My next challenge for the Sketchbook Circle was, well, “Challenge”. I wanted to push myself a bit, and to explore the discomfort of a challenging task. Contemplating my next move, I kept glancing at the long-neglected basket in the corner of my office. A basket full of brand new bits and pieces for mending clothes – a treasure chest of beautiful rainbow threads and roving; needles for embroidery, darning, sashiko, and felting; embroidery hoops, darning mushrooms and a speedweve-type loom. All of it sat there, waiting for me to dive into learning how to mend clothes—a skill I have long wanted to develop.
In 2023, I requested these mending tools as a birthday gift and was thrilled to receive so many goodies. Just a week later my mum died out of the blue, and I haven’t been able to touch them since. This basket of bits and bobs that would normally be a great source of inspiration has come to represent a version of myself that’s painful to encounter – the me that had no idea of the loss that was just around the corner.
Could I approach that self through this sketchbook challenge? Could I learn a new skill, and with it perhaps support my own healing? I decided I could at least give it a go.
The sock
I do love a metaphor. My brain likes to work with symbolism, imagery and narrative. It’s something I often use in therapy with clients. There’s something powerful about a personally crafted metaphor that can capture meaning in a way words can’t. When I was thinking about an appropriate mending task for this piece the idea of a sock came to mind. Socks literally walk with us on our life’s journeys. Their presence often goes unnoticed and unacknowledged, though their absence can be sorely felt.
A pair of socks I was quite attached to had developed a few holes. On the face of it they were nothing special, just basic black socks. But I had bought them when I was a student, from Next. At the time it seemed quite indulgent and very grown up to spend money on anything that wasn’t from Tesco. They certainly were a good investment, and lasted nearly 25 years!
My sock was a connection to that younger self, on the cusp of adulthood. It has seen me through all sorts of highs and lows. Now, though, it had become damaged, with big holes. Repairing it couldn’t return it to its former (very ordinary) glory, but it could help connect me with this younger part, as I now found myself on the cusp of a different life.
The darning
I taught myself how to use a darning loom to mend the sock. It’s a clever little contraption that has stood the test of time. Designed for domestic use in the early 20th Century it creates a tiny weaving loom allowing you to patch holes in a garment quickly (once you get the hang of it). It’s simplicity makes it easy to get creative with colour and texture and to have fun producing a unique visible mend.
This particular darning process involves creating a woven patch that covers the hole. The vertical warp threads are put in place first, creating a bridge over the hole. Strength is then built up by weaving in the horizontal weft threads. The hole is still there, but is transformed and held by this interplay of warp and weft, by continuity and newness.
The warp and weft of grieving
In healing from grief we experience this too. The dual-process model of bereavement, describes how we oscillate between focussing on the loss we have suffered and the new life we have to build. We need both to heal. My experience of grief has mirrored this. At times I’ve felt overwhelmed by sadness, unable to imagine feeling any different. Yet at other times able to live and plan and create.
Sometimes though I have felt in the middle of that hole – lost and unsure who I am or what to do. Threads of continuity have held me through these times (like anchors) – connecting with other people who have been part of the tapestry of my life; putting one step in front of the other in everyday routines of housework and childcare; remembering precious moments and shared jokes. These things haven’t taken the hole away, but they’ve kept me from getting permanently lost in it.
The colours and patterns I chose to darn with had some significance too. The patch on the ball of the foot was the first one I did. It’s a bit playful, with hopeful rainbow colours. The patch at the heel has 3 parts, representing the 3 parts I feel my life distinctly divides into – my childhood in South Africa; my adulthood in the UK; and my life since my mum’s death. The horizontal weft thread is my favourite teal green colour, signifying the continuity of self throughout life’s chapters.
Mending as metaphor
There’s something therapeutic in the act of mending. It recognises broken things (like our hearts) as still having value, and hope. There is also connection with a restorative and skilful process. We can learn to do things for ourselves, to meet some basic needs, even when core attachments are shattered. The loss of key attachment figures can trigger a very primal fear – the wild knowledge that we can’t survive on our own. But if we can tap into wisdom and skills, old and new, we learn we can survive and internalise the love and care others have given us. We can forge new connections to add meaning and colour to our lives.
Somehow the simple act of mending this old sock has helped me build a bridge to that younger self receiving this birthday gift, who had no idea how much mending would be needed. I feel more able to tap into her optimism as we go forward together, picking up the threads of our story.
I think of this as a “soul” challenge – my mum would have enjoyed the pun!
