My partner gifted me a sewing machine for Christmas, knowing I had some basic skills and worried I might need to create a costume for our son’s holiday pageant. I ended up sewing three elaborate headpieces for the three wise men, and surprisingly, it was a breeze.
Afterward, I found myself searching for new projects. Pillowcases seemed simple enough, so I decided to craft festive Christmas pillowcases for the whole family. I set up my machine in the dining room and threw myself into the task—ironing, French seaming, and pinning fabric. In that moment, I escaped the anxiety that usually consumed me—concerns about deadlines, my partner’s late arrivals, and the overwhelming chaos of life. I was joyfully humming away, lost in my own world.
For someone like me, who grapples with moderate to severe anxiety, much of my time is spent obsessing over details that others might overlook, like the mess on the kitchen table or whether my dog will embarrass himself at obedience class. I often picture worst-case scenarios, like my partner meeting a tragic fate on his way home or my children catching a nasty illness. But social anxiety is where I really struggle, especially in the digital realm. Platforms like Facebook can be particularly triggering, pulling me into dark thoughts about world events and societal injustices.
However, when I’m sewing, I can escape those triggers. I can scroll through Facebook without being bombarded by distressing news or the latest celebrity scandals. Instead, I find solace in Pinterest, where I can browse patterns without the pressure of social interaction.
As I lost myself in sewing, my partner would grade papers while the kids played noisily around the house. They had spent the day engaged in homeschooling and outdoor activities, so I figured they were happy enough. I suddenly realized I wasn’t constantly parenting from dawn until late at night, and my sewing projects piled up as I immersed myself in fabric.
But I recognized that my sewing binge was becoming excessive. I missed my children and felt isolated as my partner took them to the park while I stayed behind to sew. He understood the relief it brought me, yet I was aware that if it wasn’t sewing, it would be something else—like reading. I can devour a novel in a day when my anxiety drives me to escape. A fascinating biography gifted to me by my in-laws sent me sneaking away to read in solitude, avoiding the chaos of family life.
This pattern isn’t unusual; many people with anxiety—whether on medication or not—find ways to cope, often diving headfirst into activities that can consume their attention. I have memorized the musical Hamilton, crocheted various projects, and devoted myself excessively to parenting. Each obsession provides a distraction from the fears that often leave me feeling paralyzed. Yet I’ve also fallen prey to overspending on supplies, whether it’s yarn, books, or now, fabric from thrift stores to upcycle.
Though I do miss my children at times, my eldest is interested in learning to sew, so we plan to start a quilt together from the scraps I’ve accumulated. Additionally, I know I need to confront my feelings about current events and not just retreat into sewing. I must find ways to address the anxiety that arises from social media and the news, rather than just hiding behind my projects.
Yet, the sewing machine remains a comfort to me. Its rhythmic hum and the satisfaction of creating something tangible provide a sense of order amidst the chaos of life. For now, this fixation offers me the comfort I need to get through the day, even if it may not be the healthiest coping mechanism.
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In summary, while my sewing obsession may serve as a temporary escape from anxiety, I recognize the importance of addressing my feelings and finding balance in my life.
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