Latest / Style Room: Skincare, confidence & wellness / Why I Love My Half-Finished Knitting: Embracing Creative Mess | Style Room
Transcript
- I have a drawer full of half-knitted scarves, three unfinished watercolor paintings, and a journal that stopped mid-sentence last winter. And honestly? It’s the messiest, most beautiful thing about me. We need to talk about that specific kind of guilt that sits in your chest when you look at a project you started with so much hope and now just… left behind. You know the feeling. You picked up a sketchbook because you wanted to be an artist for a month. You bought yarn because you imagined yourself cozy on a porch, creating something tangible. But life happened. The motivation dipped. The inspiration dried up. And now, those supplies are sitting there, judging you from the corner of your room or buried in a closet. As a former nurse, I saw how stress manifested physically—tight shoulders, clenched jaws, skin breaking out under pressure. But today, I want to talk about the invisible tension we put on ourselves when we treat creativity like a checklist item. We live in a world that glorifies completion. The highlight reel shows the finished product, not the messy middle or the abandoned drafts. But here is the truth I’ve learned after years of trying to optimize every aspect of my wellness routine: finishing things isn’t always the point. Sometimes, the point was the doing. Let me take you to my nightstand. There is a small wooden box where I keep what I call my 'abandoned ambitions.' Inside, there is a scarf that is only two feet long. It’s bright yellow. It doesn’t match anything I own. Next to it is a candle I melted into a shapeless blob because I got bored of waiting for it to burn down evenly. And then there’s this one ceramic mug I tried to throw on a wheel. It collapsed. It’s lopsided. It holds water if you tilt it carefully, but it’s definitely not serving ware material. For years, I felt ashamed of these objects. I thought they were evidence of my lack of discipline. I thought they proved I couldn’t stick to anything. But recently, I had a realization. These items aren’t failures. They are testaments to curiosity. When I started that scarf, I was curious about texture. When I melted that candle, I was experimenting with heat and wax. When I threw that clay, I was learning about balance and gravity. Each project gave me something, even if it didn’t give me a final product. Let’s look at the ingredients, not the hype. The ingredient here wasn’t perfection; it was engagement. And engagement is enough. We are taught that life should be linear. You learn the skill, you practice, you master it, you finish. You write the book, you publish it, you celebrate. But creativity rarely works that way. It’s more like a garden than a factory. Some plants bloom early. Others go dormant. Some die, and you compost them to feed the soil for next season. I used to think that if I didn’t finish a creative endeavor, I had wasted time. But time isn’t wasted when you are exploring. Think about your skincare routine. Do you judge yourself for trying a new serum that didn’t work for your skin type? No. You note that it didn’t work, and you move on. You gained data. You learned what your skin needs. Creative projects are the same. An unfinished painting teaches you about color theory. An abandoned knitting pattern teaches you about gauge and tension. Even the failure is useful. It’s okay to pause. It’s okay to walk away. The universe doesn’t keep score of your completed projects. It cares about whether you showed up, even if you didn’t stay until the end. I remember a patient once, a woman who came to see me because her eczema flared up every time she felt pressured to perform. She was a high-achieving lawyer, always closing cases, always delivering results. She told me she felt guilty whenever she took a day off to paint, even though she never finished a canvas. She said, 'If I can’t finish it, why am I doing it?' I looked at her and said, 'Because you needed to breathe.' That was the answer. The painting wasn’t for the gallery. It was for her lungs. It was a space where she didn’t have to be perfect. Where she could make mistakes without consequences. Where she could stop anytime she wanted. This is what we lose when we obsess over completion. We lose the playfulness. We lose the joy of the process. We turn our hobbies into jobs. And no one wants to work unpaid. So, I am giving you permission today to leave things unfinished. To let the scarf remain short. To let the journal stay silent. To let the idea be just an idea. It doesn’t diminish your worth as a creator. It actually honors it by saying, 'I value my peace more than my productivity.' When you feel that pang of guilt looking at your unfinished projects, try shifting the narrative. Instead of thinking, 'I failed to finish this,' try thinking, 'I enjoyed this for a while.' Instead of 'I’m inconsistent,' think 'I’m exploratory.' Language shapes reality. If you label yourself as someone who quits, you will feel shame. If you label yourself as someone who experiments, you will feel curiosity. Curiosity is a warm, inviting emotion. Shame is cold and isolating. Choose warmth. Think about the friends who inspire you. Are they the ones with spotless, completed portfolios? Or are they the ones who share their messy processes? Who show you the sketches that went wrong? Who admit when they’re stuck? Usually, it’s the latter. Vulnerability creates connection. Perfection creates distance. By embracing your messiness, you invite others to do the same. You create a safe space for imperfection. That is a gift. That is a form of leadership. You don’t need to lead by example of success. You can lead by example of humanity. So, what do you do with all these half-finished things? Do you throw them away? Do you hide them deeper? I suggest a ritual of release. Pick one item from your drawer of dreams. Just one. Look at it. Really look at it. Thank it for the joy it brought you when you were working on it. Thank it for teaching you something, even if that something was 'this isn’t for me right now.' Then, decide what it needs. Does it need to be stored differently? Does it need to be given away? Does it need to be recycled? Make a conscious choice. Don’t just let it sit there as a ghost of your past intentions. Give it closure. Maybe you donate the yarn to a community center where kids can use it for crafts. Maybe you recycle the paper. Maybe you frame the collapsed mug as a piece of abstract art. By taking action, you transform the object from a symbol of guilt into a symbol of grace. You are saying, 'I did my best, and that was enough.' Glow from the inside out, literally. Because when you release the guilt, your skin relaxes. Your breath deepens. You come home to yourself. Thank you for letting me into your space today. I hope you’ll go touch that half-finished scarf with kindness. You’ve got this. I’ll see you in the next one.