A Thousand Tiny Stitches

Sometimes the most important part of a healing process is looking back to witness the process itself. The remembering.

A friend and I were just sharing details of our pandemic crafts, the handwork we picked up to counterbalance the fractious, fractured times. For my first craft, I started pulling up invasive ivy and weaving it into baskets. As colder weather arrived, I moved into weaving on a loom, and, ultimately, I landed firmly on hand sewing. Something about hand-stitching - a steady rhythm producing organic, imperfect lines - was the perfect solace.

When the pandemic started I decided to work my way through a dusty box of fabric scraps in my closet and keep sewing until I had transformed all the fabric. Pillows, potholders, placemats, and pouches. The final form was often less important than the actual sewing motion. I sewed at night, during Zooms, and on weekend afternoons. As Spring arrives and life seems to be expanding again, I took a moment to pull together the different projects and remember.

It was profound for me to see how the pieces I created morphed. At times the stitches were dense and tight. The placemats I sewed a few months back are inspired by Sashiko and Kantha, using stitches to make tiny scraps (the bottom of the box) into one whole, new piece of fabric. For no good reason, I added a blanket stitch around the edges. The result is square(ish) pieces of fabric that are almost more stitch than cloth.

My last projects were looser, more open. About a week ago I reached the bottom of the box. My final project was a hand-stitched cushion. It’s soft, open, and only loosely stitched. Art therapy researchers talk about the mind-body connection and how sewing can address the impacts of trauma on the limbic system. The movements and process mend the mind-body split that can occur with extreme stress. Quite literally, keeping ourselves stitched together.