The Therapeutic Art of Finger Knitting

Everyone warned me. They told me university was ‘tough’ - so different from high school. I told people I liked a challenge (and usually, I do!) However, the challenge of living 113 kilometers from my twin sister, moving from a sleepy town in the country to the chaos of downtown Toronto and trying to balance an incredibly stacked workload proved to be a bit more difficult than the trials of my high school years. Anxiety took up constant residence in the pit of my stomach and on the palms of my hands while fatigue followed me like unrelenting karma. As someone who had rarely dealt with stress in the past I was overwhelmed. Wading through the excess of self-care advice on the internet proved a stressful task in and of itself. Mindfulness, reading, meditation, bubble baths, exercise - I carried these remedies for stress around my waist like a tool belt but, while being viable options for others I’m sure, none of them really worked for me.

I had just struggled my way through midterm season when my mom made a suggestion - finger knitting. Throughout my elementary school experience we were taught handwork. From kindergarten to grade eight we knit, we built patterns with scissors and fabric, we sewed, we crocheted and the very first thing we learned how to do was to finger knit. Finger knitted chains snipped at the perfect length to be bracelets eventually turned to crocheted socks to developing patterns for sewing pants and knitting sweaters using wooden knitting needles we also made ourselves. The creation of textiles was integral to my learning back then and it became integral once again.

Of course, I was skeptical. I felt a bit ridiculous pulling out the jumble of yarn I kept hidden in the drawer under my bed. However, the allure of something that could quiet my brain, eventually convinced me to bypass my skepticism. One evening before going to bed, or more accurately before going to lie in bed to worry without sleeping for hours, I sat down with a bundle of string and very low expectations. The familiar feeling of the yarn slipping on and off my fingers, the repetition of one simple movement, lulled me into a state of calm I had not felt for weeks. All I was focused on was the creation of the textile occurring in my very hands. I was so surprised by this sense of calm that I stayed awake for hours finger knitting, until the chain was spilling out of my lap and across the floor. I went to sleep that night without any thoughts of deadlines, exams or assignments. For the rest of the term I had a ball of yarn and a tiny pair of craft scissors with me and would keep my hands busy and my mind quiet as I studied and worked through the end of the semester. Embroidery floss, yarn, ribbon - for me, even these simple textiles had power beyond what I first thought. My first year of university was all about learning - both academic and personal. And while my studies helped me along my path, the insights I gained about how to work through difficulty was some of the richest learning of all. For me, creating textiles, the concrete feeling of making something, calmed me more than any breathing exercises, cups of tea, or mindful eating practices. My childish bag of yarn and scissors helped me knit myself back together during those moments when I felt like I was fraying apart.