Finding My Way Back to Creativity

One stitch, one seam, and one day at a time.

It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to write a blog post about sewing and quilting. Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve felt much like doing either one.

If you’ve followed along here, you know that life took an unexpected turn this year. First, a family emergency took me away from my usual routine. Then, just as things began to settle down, Geoff became ill. What followed was a whirlwind of hospital visits, difficult decisions, and ultimately, the devastating loss of my husband.

It’s hard to explain how quickly life can change. One minute, you’re making plans and thinking about all the things you want to do. The next, those plans don’t seem to matter nearly as much.

After losing Geoff, my creative world seemed to come to a standstill. My sewing room was still there. The fabric was still there. All those projects I’d been excited about were still waiting for me. But I just couldn’t seem to find my way back to them.

The desire to create hadn’t necessarily disappeared. I just didn’t have the energy or the headspace for it.

And I’m learning that that’s okay.

Grief doesn’t follow a schedule, and there isn’t a timetable for when you’re supposed to feel like doing the things you used to love. I’m discovering that finding my way back to creativity is going to take some patience.

A lot of patience, actually.

So, I’m trying not to rush it.

A Little at a Time

For a while, I couldn’t imagine sitting down and working on a project. There were simply too many other things going on, and my mind was occupied with things far more important than fabric and thread.

Lately, though, I’ve started feeling little nudges to get back to creating.

Not in a big, grand way. More like looking at a piece of fabric and thinking about what I could make with it. Or remembering a project I started and wondering if I might finally finish it.

Those little moments mean something to me.

I’m not expecting to wake up one morning and suddenly be back to creating at the pace I once did. I’m just trying to take things as they come and enjoy the moments when I feel like making something.

And if a project takes longer than expected? Well, it’s not going anywhere.

At least, I hope not. My sewing room is already pretty good at keeping track of unfinished projects!

 

I’ve got quilts, bags, and other things in various stages of completion. Some were started before everything happened, and others are ideas I’d like to explore when I have the time and energy.

I thought I’d share some of them along the way. Not because they’re all finished and ready for their close-up, but because they’re part of this process, too.

After all, creating doesn’t always mean finishing something. Sometimes it simply means starting again.

One Finished Bag!

One of the things I’ve managed to do recently is finish a bag I started before everything happened.

This one actually has a little story behind it.

I had made a backpack for Prym and loved the color combination so much that I decided I needed some of that fabric for myself. So, I bought more and started making a bag of my own almost as soon as I’d finished the backpack.

That’s usually how it goes, isn’t it? Finish one project and immediately find inspiration for another!

Of course, life had other plans, and the bag ended up sitting unfinished for a while.

Recently, I was finally able to pick it back up and finish it. It felt good to see it through to the end, especially knowing how excited I’d been about making it in the first place.

It might seem like a small accomplishment, but it felt good to finish something simply because I wanted to make it.

And I have to admit, I still love that color combination!

I have other projects waiting in the wings, and I’m sure I’ll share those as I get back to them. For now, I’m trying to appreciate each little accomplishment instead of worrying about everything I haven’t done.

The Long Arm That Had to Wait

There’s another new addition to my sewing room that deserves a mention.

I got a new long arm quilting machine just before the family emergency took me away from my usual routine. Needless to say, learning to use a new machine wasn’t exactly at the top of my priority list.

Then, just as things began to settle down, Geoff became ill. And everything changed again.

The long arm sat there waiting for me.

I had been so excited about getting it and all the possibilities it would bring. I had plans for quilts I wanted to work on and was looking forward to learning something new.

But sometimes life has other plans for us.

For a while, I couldn’t imagine getting back to any of it. There were simply more important things to think about, and after losing Geoff, even the things I had once been excited about seemed a long way off.

But the machine was still there.

And eventually, I decided it was time to give it a try.

I loaded my first quilt onto the long arm and planned to let it run while I worked on a Prym project. I figured I might as well try to accomplish two things at once!

And guess what? I’ve now finished quilting that first quilt on my new machine!

It feels good to say that. Not only did I finally get started, but I was able to see the quilt through to completion, well not counting the binding. I’m still learning my way around the machine, and I’m sure there will be plenty more to learn, but getting that first quilt finished feels like a real milestone.

 

I know it’s just one quilt, but to me, it’s a reminder that I can still do the things I love. It may take me a little longer to get going, and I may need to be more patient with myself than I used to be, but I can still make progress.

And after everything that’s happened, that feels pretty good.

Learning to Give Myself Time

One thing this experience has taught me is that I need to be patient with myself.

I’m not quite where I want to be, and my mind is still a little foggy from everything that’s happened. Some days I can concentrate on a project, and other days it’s harder to get my thoughts organized or figure out what I want to do next.

I’m learning not to make too much of those days.

I do have responsibilities and deadlines, and I’m working toward meeting those commitments. I’m grateful to Prym and Riley Blake Designs for the opportunities they’ve given me, and I’m especially appreciative of the patience and understanding I’ve received while navigating this difficult time.

It means a lot to have people who understand that sometimes life takes an unexpected turn and things don’t happen according to plan.

I’m still committed to my projects, and I want to do them well. I just have to be realistic about what I can manage right now and give myself time to find my rhythm again.

There’s no magic switch that makes everything feel normal again.

I think sometimes we put pressure on ourselves to get back to our routines and pick up right where we left off. We want to feel productive again and return to the things that once came so naturally.

But life doesn’t always work that way.

I’m beginning to understand that I don’t have to rush myself. I can take the time I need, and I can let creativity become part of my days again without expecting it to fix everything or make the sadness disappear.

Some days, creating may be exactly what I need. Other days, I may need to walk away and try again later.

Both are okay.

And if I have to look at a pattern three times before I remember what I’m supposed to do next, well, that’s where I am right now!

I’m learning to give myself a little grace.

Slowly Finding That Spark Again

There have been little moments lately when I catch myself getting excited about something.

A fabric combination. A new quilt idea. A bag I’d like to make. Or a project that has been sitting around long enough that it really deserves some attention!

Those moments remind me that the creative part of me is still here.

I still love fabric, thread, color, and the process of taking an idea and turning it into something I can hold in my hands.

I still have things I want to make and ideas I’d like to try.

I just need to give myself the time and space to get there.

I know I won’t always move forward at the same pace. There will be days when I accomplish more than I expected and others when I don’t accomplish much at all. I’m trying to accept that rather than get frustrated with myself.

After everything that’s happened, I think it’s important to remember that we don’t have to do everything all at once.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is start with one small thing and see where it takes us.

For me, that might be finishing a bag, working on a quilt, learning to use my new long arm, or simply spending a little time in my sewing room.

Whatever it is, I’m going to let it happen in its own time.

So, What’s Next?

I have plenty of projects waiting for me, and I’m sure there will be more ideas than I can possibly keep up with once I really get going again.

There will be quilts, bags, and probably a few other things that catch my attention along the way. I’ll share them here as I work on them, finished or not.

I have my Prym projects to work on, my Riley Blake Designs projects to get back to, my long arm to learn, and plenty of other ideas waiting for their turn.

I’m looking forward to seeing where all of it takes me. I just know that I need to be realistic about what I can manage right now.

This isn’t a grand announcement that I’m back to doing everything I used to do.

It’s simply me finding my way back.

One stitch, one seam, one project, and one day at a time.

I miss Geoff terribly, and I know that life will never be quite the same. I’m still learning how to navigate this new chapter, and I know that will take time.

But I’m also learning that it’s okay to make room for the things that bring me joy. Creating doesn’t mean I’ve stopped grieving, and moving forward doesn’t mean leaving the people we love behind.

It just means finding a way to keep living, even when life looks different from what we expected.

So, if you stop by and find pictures of unfinished quilts, bags in various stages of construction, or a long arm slowly working its way through another quilt, you’ll know what’s happening.

I’m taking my time, finding my footing, and learning to enjoy the process again.

I’m still here, and I’m finding my way back to creativity.

And for now, that’s enough.

A Gift That Lives On

 A Gift That Lives On

If you read my last post, you know that my life was suddenly turned upside down by a family emergency.

I wish I could tell you that everything has gotten better since then.

It hasn’t.

My husband passed away.

Those are words I still have trouble writing, much less saying out loud. There are moments when it still doesn’t seem real, and then there are others when the reality of it comes crashing in all over again.

Grief is a strange thing. It doesn’t follow a schedule, and it certainly doesn’t care about our plans. One minute you can be doing something completely ordinary, and the next, you are reminded that the person who was supposed to be there beside you isn’t.

There is something from this experience that I feel compelled to talk about, though, because I believe it is an important conversation for all of us to have.

Organ donation.

My husband had made the choice to be an organ donor. But this wasn’t something decided during his illness. We had both made that choice long ago.

And we had talked about it.

We had talked about what we would want if either of us were ever critically ill. We talked about the hope of recovery, because when someone you love is sick, that’s what you hold onto. You hope. You pray. You wait for good news.

But we also talked about what we would want if there came a point when recovery was no longer possible.

Those aren’t easy conversations.

Nobody wants to sit with the person they love and talk about what happens if they don’t survive. It’s much easier to say, “We’ll deal with that if we ever have to.”

I’m so grateful we didn’t.

Because when the unimaginable happened, I already knew what he wanted.

Unfortunately, by the time everything was said and done, he was simply too ill for organ donation other than his eyes. And while that wasn’t the outcome we had hoped for, I am still grateful that even a small part of him may be able to give something to someone else.

I don’t know who that person might be. I may never know.

But if he had been able to I’d like to think about the possibility of a phone ringing somewhere and someone receiving a call they have been desperately hoping for.

A call saying that a donor has been found.

A call that might mean another chance at life. More time with a spouse. More birthdays with children. More ordinary days that suddenly become incredibly precious.

That is what organ donation means.

And sometimes, because of circumstances we cannot control, donation isn’t possible. Sometimes only certain tissues or parts of the body can be donated. Sometimes nothing can be donated at all.

But I don’t think that makes the decision any less important.

The willingness to give is important.

And knowing what your loved one wanted is important.

So this is my plea to you:

Have the conversation.

Talk to the people you love about what you would want if you were ever in a critical illness situation.

Talk about your hopes for recovery. Talk about the care you would want. And talk about what you would want if doctors determined that recovery was no longer possible.

If you want to be an organ donor, tell your family.

Don’t assume they know.

Don’t assume they’ll remember.

Have the conversation while you are sitting around the kitchen table, while you are healthy, while you can talk about it calmly and without the fear and emotion that comes with a hospital room.

We don’t like to think about these things.

Neither did we.

But I’m incredibly thankful that we did.

Because in the hardest moments of my life, I didn’t have to wonder what he would have wanted.

He had told me.

And I knew.

There is no way to make losing someone you love okay. There is no perfect ending to a story like this.

But maybe there can be something beyond the ending.

Maybe there can be a gift.

Maybe there can be a little more time for someone else.

And for me, knowing that my husband was willing to give that gift—even though his illness ultimately prevented most of it—is something I will always carry with me.

His eyes were able to be donated.

And somewhere, I hope they will help someone see a little more of this world.

That thought gives me a small measure of comfort in a time when there isn’t much comfort to be found.

My husband is gone.

But his story doesn’t have to end with his last breath.

And neither does the conversation.

Please talk to the people you love.

One day at a time.