Sewing My Way to Self Love

The simple pattern only needed me to cut the fabric twice, but I made those cuts with careful precision. I could have salvaged any mistakes by making the waistband a little thinner than I had planned, or by shortening the skirt, but the possibility of ruining the project was not my main concern. Good habits are important for any creator, and I wanted to build skills I could rely on when I move on to more complex garments.

I am still a beginner. That being said, I am a beginner who made a skirt that I could not get anywhere else, and there is magic in that. There are some quirky woodland skirts available online, but the majority of them are knee-length or tea-length. I wanted a long skirt, one that would suit every occasion from substitute teaching to pretending to be Queen of the Forest at the Renaissance Festival. I also needed a skirt that would look cozy enough for winter without causing me to overheat. The perfect printed cotton flannel was on sale for $3 a yard, beautifully decorated with adorable creatures and delicate foliage on a dark background. It felt like a little present from the universe when I stumbled on it.

Partly because I did not want to throw away a single scrap, the skirt was a zero fabric waste project. It was not hard to manage, since it made of three rectangles, and while I could have cut the waistband down to size, making a little secret pocket was more fun. It added a side benefit, too. If I gain weight, I can always let out some of the fabric from the pocket and re-gather the fabric of the skirt to fit it.

I made this decision without thinking about it. The significance of it caught up to me later, when I folded the fabric back and sewed the pocket in place. For once, there was no battle with my body. There was no refusal to accept that time will change me. Because I was not willing to consider the possibility of one day giving away a skirt that I made with my own hands, I achieved a kind of self-acceptance that I always strive for, but rarely achieve.

I tried to store the peace I found in the stitches, so it would spill out into me again when I cut them in the future.

Using a combination of old and new techniques, I hand-sewed the entire skirt. My grandmother taught me the running backstitch when I was a kid in her kitchen. In those days, I was making tote bags out of fat quarters. These tote bags were rarely strong enough to hold change, because as my patience wore thin, I would make my stitches bigger and bigger, so I could get done faster. I did better with the Barbie clothes I made as a child, because those were so small. On those dresses, I learned to gather and shape fabric on a micro scale, and I was always done in time for a snack.

With my adult mindset, I kept my stitches small and neat enough to make a good skirt through yards and yards of stitching. I learned a new technique, felling, from a historical channel, and used it to make sure my secret pocket stayed truly invisible. Putting in a zipper for the first time was difficult, but it was worth it to create my first crisp waistband. Drawstrings and elastic work for flowy fabrics, but not for flannel. I also, through trial and error, figured out a way to alternate tiny and large stitches in order to barely break up the pattern as I did the stitches that would be visible. Bisecting hedgehogs and decapitating foxes with a thick line of black thread would have undermined the cuteness of the skirt.

Day by day, hand sewing became a moving meditation. I gave myself permission to take as long as I needed to make the skirt, because I wouldn’t need it until fall, anyway. Creating without pressure was a rare joy. When I write, there is often a deadline and always an audience. This skirt was just for me, and the rhythm of the stitches, the softness of the fabric, and the focus that it demanded all became gifts that I looked forward to in the middle of the chaos of everyday life.

The finished skirt is a wordless love letter from me to myself. It is a reminder to treat my body with love, care, and respect. It is a way of pursuing my own vision of beauty, uncontrolled by the opinions of others. It is a promise that when I feel lost, I can always ground myself by working with my heart and my hands.