In fact, some things don’t even make it out of my head before they go wrong. There are projects that have been unpicked more times than I care to admit. Pieces that were cut twice because I measured once. Things I was convinced would be the one that ended up folded into a drawer, never to be worn, gifted, or spoken of again. I have an actual drawer for them. A drawer of UFOs - unfinished objects - quietly waiting their turn.

As you can probably guess, my fabric choices can be as chaotic as my brain. That doesn’t mean they can’t work together, it just means they might not make sense to anyone else at first glance. I can get wildly carried away in a fabric shop, stroking bolts of fabric like a Victorian lady fainting over velvet and spending far too long gazing at colour ranges instead of making decisions.

These friendships have taught me something I didn’t learn until much later in life: I don’t need to change who I am to belong. I don’t need to be louder, more present, or constantly available. The right people don’t need a polished version of me,  they’re quite happy with the slightly chaotic, tea-fuelled, often absent one.

There are so many decisions, and every single one feels life-or-death when you’re a beginner. What thread? What fabric? What colour? On the bias or not on the bias? Is the fabric directional or am I about to sew this block upside down for the third time? And you can only make these decisions after industrial amounts of procrastination and enough cups of tea to qualify as a hydration hazard.