There Are No Knitting Police

There are no Knitting Police

Have you heard about the Knitting Police?

They are the ones that come around and tell you, "That's not how you do it", or "That's not the right yarn for that jumper", or "That's not how you hold your needles", "You're holding your yarn in the wrong hand", or some other judgement that just makes you feel small and never want to take your knitting out in public again.

Well let me tell you, they didn't go to Hendon (if you don't know, that's a very prestigious place near London where many police officers go to learn how to be a proper police officer!), they have never had a passing out parade, they don't have a police officer's helmet and they certainly have no powers of arrest.

So if someone does come up to you and offer judgement on your knitting, please ask to see their badge. I'm pretty sure they won't have one. And if they do happen to have one... I'd still ignore them!

Joking aside, I've been thinking about this phrase a lot recently, because I don't actually think the Knitting Police are real. I think they're imaginary. Which sounds ridiculous really, because if they're imaginary, why do they have so much power?

The more I've thought about it, the more I've realised that I don't think they're really about knitting at all.

I think, somewhere along the way, lots of us picked up little messages about how we ought to be. Don't waste things. Finish what you start. Don't ask silly questions. You should know this by now. Don't make mistakes. Get it right first time. They become so familiar that after a while we stop questioning them, and then one day we pick up two knitting needles and all those messages come with us.

So suddenly it isn't just a sleeve you've put down for six months. It isn't just the beautiful yarn you've been saving because you're waiting until you're "good enough". It isn't just the shawl you've unravelled for the third time. Somehow it becomes another opportunity to feel as though you've got something wrong.

I don't think we even notice we're doing it. We just assume those are the rules of knitting. But are they? Or are they simply messages we've carried over from somewhere else?

I've been thinking about my own mum while I've been writing this. My mum taught me to knit and, whatever else happened in life, I will always be grateful to her for that. What an incredible thing to pass on to someone. Every stitch I knit today can be traced back to her patiently sitting beside me all those years ago. That's a gift I wouldn't swap for anything.

But parents don't just teach us practical things, do they? They teach us all sorts of things, often without even meaning to. Some of those lessons become wonderful gifts that stay with us forever. Some of them... perhaps need looking at again.

As I've got older, I've realised that sometimes I wasn't really feeling guilty about the knitting at all. The knitting had simply become another place where I was trying to get everything right. Another place where I felt I ought to know more. Another place where I didn't want to make a mistake. Another place where I felt I should be able to do it without asking for help.

I sometimes wonder whether that's why unfinished knitting can make us feel so guilty. Maybe it isn't really about the knitting at all.

I've taught hundreds of knitters over the years and I've lost count of the number of times someone has apologised before they've even asked me a question. "I'm probably being silly..." "You'll think I should know this..." "It's only a beginner's question..."

Says who?

Who decided there were beginner's questions that weren't worth asking? Who decided you had to finish every project you start? Who decided you weren't ready to use the yarn you love? Who decided changing your mind meant you'd failed?

Because I can't find any of those rules in a knitting pattern.

I say, "There are no Knitting Police," quite a lot when I'm teaching. People usually laugh. Then something interesting happens. The room goes quiet. Because I think, for just a moment, people realise they've been knitting as though somebody really was watching. As though someone was keeping score. As though someone would eventually arrive and tell them they weren't quite good enough to call themselves a proper knitter.

But there isn't.

Of course, learning matters. Technique matters. I love helping people improve their knitting because learning new skills is one of life's great pleasures. But improving your knitting and measuring your worth by your knitting are two completely different things.

Somewhere along the line I think some of us have started believing that if we can just knit well enough, finish enough projects, stop making mistakes, ask fewer questions and get everything right, we'll finally feel like a "proper knitter". I don't think knitting was ever meant to carry that weight.

Knitting should be one of the places where you're free. Free to ask questions. Free to unravel something that isn't making you happy. Free to put a project away for six months and discover you don't actually want to finish it after all. Free to use the yarn you love. Free to knit slowly. Free to learn. Free to change your mind.

So the next time that little voice pops into your head and tells you you've wasted the yarn, or you really ought to have known better, or you shouldn't cast on something new until you've finished everything else, just stop for a moment and ask yourself one simple question.

Whose voice is that?

Because I'm fairly sure it isn't the Knitting Police.

Nessa

Terms of Use