Rainbow Sweater

Yarn over, insert hook into next stitch, pull up loop. Pull through two loops. Pull through two loops again. Repeat two more times. I silently follow my pattern, translating its shorthand in my head to complete the chains and double crochets to transform balls of yarn into beautiful crocheted projects. Once I memorize the pattern, the movement of my hands is almost automatic and my mind can focus: on my music, on the TV, on the tutorial I am watching for class. I cut the yarn to transition to another color and my project becomes more vibrant. My pride grows with my project. When I cut the yarn to bind off, the sense of accomplishment I feel is unparalleled. I perform my self-congratulatory ritual—cutting the yarn, tightening the knot, and holding up the complete-but-still-unfinished project—before I sew in the hanging threads, snipping the excess length from the longer ones. The scissors signal the finality of my actions. I can decide to rip out earlier stitches, to add length, or to make any change as I am working on my project, but scissors are the only tool that can permanently transform my project. They allow me to add color, transition to the arm of a sweater, and to bring my project to its finished state.

I have loved crocheting since I was a little girl. I watched my grandmother crochet blankets for her grandchildren, my cousins, and envied her patience and skill. I wanted to learn, but my grandmother was left-handed, and I am right-handed, so she couldn’t teach me her craft. I learned anyway. I received a Christmas gift of yarn and a pattern book with a written tutorial of the basic crochet stitches when I was seven years old. I could not contain my excitement, and I immediately began reading the tutorials. As I was teaching myself how to crochet, my grandmother grew sicker. She died of cancer just over a year later, and I inherited her collection of yarn, hooks, and patterns. The materials did not make my crocheting journey any easier.

I would take up crocheting just as quickly as I would put it back down for the next several years of my life. I’d become hyper-invested in one project—completing a blanket that my grandmother had started, for example—then put away all of my supplies the moment I had finished it. I loved crocheting as I was creating something, but I was indecisive when I had to choose what project to work on next. It wasn’t until my junior year of college, when I was officially diagnosed with ADHD, that I understood why my love for crochet hadn’t always directly translated to crocheting more often. I formed a crafting club with friends and incorporated a crochet project into one of my classes to add the structure I needed to add crochet to my daily life. I reduced my anxiety and grew more relaxed the more I crocheted. When news of the COVID-19 outbreak resulted in my university sending students home that semester, I became stressed out, my anxiety worsened, and my focus deteriorated. I used my love of crochet to help me transition to online learning by crocheting during my Zoom classes to maintain my focus. I continued to crochet outside of class to diminish my stress and anxiety by channeling my emotions into my projects. The scarves, beanies, and one blanket I made were physical testimonies of my determination to be okay and my determination to improve my craft during a chaotic period. My confidence in my abilities also grew. After seeing a dear friend of mine when I returned to school that fall, I resolved to make a sweater for her to show her how meaningful our friendship is to me.

A beautiful shade of dark blue yarn caught my eye at the craft store, and I knew I needed it. It was the perfect color for my friend’s sweater. I started the simple raglan from the neck, excited to create a gift of love for my friend. Then I noticed the dark blue slowly lightening into a sky blue—wait, what? I looked closer at the skein of yarn. The sky blue deepened into the dark blue again, then into purple! I had purchased rainbow yarn! I continued crocheting, but I felt so silly when the yellow stripe across the chest appeared. What would I tell my friend? I carefully aligned the colors of the next skein with the arm holes so that they wouldn’t clash with the body of the sweater. I wanted the sweater to be a surprise, but I didn’t know how my friend would feel about the color. When she expressed interest in receiving a crocheted gift from me, I could no longer maintain the secret. She laughed! I was so relieved that she still wanted the gift, and appreciated my effort.

That rainbow sweater is a reflection of my life experiences and my journey with crochet in so many ways. Sometimes, you think a decision or idea will unfold in a particular way, but something or someone new may introduce themselves into your life the way that the rainbow yarn included an array of colors I was not expecting. What matters is how you adapt to include all of the changes in your sweater, and create a beautiful product at the end. The more I crochet, the more I understand how different aspects of my life are the different stripes in my sweater, and I have become a better person and friend because of it. My grandmother’s death was a deeper shade of blue. My amazing friendship is a bright shade of orange. And I always make sure to use my scissors to cut the loose ends and transition to a brighter shade, so that I can always look back at my work with pride.