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.

This was one of my very first custom card projects, and in typical me style, I over-stretched myself spectacularly. By the end, my hair was thinning, my hands were permanently mimicking the motions of folding and gluing, and my Cricut and I were no longer on speaking terms. In all honesty, this project pushed me right to the edge of a breakdown. I can say, without exaggeration, that it took blood, sweat, and tears. Was it worth it? Yes.

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.

To make matters worse, I sewed like I was on the starting grid at Silverstone. Full speed, full chaos, full “why is the bobbin doing that?” energy.

So, I did what any sensible woman would do: I signed up for a course. I signed me and my mum up, because if I was going down this path, she was coming with me. She had recently retired and needed to have her time filled.We joined a “Get to Know Your Sewing Machine” workshop run by the Maker on the Move.