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THE PERFECT FIT: Knitting transitioned my body into a thing of measurements rather than an instrument for measuring self-worth

My Body is a battleground I swathe in yarn.

I’ve forever had issues with my body. Always believing it was too big. Remember shopping at a mall with my mother, trying on a bikini, tears brimming in the dressing room because I didn’t like what the mirror reflected. That was eighth grade. As I aged, the body hatred never went away.

Until now, at age 39, I’m finally starting to accept my physical form. My mentality didn’t shift because of talk therapy. The work I’ve done to begin accepting this form has been through a different sort of therapy—knitting.

And, like knitting, it’s hard work and takes a lot of skill.

I used to wrap my fingers around my wrist to check on my progress. I wasn’t measuring width for a sleeve I needed to knit, but rather my success at denying my body nutrients. Forefinger and thumb stretched around my wrist’s circumference, hopefully with fingertips touching just south of that one mole.

Above the mole: horror. One inch down? Elation. A thin wrist. This was progress to obtain the sexy-slim body society declares I should inhabit.

5 years of knitting


Now, five years of knitting later, another wrapping around a limb: this time, yarn circling my hand three times to get the correct length needed for a longtail cast on. I don’t judge the length of this yarn, its blue 12 inches that guide me in starting a new pair of gloves.

Because, through knitting, I have learned the facts of my body and can separate them from my previously subjective, culture-clouded opinions.

To make a sweater that fits, I cast on 140 stitches. That’s a fact—a knitting must for me. I don’t judge these 140 stitches. They aren’t a source of shame. Aren’t tangled up in self-hate. They are 140 stitches I need to cast on for a sweater I’m going to love.

This is how knitting has helped me. Works for me. Transitioned my body into a thing of measurements rather than an instrument for measuring self-worth.

Because who wants to spend 60 hours or more making a sweater that’s not going to fit?

Which is another way of saying that knitting has turned my body into a fact, rather than a self-imposed battle.

Though I do have my moments.

I made myself fingerless mitts the other day, even though I already have four pairs. These were about comfort. A hug of sorts.

Earlier, I had blasted through knitting a fingering-weight tank top in three days, and I was excited about the style and striped superwash merino wool I picked for the project. Brown fading into black fading into red fading into orange fading into grey, then fading back into brown. Altogether, pointing down in a V. The beauty of a five-stitch increase.

Once finished, halter top slipped on with the I-cord straps tied tight around my neck, the tank was stellar. But not me. Not my body. Not totally. My old ways of thinking then crept in. I felt like it hung “just so” on my hips, as to accentuate the little lumps of flesh pushing up above my shorts.

I scrutinized myself—not the artistry of the tank, but how I didn’t like the body upon which it hung. Three days of intense knitting, only to not fully approve of how I looked.

I posted pictures anyway. Prayed that Facebook et al would admire the tank and not notice what I conceived as a not-perfect body.

I posted the pictures because, even though I did not like what I believed was excessive flesh, I do take pride in my knitted garments and of course want to show them off. Sometimes I just wish I had a different hanger for them.

Even though everyone “liked” the tank and commented on its gorgeousness, I had already entered into the space of self-hatred. I needed comfort. What comforts me? Knitting. My go-to therapy. So, of course, I needed to knit a new thing for myself. Enter: those fingerless mitts.

Because currently, even though, in that moment, my torso disappointed me, I’m OK with my wrists. I know that mitts won’t be a source of self-hatred because I no longer measure them. Casting on those factual 42 stitches for fingerless mitts helped me overcome my brain.

Five hours later, jade cabled mitts slipped on my hands, I felt better. A good therapy session with lasting effects—mitts I could wear anytime I needed that source of comfort. So even in the challenging body moments, I turn to knitting to help see me through all of this.    

I clothe myself in my own creations. In projects that were a matter of math, not judgment. I put thought and effort into a sparkly teal dress I designed and knitted a few months ago. Put in a lot of brain power to calculate the stitches and decreases and lace pattern, so I could put my body in it perfectly. Once done, I assessed myself in the mirror. Admired the stitchwork, the way it did indeed fit perfectly, the way it caressed my body.

This body—beautifully swathed in stellar yarn, and so yes, knitting is persuading me into the space of body acceptance. I’m getting there—one stitch at a time.

«RELATED READ» YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL: Be kind to yourself and come to terms with your body»


image 1 Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay 2 all other images courtesy of author

The post THE PERFECT FIT: Knitting transitioned my body into a thing of measurements rather than an instrument for measuring self-worth appeared first on The Mindful Word.



This post first appeared on The Mindful Word ⋆ Journal Of Mindfulness And En, please read the originial post: here

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THE PERFECT FIT: Knitting transitioned my body into a thing of measurements rather than an instrument for measuring self-worth

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