First Person
The Unraveling of a Relationship
I really wasn’t looking to start something new.
I must have been absent-mindedly perusing my stash when I saw it: a lovely aran-weight yarn in both cream and gray. I’d originally gotten it for a sweater that I later realized called for fingering weight yarn. It now seemed perfect for a midwinter sweater.
I then engaged in one of my favorite pastimes: hunting for a sweater to match the yarn. I didn’t feel like buying a new pattern, so I searched through my Ravelry library.
I’d had Night Blooms by Espace Tricot in my library for a while. As love (or the need for instant gratification) is blind, I ignored the fact that the yarn called for in the pattern was DK. DK was close to aran, right? How much difference could it really make, right?
I seemed to have gotten gauge (or was close enough) so I felt free to cast on. The sweater seemed to knit itself.
We were getting to know each other and just so excited to be together. Everything was moving so fast! After all the recent fingering-weight sweaters I’d made, the promise of a quick fix was so seductive.
As I made my way through the colorwork, I started finding the fabric a bit stiff and unyielding. Where was the amenable and inviting yarn I’d started with?
I thought maybe it was my hands, which had recently started complaining about overuse. I scaled back my knitting time. I reminded myself that I hadn’t done colorwork in a yarn heavier than fingering weight in a while. It was me, not the sweater, that was the issue. Plus, there was always blocking!
After I’d finished the colorwork yoke, I started having serious doubts about the sweater. Despite my adjustments (both physically and mentally), I wasn’t sure I liked how it was developing.
I was now wrangling the stitches around the needle, and the ease and optimism of when I first cast-on was gone. I thought about ripping it out (and almost did without a second thought). But then, what if I was wrong? What if this sweater really was working for me, and I just couldn’t see it?
I asked my partner what she thought. She told me to let go of the doubts and finish the sweater. So, I took a break to see if a little distance (and a palate-cleansing knit) would give me a fresh perspective.
I’d see it in a project bag and think, “I really should finish that. The hardest part is done.” But then another month or two would go by, and I wouldn’t touch it.
Finally, I picked it up again and finished the body. As expected, there was no drape. I convinced myself that a good spanking blocking would fix that. If I were dedicated enough and believed enough, I could muscle that sweater into shape if I had to. We were destined to be together!
Then other issues arose. The fabric didn’t work well with the A-line shaping, and the length wasn’t quite right, and then there was the armscye, which was dropped. I tried it on, still hopeful that it would be transformed by my body. Looking in the mirror, it was clearly evident. I would probably never wear it.
I showed my Zoom knitting group and they tried very hard to salvage the relationship. They had some great suggestions, but it was all more work for me, with no guarantee that I would like the sweater any better.
I knew it was over between us. I’d known it for a while, but I’d thought I could change that sweater, that the sweater I wanted was just deep inside the sweater it currently was.
I knew I had to put us both out of our misery, and I ripped the whole thing out. Both of us were relieved. We needed a fresh start if we were going to make a go of it.
I found a pattern for a simple aran-weight sweater. After all the hoops we’d been through, I thought trying to honor the yarn for what it was and not what I wanted it to be would be our best bet for success.
The new sweater is fine. I’m not entirely sure about it yet. Maybe I don’t trust it; maybe I feel a little burned. Maybe it was the ultimate attempt to transform something, to transform a relationship. I still see the old sweater I’d wanted it to be in it, and there’s a faint whiff of sadness that it didn’t work out.
Sometimes a relationship with a sweater can be more like a détente than a love match. Sometimes that’s what we need to be okay with. In the meantime, I’ve started working on other sweaters.
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This is wonderful! We’ve all been there. Thank you!!!
I suppose if we learn something……LOL.
I had the same experience, but with a sock. The pattern was gorgeous, the yarn sublime. I followed the detailed instructions on how to get the perfect fit (which involved more foot measuring than I have ever done for all the socks I have ever knit combined), and the fit was…well, let’s just say it was less than perfect. I didn’t knit the second sock. I waited a bit longer than I should have to unravel, but unravel I did. The yarn deserved better than to be knit into something never to be worn. I eventually found the right pattern, and have beautiful, perfect fitting socks!
My hardest “breakup” was yarn that I bought for a pattern in a knitting magazine. It was probably the most expensive yarn that I had bought at that point (at least per skein) and it was the specific yarn for that specific pattern. I felt so “fancy”. I finished the garment and hated the style and frogged it at some point. And at various times, I found new things to try with it. No kidding, I made 3 complete garment and hated them! Frogged. Time out. The yarn could not figure out what to be. After many years of bugging my brain, I finally sent it off to Goodwill. Maybe someone else found it to good use. For those wondering, I do not remember, the name of the yarn but it was a dyed in an unusual way that left specific splotches.
Like that old saying: If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it’s yours. If not, it never was.
LOVE this!
Did the same thing with the pattern “Goldwing.” Got the top and about six inches done of the solid color. I let it sit for a month, then frogged the entire sweater.
I can empathise completely. I’ve had a KAL shawl, close to completion, that I fell out of love with after an online group fallout. I just no longer saw the joy in it. I’ve now frogged it and am reusing the yarn for a blanket. Sometimes we just have to do it.
I was on the edge of my seat while reading…very much hoping that perhaps blocking was the ticket. It seemed unlikely, given the name of your article and all, but I may or may not have the body of a sweater that sounds very similar to yours. I developed a callus on my finger from knitting it. All the signs are there, but I’m going to be stubborn and finish it and wear it no matter what, even if I constantly obsess about the stiff fabric.
I don’t know—I think I’d frog the second one as well.
For years I was in a yarn”club” that featured very high-end yarns, often sparkly, imported and expensive. I have more UFOs in fibers that are too slippery, too many ends to weave in, and frankly not at all my style. Many have texture that make it almost impossible to frog. Periodically I look through the bags, look through the stash, buy some wool and make something else. You have inspired me toward serial divorce and moving forward. Thank you so much for this!
Your yarn should be celebrated, not tolerated (with apologies to Taylor Swift).
Oh my, why do we do this?? The doubts creep in, and we think “It’ll be FINE!”
Good One!! I have been there too. Relationships sometimes just don’t work.
I had a cowl I started years ago. It was a relatively simple lace, but I was a newer knitter and ran into some troubles. As well, it was the project I was knitting in China while traveling for work when my mother-in-law passed away unexpectedly. Coworkers moved heaven and earth to get me home to our family, distraught and stunned I had knit that cowl round and round all the way from HongKong to Chicago, where I caught the last plane to Florida before they shut down the runways in a blizzard. I felt that I had to keep it AND I had banished it from my sight, a sad reminder. Finally, 10 years later, I looked at it and realized. We had honored her life, we had come through that difficult time together, as a more experienced knitter I could see how badly I had knit it in my distress – and it was okay to know both that the knitting was all I could hang on to in that moment, and that the knitted product was a reflection of my despair . It was time.
Wow. Loaded issue. I know there are other knitters out there who have had a piece on the needles when they lost a loved one. I had a lace pullover OTN when my dearly beloved mother-in-law was hospitalized with kidney failure. For weeks I took turns with the rest of the family visiting her, sharing memories, just saying good-bye. And in my case, knitting.
I did finish that pullover. And I threw it away. I didn’t want to repurpose the yarn. I didn’t want to give it to someone else and unexpectedly come upon those sad memories walking down the street toward me. But I finished it. I don’t know why.
When my mother was losing her fight with Alzheimers, I sat with her for hours at a time, knitting a lapghan with beautiful blue, green, teal, and purple scraps from her stash. It was about half finished when we said our final goodbyes. I finished that one, too. For whatever reason, these were good memories. I still have that lapghan and use it often and think of her.
This is less about the yarn, of course, than it is about the ways in which it becomes entangled with our lives and our memories. Sometimes you just have to let go. And sometimes it’s more comforting to keep it near.
Thanks for sharing your story.
Awww, I get it. I had a shawl on the needles when my dad was in icu before he passed, and it magically became imbued with so much love and warmth. On the other hand, years ago my mil made a quilt for my son and tactlessly told me how she was crying when she made it because of bad news about her other grandson. That quilt has such bad juju for me. I’d get rid of it if it was mine. And no, I did not and will not tell my son.
This is when our knitting truly keeps us going, moving one stitch at a time past the worst experiences, which in the living, seem unending. Stability, solace. Process to help us process unthinkable experiences.
Great story, thank you, and I learned a new word: armscye!
I didn’t think this happened to anyone else! Found a very smart-looking cardi pattern in a magazine, hurried to the mall and got “some yarn” at the craft store. It said to knit with two strands, so I did. Something wasn’t right and I knew it but the whole time I knitted I kept thinking “It’ll work out.” When it was finished, it swooped to my knees and almost filled a dresser drawer on its own. Also it was bright rusty orange acrylic. I made myself wear it one time, then I found it a drawer. Much later I frogged it and bagged it up. I think of it every time I hear Weezer’s “Sweater Song.” Which isn’t very often. If there were knitting groups back then, I didn’t know it, but I did learn a lot from
the experience!
But how about the lowdown on the photo?
Hi Beth –
Here’s the lowdown on the photo
This is a picture of me and my former boyfriend, meeting again after a few years of being apart. Of course, there’s way more to this story, but isn’t there always?
Cheers,
Claudia
I knew it!! Dang, woman you look exactly the same but with different hair color. How dare you?!
Yes always!
Blocking will fix it was a metaphor for more than one of my younger self relationships too.
Thanks for responding Claudia.
Such a metaphor for life, my friend! Accept
Things as they are- not what you’d hope
They would be! ❤️
I love this! We have all been there. “Blocking will fix it!” I knew in my heart that it wasn’t going to end happily, but I kept reading, hoping against hope.
oh my yes, kept investing time in a knit way longer than I should have, been there.
Oh boy, do I hear you!!! I am currently working on a sweater that I’m not sure I’m going to like or love when I’m finished. And I’ve put so much into it I love the yarn but I’m not really sure it was the right choice. I’m hoping blocking will be the answer for it to be a sweater I’ll at least like, if not fall in love with
Oy, how many times I’ve done and been exactly where you are?… It’s such a hard lesson, why do I continue to repeat it?!
(Is that you Claudia on New Year’s Eve a lá 1990? There’s a story there I’m sure… )
Thanks for the reality and humor we ALL can relate to! Honor the yarn!
Welp, you have helped me understand my relationship with may UFOs stuffed one the shelves of my armoire. I kept thinking it’s Me Not Them, but now I know better. Yet, I still feel indecisive about what to do with them!
Oh dear. You just described every relationship I’ve ever had!
Yes indeed this lovely told story hit home. I believe it is a relationship we have with the yarn. Lord knows the hours we spend alone knitting and enjoying the yarn or not.
Ty really appreciated the story.
Thank you for this – I just reworked a sweater after nearly completing it. The gauge swatch was fine, but as I worked the top down colorwork yoke, it just kept growing! I thought, well maybe I can shrink it or felt it…. I frogged back to the cast on and re-knit with a smaller needle. Turns out I still could have gone down a size! But I’ve been pondering another pattern and substituting to a different size yarn – and will stop right there now that you’ve shared the errors of your ways! No need to repeat that hassle this year!
Those damn sweaters , how they tempt us ! No , don’t look at that! Keep going.
Sigh.
I bought wonderful yarn. I made a highly complicated Aran sweater – fit for an NFL linebacker, not for me. I frogged. I made the same sweater, using the same elaborate cable pattern, for someone about 12-years old. I frogged. I measured myself carefully, I made a swatch & began knitting the sweater for the third & final time. It began to felt on the needles. I kept knitting – knowing that this was IT. IT turned into two pillow covers that were completed with a second yarn that did not match. The cabling was magnificent – the yarn exactly the “right” weight – the sweater was fated never to be. I hate those pillow coverings.