Then one day, in the middle of what felt like my 93rd attempt at a scarf, something clicked.

I realized that nearly every stitch in knitting — every single one — is just some combination of knits and purls.

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That’s it. That’s the secret.

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It sounds ridiculously simple now, but that moment completely changed how I saw myself as a maker. I suddenly felt empowered. The fact that I knew how to knit and purl meant I could do anything in knitting that I set my mind to.

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That tiny discovery became a metaphor for a lot of things in my life.

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Knitting became a safe space, a creative playground, and proof that it’s okay to start messy and learn as you go.

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Fast-forward a few years, and I’d become a “real designer.” I was sketching patterns, collaborating, and publishing my work. On paper, it looked like I had arrived.

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But something didn’t feel right. I started noticing a creeping disconnection between my designs and myself. I was creating things that looked beautiful… but didn’t feel like me.

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Somewhere between the charts and deadlines, I’d lost touch with that spark — that sense of joy and purpose I’d felt when I first realized what knitting could be.

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It’s a weird kind of ache, isn’t it? When something you love starts to feel like obligation instead of inspiration.

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That was my low point — my creative unraveling.

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Eventually, I gave myself permission to stop and ask: What do I actually want from this craft?

And the answer surprised me.

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I didn’t want to knit to keep up with trends or prove anything. I wanted to knit with intention.

 

But — and this is important — intentional doesn’t mean serious, solemn, or spiritual (though sometimes it is). It just means aligned. It means knitting something because it feels good. Because you’re learning something new. Because you love the colors. Because you’re using up scrap yarn and don’t want to think too hard.

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Sometimes intentional knitting is a big cozy sweater that carries deep meaning. And sometimes it’s a five-hour hat that’s pure fun — the creative equivalent of a palate-cleansing cookie between meals.

And you know what? Both matter.

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Because knitting isn’t just about the end result — it’s about how you feel while you make it.

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These days, I design patterns that help you find that same sense of confidence and intention — whether you’re knitting something meaningful, playful, or purely practical.

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I love small projects. Quick wins. Texture and color and the tiny thrill of binding off and thinking, I made this. Even when I don’t use the finished piece, it reminds me of who I was when I made it.

That’s what I want for you — not perfection, not productivity, but presence.

 

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If you’ve ever felt frustrated by your knitting, if you’ve ever wondered if you were “doing it wrong,” or if you’ve ever lost the spark that once made you fall in love with yarn — I see you.

And I want to invite you back to the joy.

 

Back to the click of needles, the softness of yarn, and the quiet pride of finishing something that’s entirely yours.

 

Let’s make things that mean something again — even if the meaning is simply, “this was fun.”

So grab your yarn. Pick a pattern that makes your heart say yes.

 

And let’s knit our way home — one stitch, one laugh, one perfectly imperfect project at a time.