The Learning Curve
My Facebook memories had other plans for me this week.
There I was, scrolling through my feed, when January 2021 decided to make an appearance—complete with photos of my very first attempts at knitting. Uneven stitches, dropped loops, and that unmistakable look of someone trying to decode a foreign language with two sticks and a ball of yarn.
Five years ago, if you'd told me those fumbled beginner stitches would lead to a business, I would have laughed while untangling yet another yarn disaster. But here we are.
The Learning Curve
These photos tell the story better than I could: the tentative first attempts at knit and purl, my mom's patient voice guiding me through FaceTime calls that felt more like digital lifelines than craft lessons. What you can't see in these snapshots is the determination behind every dropped stitch, or how many times I had to start that green hat over again.
That basketweave dishcloth? Pure stubborn persistence. The simple green hat with its triumphant pompom? My first real victory. And that purple scarf with its bold red heart pockets—soft, imperfect, made with every ounce of love I could knit into each row—that one carried more than warmth when it traveled a few states away to my sister who had just been diagnosed with cancer.
The Long Road to Here
The early 2020s taught us all about adaptation in ways we never expected. Learning to knit wasn't just about having something to do with my hands during lockdown—it became my anchor through grief, my creative outlet when tech layoffs swept through my industry, my bridge to something more meaningful than the corporate world I was leaving behind.
The irony still amazes me: AI technology that initially disrupted my career became the very tool that helped me build this new chapter. My website, my digital assistant Stitch, the systems that help me connect with customers—all created with the same technology that first felt like a threat.
What's Changed, What Remains
Those early photos show someone figuring out basics. Today, I design complex pieces like the Matrix Cowl, create signature items like the Katniss Cowl and Huntress Vest, and transform preloved garments into wearable art. My stitches are confident now, my patterns more adventurous, my artistic voice clearer.
But the heart remains unchanged: the meditation of working with my hands, the joy of transformation, the belief that handmade still matters in an increasingly automated world. Every piece I create—whether hand-knitted from scratch or upcycled with knitted elements—carries forward that original impulse of love, care, and connection.
The Bigger Picture
What started as pandemic learning evolved into a statement about sustainability, about choosing slow fashion over fast consumption, about honoring the stories embedded in fabric and thread. When I add hand-knitted fringe to a vintage band tee or create festival bags from yard sale overalls, I'm continuing that same spirit that sent a handmade scarf across the country with endless hope.
Today and Tomorrow
Looking back at these photos, I feel nothing but gratitude—for my mom's FaceTime patience, for the unexpected pause that created space for something new to grow, for the courage to follow an unplanned path. I'm proud of what I've built: not just the business, but the skills, the artistic vision, the commitment to creating beauty from everyday materials.
Upstitched Creations exists because I learned that transformation is possible—of yarn into fabric, of old into new, of individual threads into something stronger when woven together. Five years from those first fumbled stitches, I'm still learning, still discovering what these hands can create.
Your story, your style—that's been the thread running through everything from day one.
What's your creative origin story? I'd love to hear how you started your own journey into making, creating, or transforming. Share it in the comments or contact me here.
