When I Knit

There is something deeply satisfying in the untwisting and untangling of yarn. To untwist, you slowly follow the strands through the mess; turning, under one loop, back through another. It doesn’t matter how the yarn got twisted, although I do have a tendency to blame myself for not putting it away properly. Sometimes, when it’s a real mess, I need to put it down and walk away for a few minutes or even a few days. Then, after much effort, and several feelings of hopelessness, it is a coherent ball of yarn once again filled with potential.

As a 48-year-old woman, the storm of my hormones courses through my veins throwing me off balance from the inside. Unwanted emotions visit unexpectedly. I use so much energy to push myself forward, hold myself back and keep myself afloat amidst the turbulence of myself and the people around me. My home, baruch Hashem, is filled with teenagers. They want space. Except when they don’t. They are embarrassed by me, except when they are not. They love me, except when they hate me.