Piecing it together

And to think, I almost cancelled that January sewing class.

It was cold, I remember that. I road my bike to the west end of Toronto, quickly ate a few momos from a Nepalese hole in the wall, and then ducked into the sewing studio as it began to snow.

The class was “Introduction to sewing,” a Christmas gift from my partner, and even though learning to sew was something I had wanted for a while, when the time came, I was dreading going.

I don’t love learning new things in front of people. I’ll happily explore any other crafty endeavour, but a class seemed daunting. What if I failed? I laugh at this thought now because one of the things I love about sewing is how comfortable it’s made me with failures, but that’s for later.

Unsurprisingly, I loved the class. It was three hours of sewing history, machine mechanics, a little textile lesson, and a lesson on making a pillow. I walked out of the class with a brown and white speckled pillow case and journeyed home on my bike. I put the pillow on the couch, and figured, that would be the last time I sewed. I didn’t have a sewing machine and I didn’t think I’d go out and buy one anytime soon.

We were living with my father in law at the time, and over coffee the next morning, he asked me how the class went. We talked about it a little bit, and went off on our days. The following day, he had already left for work, but he had left their household sewing machine on the kitchen table, complete with sewing notions and a box of fabric, with a little note that said something along the lines of, “go play”.

I didn’t really touch the sewing machine again until April, when I lost my job due to the pandemic and suddenly had an excess of free time and a sewing machine that was asking to be dusted off. I began tentatively, getting easily frustrated and abandoning a project mid way several times over. Finally, after a break through bucket hat made from an upcycled pair of jeans, I was all in.

Over the near year and a half, I completely immersed myself in this hobby. I made friends with neighbours at garage sales. I browsed sewing notions and they would disappear inside and reappear with a box full of vintage fabric they weren’t using. I began browsing YouTube tutorials, and then discovered the indie pattern community. I downloaded sewing podcasts, borrowed books from the library. I started making my own clothes, including a pair of overalls I still cherish as if they are the finest thing in the world (they aren’t, there’s a lot of construction flaws, but I’ll wear them down and repurpose them when the time comes).

Last summer, a woman on a Facebook sewing group responded to a post I made asking about sergers. Later that day I was picking up the machine for free — it was passed down to her and she hadn’t ever used it.

Sewing unlocked not only a skill, but a commmunity. From the elderly ladies who have offloaded fabric to me, to the new online friends I’ve made from sharing my handmade outfits online, I’ve noticed that I’ve not only become a part of a group, but I’ve began building something of my very own.

One especially important piece of all of this is how I fell in love with my own creativity and the work I can do with my hands. It revealed a part of me I always knew I had, but often laid dormant because of working at desk jobs. I learned how to imagine again. I learned how to fail over and over again and how to apply those lessons. I learned how to laugh at these mistakes and celebrate garments I made from the inside first (French seams!)

It not only became a safe place I could retreat into, but something I’ve been learning how to share with others, through handmade gifts, online tutorials, and soon (hopefully) through work in a full time capacity.

I’m grateful to the class that started it all and to my father in law for pushing me to get started. But the biggest piece, and the most unexpected, is how I showed up for myself. Repeatedly. Reliably. And in a way I never have before.

From here, im taking on one project at a time, piecing it all together. Through this process, I start to catch small glimpses of the future, at what it will look like in the end. And it keeps me going.