I’ve made 37 garments so far this year. Only 18 (less than half) have been wholly for me.

I’ve tested 13 patterns. I didn’t volunteer for any patterns I wasn’t interested in testing, but it did get to be a bit of a grind, with patterns that I HAD to make versus patterns I wanted to make.

I made four garments for my daughter. Which I am THRILLED about. But also, I’m kinda ready to get back to making for myself.

I made a dress for my mom! And that was awesome, too!

I figure, now, that I have given away probably over half of the 119 or so garments I’ve made because of my body changing sizes or my tastes shifting or not liking the garment much to begin with. Sometimes the image in your head doesn’t match the final product. That’s ok. Other people will get to enjoy them.

One of the early fails disappeared. I think my husband, who hated it, made it disappear.

I try not to throw any of it away. I’ve managed to rescue at least 5 garments with modifications so that they still fit. Or somehow recycle the fabric into another project instead,. I mostly do that with prints, because often the prints are special and I want to save them. You can always replace solids.

I don’t even want to look at how many patterns I have in my collection now. Sewing has tapped into my ADHD hoarding, ahem, collecting tendencies, and how many shirt patterns or jumpsuit patterns or other patterns does one need?

(A LOT OK A LOT)

I’m not writing as much as I used to (not here, I still blog for every pattern), but other blog or other places where I write…I’d rather be sewing, now, I guess. This year has been about getting ready to write, because next year will be lots of introductions to collections and essays and and and.

Last year I sewed because it was almost literally the only thing in my life at that moment that I had any control over. I just wanted to be left alone. And I didn’t want it to be with my own thoughts. So I dove into fabric and stitches and patterns and making and making and making. That bled over into this year. And then, when I was relieved and happy but also anxious and spiraling, I would take refuge and keep sewing.

I don’t know why I feel like counting today. How many garments, for how many people, in how much time, what has been created versus what has not. The weather is changing, and so too is what I want to sew. Bring me longer sleeves, warmer fabrics…A coat? Perhaps. But probably multiple coats, which…

I still think of my grandmother who painted and painted and painted and painted and painted. A house filled with painting. Overflowing with paintings. I think of her when I sew garment after garment after garment after garment. I get that part of my grandmother, and I think I always did. But it wasn’t until right now that I understood how much painting saved her.