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.