Wool Goddess

There was a time when my nervous system felt like it was constantly on high alert. Always braced…Always waiting…Always tired.

I didn’t have the language for it then. I just knew my body never truly rested, even when I did.

Like so many people, I learned to push through. To override the signals. To treat exhaustion, pain, anxiety, and overwhelm as personal failures rather than messages from a body asking for safety.

It wasn’t until much later that I realised what I had been living with wasn’t a lack of resilience, it was a nervous system stuck in survival mode.

And crochet, of all things, became one of the gentlest ways back home to myself.

A body that never felt safe

Living with chronic illness, pain, fatigue, and repeated medical trauma changes you.

Fibromyalgia. Migraines. Surgery. Hormonal shifts. The emotional weight of being dismissed, misdiagnosed, or told “everything looks normal” while your body is screaming otherwise.

When your body has learned that pain is constant and rest is temporary, the nervous system adapts by staying vigilant. This is not weakness; it is intelligence.

But over time, that constant vigilance becomes exhausting. I didn’t just feel tired. I felt wired and tired. Sleep didn’t restore me. Silence didn’t calm me. And stillness often made things worse.

My nervous system didn’t want anything. It wanted something safe.

The first stitch

I didn’t pick up crochet with healing in mind.

At first, it was simply something to do with my hands. Something to occupy the long stretches of time where my body needed rest but my mind refused to slow down.

One hook. One ball of yarn. One stitch at a time….And something unexpected happened. My breathing softened. My shoulders dropped. My jaw unclenched.

Not dramatically. Not instantly.
But enough for my body to notice.

Why crochet works on the nervous system

Crochet offers something rare in modern life: rhythmic, predictable, low-stakes focus.

From a nervous system perspective, this is gold.
Crochet naturally supports regulation because:

• Repetition creates safety; the same motion over and over tells the brain “nothing bad is happening right now.”
• Bilateral movement (both hands working together) helps integrate the nervous system and can be deeply soothing.
• Gentle concentration anchors attention without overstimulation.
• Tactile input from yarn provides sensory comfort, especially when the world feels too loud.
• Visible progress builds a sense of completion and competence — something chronic illness often erodes.
• Unlike meditation, crochet doesn’t ask you to empty your mind. It gives your mind something kind to rest on.

From productivity to presence

For a long time, I struggled with the idea that rest had to be earned.
Crochet slowly rewired that belief. There was no pressure to be productive. No demand for perfection. No timeline.

Some days I crochet for ten minutes. Some days I just hold the yarn. Some days I undo more than I create.

And all of it counts.

Because the point was never the finished object. It was the feeling in my body while I made it.

Listening instead of pushing

As my relationship with crochet deepened, something else shifted, too. I became better at noticing when my nervous system was overwhelmed. My hands would tremble. My stitches would tighten. My patience would thin.

Instead of forcing my way through, I learned to pause. To soften. To change hooks. To breathe.

Crochet became a conversation between my body and my hands.
A place where I could practise listening — without judgement.

A portable safe space

One of the things I love most about crochet is that it’s portable. A small project can come with me to waiting rooms, hospital appointments, long car journeys, and difficult days. When anxiety rises, my hands already know what to do.

They loop. They pull. They anchor me back into my body. It’s not a cure. It doesn’t make everything better. But it makes things more manageable…And sometimes, that’s everything.

Gentle, not perfect

Crochet didn’t teach me how to be calm.

It taught me how to be gentle.
Gentle with my body.
Gentle with my expectations.
Gentle with the parts of me that learned survival early.

There are mistakes in every piece I make. Dropped stitches. Uneven edges. Moments where I had to start again. They don’t ruin the work. They tell the story of it.

Just like my body.

This is not just a hobby

For me, crochet is not about blankets or scarves, though I love those too.

It is about regulation. About safety. About reminding my nervous system that rest can be active, creative, and deeply nourishing. It is a practice of coming back to myself, one stitch at a time.

Instead of moving faster, doing more, and feeling less… Choosing slowness is a radical act of care.

If you are living with chronic pain, fatigue, anxiety, or a body that feels constantly on edge, you are not broken. Your nervous system has been doing its best to protect you.

Sometimes, healing doesn’t arrive as a breakthrough; it arrives quietly, in the rhythm of your hands.

Love & healing hugs