives the noise somewhere to go. It turns scrolling into sketching. It turns frustration into fabric.

There’s something powerful about creating something that didn’t exist before. Something that might land in another knitter’s hands and give them the same pause, the same comfort, the same quiet escape.

When the world feels like too much, making something joyful feels like a small act of defiance. Not ignoring what’s heavy, just choosing to add something good anyway.

Finding Home

On the heavy days, I grab the warmest project on my needles.

I mean the yarn that feels soft in a way that almost melts between my fingers. The colours that feel grounded – earthy, muted, familiar. The project that isn’t asking anything of me except to keep going. Warm, in the way a favourite sweater is warm. Warm in the way certain shades just feel like home.

Not the most practical project. Not the one closest to being finished. Not because they’re next on a list… just because it feels safe.

I’ve stopped apologizing for the number of WIPs (works in progress) I have. In a calmer season of life, maybe I’d care more about finishing in order. Right now, each project serves a different emotional purpose. They’re not just garments – they’re coping mechanisms. They’re anchors.

In a world that feels increasingly unsteady, knitting gives me edges and structure.

It reminds me that not everything is spiraling.

Some things are linear.

Some things grow slowly.

Some things respond exactly as they should when you give them attention.