Who Says?

Says Who?

Ever since I wrote about the Knitting Police, one question has been following me around.

Whose voice is that?

I thought I'd know the answer. I thought I'd sit down, think about it for a while and be able to say, "Oh yes, that's Mum," or "That one definitely came from Gran," and that would be that. Except it hasn't worked like that at all. The more I've thought about it, the less certain I've become.

My mum taught me to knit. That much I know. She gave me one of the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me and every stitch I knit today can be traced back to her sitting beside me all those years ago. Whatever else happened in life, I will always be grateful for that. Teaching someone to knit is a wonderful thing to do.

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

Then I started thinking about my Gran.

She was incredible with money. She lived until she was almost one hundred years old and still managed to leave all six of her children a lovely inheritance. I still find that quite astonishing. She knew how to make things last. She didn't waste money, she didn't waste food and she certainly didn't waste resources. There is something about that which I really admire and I can't help wondering how much of that found its way into me.

Because, no matter how hard I try, I still have a scarcity mindset.

I hate waste. I hate throwing yarn away. I look at half a ball of yarn and immediately start wondering what else I could make with it. I keep buttons because they might come in useful one day. I have boxes with ribbons in them because they seem too nice to throw away. I can almost hear myself saying, "Keep that, it'll come in handy."

And then I look at my knitting. Or perhaps I should say my knitting bags. Because I have at least twenty-seven works in progress. Now explain that one!

If I really believed I had to use everything wisely before I started something new, surely I'd only have one project on the needles. Instead I've got jumpers, shawls, socks and goodness knows what else all happily waiting for me to come back one day.

So perhaps that isn't where it came from after all.

Then I thought about my Dad. He was never one for buying the newest thing. If something had only just come out, he'd happily wait. Let everyone else try it first. See whether it was actually any good before spending any money.

Except… That doesn't fit either. Because I'm a terrible early adopter.

I love new ideas. I was excited about teaching online long before lots of knitting teachers were. I saw Skool and immediately thought, "Ooh... this could be interesting." If someone invents a new way of helping people learn, I'm usually the one wanting to have a go.

So I can't really blame Dad either.

Perhaps it isn't really about finding one person who told me all these things. Could it be more about noticing that I've spent sixty years (Happy Birthday Me!) collecting little messages from all sorts of places. Some from my parents, some from my grandparents, some from teachers, friends, church, television, magazines, knitting groups, social media and probably quite a few that I've invented all by myself. After a while they all get mixed together until you can't remember where they came from anymore. They just become "the truth".

The funny thing is, though, I'm highly contrary.

If somebody tells me I have to do something, my first instinct is usually to ask why. Not because I'm trying to be difficult – although I'm sure there are people who would say I often succeed! I think it's because I've always wanted things to make sense. If there's a good reason for doing something, I'm all in. Tell me there's a better cast on for this project because it'll make the edge stretchier and I'm interested. Tell me I have to do it that way because "that's the rule"... well now you've lost me.

Perhaps that's why I keep asking, "Says who?"

Not because I think all rules are wrong. They aren't. Some rules are incredibly helpful. Some techniques really do work better than others. Some things are worth learning because they'll make your knitting easier and more enjoyable. But I'm becoming less and less interested in the rules that simply leave us feeling guilty. The ones that whisper that we should know this by now, or that we shouldn't ask that question, or that we've somehow failed because we've changed our minds, or cast on something new before finishing the last thing.

The more I've written this, the more I've realised I'm not actually interested in finding one person to blame. I don't think there is one. Life isn't that tidy. We all spend years collecting little messages from all sorts of places until, after a while, we can't remember who said what anymore. They just become part of the furniture. They stop sounding like somebody else's opinion and start sounding like our own voice.

Of course, that's why this has been so much harder to write than I expected. I wanted to finish this blog with an answer. Instead I've ended up with another question. Not, "Who told me that?" But... "Do I still want to believe it?" Because they're not quite the same thing.

There are some things I'm very glad I learnt. I'm incredibly grateful that my mum taught me to knit. I'm thankful my Grandma taught me that things have value and shouldn't simply be thrown away. Those are gifts that have shaped my life in the best possible way.

But somewhere along the line those good lessons became tangled up with other messages that were never meant to become lifelong rules. Somewhere they picked up guilt, and pressure, and the feeling that I ought to be getting everything right.

I'm not sure I'll ever untangle all of them. I don't need to. I think it's enough just to notice them.

Ever since I started asking myself, "Whose voice is that?", I've found I pause much more often, before believing every thought that wanders into my head. The little voice that tells me I shouldn't cast on another project. The one that says I've wasted the yarn. The one that says I should know better by now. They don't get to march into my head wearing a police helmet anymore. They have to answer one question first.

"Says who?"

And sometimes, when I stop long enough to listen...

...I realise I don't actually believe them anymore.

Nessa

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