What Crocheting Through Chemo Taught Me About Living with Intention

I'm making a crochet blanket for my niece, and somewhere between the hundredth and thousandth stitch, I realized: this blanket is a lot like life itself.

Rows Like Years

The blanket has many rows - some narrow, some wide, each one building on the one before it. They remind me of the years we live, stacking one on top of another, creating something bigger than any single moment.

Some rows are different colors, representing the different seasons we move through. Bright yellows for joyful times. Deep blues for sorrowful ones. Soft pinks and bold reds and calm greens - a whole spectrum of experience woven together into one cohesive piece.

No single row tells the whole story. But together? Together they create something beautiful and warm - something meant to bring comfort.

Every Stitch Made With Intention

Each stitch requires intention. My hook goes through a specific loop, wraps the yarn in a particular way, pulls through at just the right tension. I have to be present for it, even when my hands move on muscle memory.

That's how we should live every moment - with intention. Not perfectly, not rigidly, but consciously. Showing up for each stitch, each moment, each choice.

Some stitches come easily. Others require concentration, especially when I'm tired or distracted or my hands hurt from holding the hook too long. But each one matters. Each one connects to the ones before and after it, creating the fabric of the whole.

Imperfect Stitches, Beautiful Blanket

But here's the thing: if you look closely, not every stitch is perfect.

Some are a little loose. Some are slightly too tight. There's one section where I miscounted and had to improvise to get back on pattern. Another spot where the tension shifted because I was particularly tired that day.

They were never meant to be all perfect. And that's okay.

Just like life.

We try to get as many stitches right as we can. We aim for consistency, for beauty, for creating something we're proud of. But we're human. We miss some. We pull too tight when we're anxious. We lose count when we're distracted. We make mistakes.

And when you zoom out and look at the big picture? I bet you'll hardly notice the stitches I messed up on.

The blanket is still beautiful. Still warm. Still exactly what it's meant to be - even with its imperfections woven right into the pattern.

Time, Planning, and Flow

Each stitch takes time. Not much - maybe a second or two - but multiply that by thousands of stitches and suddenly you're talking about hours and hours of work.

Life is like that too. The big meaningful things we create - relationships, careers, families, recovery from illness - they're built one small moment at a time. One conversation. One choice. One day of showing up even when it's hard.

Making this blanket required planning. How many rows? What colors? What pattern? I had to think ahead, buy the right yarn, understand the structure before I started.

But once I got into the flow of things, it didn't seem like there needed to be a plan anymore. The plan was already in action. The stitches just flowed right off my fingers and onto the blanket, each one naturally following the last.

That's how life feels when you've laid good groundwork - when you've done the hard work of figuring out your values, your priorities, what matters most. The daily choices start to flow more naturally because you've already decided who you want to be.

Taking Breaks When You Need Them

Some days are harder than others.

My wrists might hurt from holding the hook at the same angle for too long. My fingers might ache. My eyes might get tired from focusing on tiny stitches.

When that happens, I put the blanket down. I rest. I come back to it later, or tomorrow, or next week.

It's okay to take breaks in life too.

You can't crochet a blanket in one sitting, no matter how motivated you are. Your body needs rest. Your mind needs space. Pushing through pain doesn't make the work better - it just makes you hurt more.

I learned this lesson again during cancer treatment. Some days I have energy to work on the blanket. Other days, just looking at it exhausts me. Both are okay. The blanket will still be there when I'm ready.

Life doesn't require constant productivity. Sometimes the most important thing you can do is rest so you can come back stronger.

Nearing Completion, Wondering What's Next

Now, as I stare at this blanket nearing completion, I find myself wondering: should I add another row? What kind of edging should I give it? How do I know when it's truly finished?

As I was making it, I wondered how many stitches I needed in each color to create the perfect rainbow pattern. I counted, recounted, adjusted, made judgment calls.

Life is full of these questions too. When is enough, enough? When do we stop building and start finishing? How do we know we've made the right choices about what to include and what to leave out?

I don't always have answers. But I've learned to trust the process. To trust that if I've worked with intention, if I've shown up consistently, if I've been willing to adjust when something wasn't working - it'll turn out the way it's meant to.

The Frogging and the Fixing

Here's something every crocheter knows: sometimes you have to "frog" your work - rip it out and start over. "Rip it, rip it" sounds like a frog, hence the term.

You get several rows in and realize you made a critical mistake early on. If you keep going, the whole structure will be off. So you pull out the hook, tug gently on the yarn, and watch hours of work unravel back to the point where you can fix it.

It's heartbreaking. It's frustrating. It feels like going backwards.

But it's also necessary. Because a blanket built on a mistake will never sit right, never lay flat, never be quite what it could have been.

Life requires frogging sometimes too. Backing up. Undoing choices that aren't working. Starting over from a place of stronger foundation.

It's not failure. It's course correction. And the yarn isn't wasted - it's being used again, better this time, with the wisdom of what didn't work informing what will.

The Blanket as Gift

This blanket isn't for me. It's for my niece - a gift made with love, patience, and intention.

I'll never know all the ways she uses it. Maybe she'll drag it around the house as a toddler. Maybe it'll be her comfort object during scary thunderstorms. Maybe years from now she'll take it to college, a tangible reminder that someone loved her enough to spend hours creating something just for her.

The best parts of our lives are often like this - gifts we create for others. The time we spend with our kids. The kindness we show strangers. The ways we make the world a little softer, a little warmer, a little more beautiful for someone else.

We may never know the full impact. But we create anyway, trusting that love woven into action matters, even when we don't see all the results.

Living Like Crochet

Just like this blanket is made with wonder, thought, and intention, life should be approached the same way.

One stitch at a time. One choice at a time. One day at a time.

With intention, but not perfection. With planning, but also flexibility. With effort, but also rest. With focus on the overall pattern, not obsession over every tiny mistake.

And when you zoom out - when you look at the full picture of a life lived with intention, imperfections and all - I think you'll find something beautiful. Something warm. Something that brings comfort.

Something worth making, stitch by stitch by stitch.

💜 Kayla

P.S. If you crochet or knit or do any kind of handcraft, you probably understand these metaphors in your bones. If you don't, maybe this is your sign to start. There's something deeply meditative about creating with your hands - about watching something grow slowly, stitch by stitch, into exactly what it's meant to be.