These things started with a pull I didn't understand — yarn from a closing store, no plan, no idea what for. I taught myself from YouTube. Ripped apart more than I can count before I finished a single one. Spent two weeks working up the nerve to let anyone see them.
I sent the text anyway. Not sure they were good enough. Not sure I was.
They sold. My mom was beside me making them. And I understood something I hadn't before — that the making itself was the work. The rhythm my hands return to when I need to come back to myself.
The blankets were only the beginning. Whatever comes next from these hands — a journal, a workbook, or something else — it will find its way here, too.
