Things I’ve Made That Didn’t Turn Out How I Imagined

(And Why That’s the Point)

At the start, I really struggled to unpick work I didn’t like.

If something went wrong, or didn’t look how I’d imagined, I didn’t calmly fix it. I didn’t patiently take it apart and try again. I just… put it in the drawer. Shut the drawer. Pretended it wasn’t there.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Or so I told myself.

Its where I put all the things I’ve Made That Didn’t Turn Out How I Imagined.

One Saturday course changed that.

We were making a quilt using jelly rolls. The process felt almost ridiculous at first — sewing all the fabric strips short end to short end until we ended up with one impossibly long strip. It honestly felt like about 100 metres long by the time we were done.

The Quilt I actually unpicked

Once that was finished, we lined the entire strip with wadding, matching the width and the full length. Then came the part that felt slightly magical and slightly chaotic.

The strip was folded in half, and using a zig-zag stitch, purely to hold the two layers together, we began sewing while rolling the strip in on itself, like a snail shell. As you sewed and rolled, it slowly formed an oval shape. The result was meant to be a flat, oval bath mat.

Meant to be.

Mine refused to sit flat. It buckled.

It warped. It did everything except what it was supposed to do. It was, unsurprisingly, a usual suspect for the drawer.

In it went.

A few weeks later, I took it back out.

I don’t know why, maybe stubbornness, maybe guilt, but this time, instead of abandoning it again, I unpicked the whole thing. Every single stitch. I sat back down at my sewing machine and started again, slowly. No rushing. No hoping it would magically sort itself out.

This time, it lay flat.

A UFO, Unfinished object from the sample drawer. I dont remember why this is in the drawer, I quiet like it. Message me if you would like this made into a custom Quilt.

And in that moment, it became my most treasured quilt, not because it was perfect, but because I earned it. Because I didn’t walk away when it got hard. Because I learned that unpicking wasn’t failure, it was part of the making.

Not everything I make turns out the way it looked in my head.

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.

It’s not organised. It’s not aspirational. It’s a mix of half-assembled ideas, fabric choices I’ve changed my mind about, and projects that stalled somewhere between enthusiasm and reality. Some have been in there weeks. Others… long enough that I’ve forgotten what the original plan even was.

And then there are the projects I really don’t like.

Those don’t even make it to the drawer.

When something is beyond saving, the wrong shape, wrong feel, wrong everything, it gets repurposed into one of the many cat beds scattered around my house. If I’m going to be haunted by a bad decision, it might as well be nap-approved. The cats, at least, are completely unbothered by wonky seams or questionable colour choices.

A UFO, Unfinished object from the sample drawer. Message me if you would like this made into a custom Quilt.

For a long time, that drawer (and the cat beds) felt like evidence. Proof that I hadn’t followed through. That I’d given up. That I should probably be “better” at finishing things.

But here’s the truth I’ve learned, usually while standing in front of that drawer, deciding whether to open it or pretend it doesn’t exist:

those projects aren’t failures. They’re part of the work.

Some of the most important things I’ve learned about sewing didn’t come from the pieces I was proud to show off. They came from the ones that fought me every step of the way.

The top I remade three times before it finally behaved taught me more about fit than any perfectly drafted pattern ever could. The garment I’ll never wear, despite the hours poured into it, taught me about confidence, visibility, and knowing when something technically “works” but emotionally doesn’t. The simple, slightly boring make that actually left the house taught me that wearable beats impressive every single time.

And the UFOs? They taught me that stopping is sometimes the most sensible decision you can make, and that returning later can change everything.

Making things is rarely a straight line. It’s circular. Messy. Occasionally held together with hope and a lot of pins.

And yet, we only tend to share the polished results.

The finished quilt. The neatly pressed seams. The “after” photo that pretends there isn’t a drawer full of abandoned ideas, and several extremely comfortable cats, just out of frame.

The Sample Drawer

But creativity doesn’t live in the finished piece alone. It lives in the pause. In the rethink. In the moment you realise you need more time, more skill, or simply more headspace.

These days, I don’t see my drawer of UFOs as a problem to be fixed. I don’t even call them UFO’s, I call them samples. I see them as a record. A snapshot of where I was at the time, what I was learning, what I wasn’t ready for yet, and what might still have a future when the timing is right.

Some of those projects will be finished one day. Some will be repurposed. Some will stay exactly where they are… or permanently employed as cat furniture.

And that’s okay too.

Not everything has to be useful. Or wearable. Or worthy of an Instagram post. Some things exist purely to teach you what you needed to know next.

So if you’ve got a drawer, a box, or a corner of your creative space filled with half-finished ideas, let this be your permission slip: you haven’t failed.

You’re still making. You’re still learning.

And sometimes, you’re just one unpicked seam away from your most treasured piece.

A UFO, Unfinished object from the sample drawer. This is a sewing Machine Tidy. I have just finished it and it is now for sale in my shop.

I recently read that all beginners should start with Sewing for Dummies, so I bought it, even though I’ve been sewing for eleven years. Yes, it feels slightly backwards, but then so does unpicking a whole project and starting again. I’m curious to see how this well-known beginner sewing book explains the fundamentals, what it gets right, and whether revisiting the basics can still improve confidence and technique. I’ll be sharing a full Sewing for Dummies book review once I’ve worked my way through it.

Alongside all of this, I’ve also been learning how to make videos, very much a work in progress, so I can start sharing more of my sewing in real time. I want to show some of my favourite quilt blocks as I make them, talk through projects as they’re happening, and be a bit more honest about the process rather than just the finished result. It feels slightly outside my comfort zone, but then so did unpicking that quilt and starting again.

If you’d like to follow along, the finished pieces, the half-finished ones, and everything in between, you can sign up below. I share new blog posts, projects, and the occasional honest update straight to your inbox. No pressure. Just sewing, stories, and the bits we usually don’t show.