The Crash that Led to Crafts
A return to the journal on the last day of 2025
I have always tended to start over when there are large gaps in projects. The large gaps are usually a product of perfectionism—feeling like I have to create something on a large scale or have a grand plan that’s executed just so. And I’m trying to get over that. For instance, I haven’t written a Huntress At Home Journal entry in 8 months. Do I scrap it and start over? In years past I might have. I also haven’t completed an article for the main section of my Substack since October.
As someone aspiring to be a professional writer, the gaps can be embarrassing. But I’ve had to learn to get over that and recognize that life gets overwhelming and priorities shift sometimes.
The CrashLady Summer
I think this gap began with what I’ve coined The CrashLady Summer™. I re-read Sink Reflections by The FlyLady this past summer; I always turn to this book when I need to get out of a life-management funk, and this year was as dysfunctional as any other. Overwhelmed by the details of modern life, I decided to slow down and just clean my sink. And that I did. Every day. For two months. I got up, dressed all the way down to my house shoes, and made sure the kitchen was spotless before I moved on to anything else for the day.
After two months I had a nervous breakdown. Like, catatonic-laid-out-in-the-driveway nervous breakdown. (I’ve heard that when you become unregulated, laying on the floor is good medicine, so it was honestly a good faith effort at re-calibrating.) I “crashed out” as the kids say nowadays.
And why? The house was cleaner than ever! Shouldn’t the reduction in external chaos calm my inner chaos?
Turns out, no. Because there was not a moment leftover for me to sort through my inner life. I’ve learned that whatever is going on in the world around me doesn’t necessarily affect my mental health. It’s my mental health that determines the state of the world around me. Without ample time to think, imagine, and process all the organic material that arises in my mind, I can’t function. Bottom line: I need time to create.
So how did crashing pan out?
I spent the rest of the year taking more than my fair share of time to create. Up to this very last day of the year I have been surrounded by chaos, but excited by possibility.
Late Summer
My ascent into creative heights began almost immediately after my depressive slump. It started with my decision to use up as much of my acrylic yarn and poly fill as possible by making all the kids in the neighborhood amigurumi stuffed animals for Christmas. I started this project in August and met my December deadline by the skin of my teeth.
Autumn
In the midst of my crochet marathon, I made a batch of elderberry syrup from the elderberries I had harvested and dried earlier this summer. I have pounds of elderberries in the pantry that I purchased before our own berry canes matured, so I am usually able to get an initial batch from our backyard and produce subsequent batches for the rest of winter from our stockpile.
Later in the year I participated in a gift exchange with the women at church and made another batch for the recipient of my gift when she noted that she loved handmade local items. But, she also wrote that she loved baking, so…
…I also whipped out some leftover muslin cotton I had from some previous sewing projects and made her an apron.
When I finished all that blasted crocheting, I never wanted to make another stuffed animal again, but I was not ready to quit and I picked up this granny square vest I made probably two years ago to finally weave in the dozens of loose ends that had made me throw it aside when I had originally finished it (hello, large gap in a project).
The Holidays
As the weather got colder and I had more excuses for staying indoors to work on more projects, a dear friend sent me an unexpected and wonderful gift just in time—a gift card to Wool & the Gang, where I could pick out a project along with all the merino wool necessary to knit myself a sweater. And I’ve been busy with that for weeks now! I picked this beautiful terra cotta color (18 balls, to be exact) and chose this slightly more challenging bubble knit pattern:
I was motivated by my several handmade accomplishments, so I decided to venture into creative territory I remain severely under-experienced in and, frankly, tend to be averse to. I baked a gluten-free snickerdoodle cake for a friend whose birthday is on Christmas day. I realized halfway through the process (which took me all day) that I had no way of transporting it to our Christmas potluck as I am not a baker and do not bother with keeping superfluous baking supplies on hand.
So, I called on a trusty neighbor to borrow her… I believe I called it a cake transporter…
That reminded me of a great story I got to tell the potluck bunch when I showed up with a scruffy looking cake that apparently was scrumptious enough (I don’t know, I was so fed up with the thing I didn’t taste it) so as to fool all tasters into thinking I was familiar with cake and/or gluten-free baking. And it went like this:
Once upon a time I went out for a walk with my firstborn son and, being rather antisocial, I swiftly dodged a new neighbor who had come across the street to introduce herself with her newborn. Several months later I remembered her while I was praying one morning and felt God gently twisting my arm into re-introducing myself and apologizing for being so obviously avoidant. I wanted to go with some token of reconciliation, but had nothing and felt very pressed to make the amends that day. I had just the day before made a batch of the worst BLANDEST dRiEsT shortbread cookies I had ever made and thought well, it’s something. I packaged the remainder of the cookies and made my delivery.
Only to find out at a much later time that she was a:
.
.
.
.
PROFESSIONAL PASTRY CHEF.
The End.
A Return to Homemade Gifts
But that wasn’t the end because she has ever since been the sweetest neighbor I can always count on, especially in the event that I need a “cake transporter” or any other baking assistance.
And after a season of embracing a slower handmade method of connecting with others, she gifted me a loaf of homemade sourdough and a wooden Connect Four game that she made herself.
The conclusion I came to after several months of just making things (and receiving several homemade/handmade gifts for Christmas this year) is that I really want return to this slow pace of producing more than I’m consuming. It’s challenging to find other people sometimes that appreciate this way of living. Or maybe it’s just that we don’t talk to each other enough to realize there are plenty of us that feel this way.
I guess what I’m saying is this: in 2026, don’t be afraid to take your pitiful cookies to a neighbor to introduce yourself, or bake an ugly cake for a friend who’s had a tough years, or sew an apron out of scraps for a lady in your church (even if she can’t use it right now cause she’s like 8 months pregnant), or crochet lopsided stuffed animals for the kids in your neighborhood just cause it looks lame on the shelf next to their Nintendo Switch. And don’t be embarrassed when there are long periods of time between your creative endeavors or attempts to better the world around you. Just pick up where you left off and keep going.
These are the little ways we turn society around and get back to that slower handmade life we are all craving. Set the example, however messy, however ugly, however unappreciated (looking at you, kid who shook the fire out of the alligator that took me weeks to craft).
You’ll find people who feel the same along the way.
Happy New Year!