There are seasons in life when everything seems to speed up. Appointments multiply, responsibilities stack higher, and the needs of others take priority over nearly everything else, including quilting.
If you’re a caretaker right now — whether for a parent, a partner, a child, or a friend — you may recognize this rhythm all too well. Days become about logistics. Energy becomes precious. And the creative time you once counted on? It quietly slips to the bottom of the list.
Many of you have told me you feel guilty during these seasons. Guilty for not finishing projects. Guilty for ignoring that stack of fabric waiting patiently on the shelf. Guilty for wanting — just for a few minutes — to sit down and stitch something beautiful when so much else feels urgent.
Like so many of you, I’m doing some significant caretaking right now, and that’s not going to change for a while. I’m feeling all of those feelings about having to step away from larger projects I’ve had planned or are already partially complete.
Let me say this gently: those feelings are perfectly understandable. And you (and I) are not failing at quilting — or at creativity — because life has shifted.
When Creativity Feels Like Too Much
In difficult seasons, even the things we love can start to feel overwhelming. The idea of pulling out a machine, cutting yardage, and committing to a big project can seem impossible when you’re already stretched thin.
That’s often when we tell ourselves:
I’ll get back to quilting when things calm down.
When I have more time.
When this season is over.
But as most of us know … those calmer seasons don’t always arrive neatly wrapped in a bow.
What can change is how we approach our making.
The Quiet Power of Slow Stitching
This is where slow stitching can be such a gift.
Slow stitching isn’t about finishing quilts quickly or working toward a deadline. It’s about small, intentional moments with needle and thread — handwork that fits into the edges of a busy day.
A few stitches before bed.
Ten minutes while the kettle boils.
A hoop tucked into a tote bag for waiting rooms or quiet corners.
No pressure. No perfection. No productivity scoreboard.
Just rhythm. Texture. Breath.
For many of us, these tiny creative pauses become a form of self-care — a way to settle the nervous system, focus the mind, and remind ourselves that we still exist beyond our to-do list.
Giving Yourself Permission
This might be the hardest part.
Caretakers are often very good at showing up for everyone else. What we forget is that tending to ourselves — emotionally and creatively — isn’t selfish. It’s sustaining.
Slow stitching doesn’t have to compete with your responsibilities. It can live alongside them, tucked into the spaces between.
Think of it not as stepping away from your role … but as refilling the well that helps you keep going.
Making Space Without Adding Pressure
If your life feels full to the brim right now, here are a few gentle ways to keep creativity close —without turning it into another obligation:
Keep a small project ready. Choose something portable and forgiving — scraps, embroidery floss, a handful of hexies, a tiny appliqué motif.
Create a “grab-and-go” kit. A small pouch with needle, thread, scissors, and fabric means you don’t have to decide to stitch — you can simply reach for it. I use this small organizer bag and fill it with my needles and thread, a pair of small scissors, a needle threader, and my threaded needle case. In goes my English Paper Piecing piecing, and I’m ready to grab it on my way out the door.
Let go of finishing. This season might not be about completed quilts. It might be about process, comfort, and showing up for yourself in five-minute increments.
Redefine what counts. Three stitches count. One row counts. Sitting quietly and touching fabric counts.
A Note From Me to You
If you’re reading this while carrying a lot — emotionally, physically, or both — I want you to know you’re not alone. I’m right there with you.
Your creativity hasn’t disappeared. It’s waiting patiently for you in the smallest moments.
And whether you manage an hour in the sewing room or five quiet minutes with needle and thread in a waiting room chair, those stitches still matter.
They are reminders that you are more than your responsibilities.
And they are acts of care.
In seasons when life feels heavy, sometimes that is exactly what quilting becomes: not another thing to accomplish … but a soft place to land – even if only in those moments in between the caretaking.