We sat on the comforter in her bedroom, the winter rain drumming on the window. Under the loop, wrap it around, and pull it through. Under, wrap it around, pull it through. Again. This is the way my mother taught me to knit. Over time, the words have faded into my fingers, and the once-vivid memory of learning has exiled itself to my muscles.
If I’m being honest, I’m not a particularly brilliant or speedy knitter. I prefer using simple stitches, and my scarves still turn out squarish or small. But for me, kitting isn’t about the product; it’s about the process. Years after my mother’s lessons, I still pick up a scarf project over the summer to chill out after stressful work days. When doing readings for school, I still knit to give my hands something to occupy themselves with so I can concentrate on the texts. I noticed that the simple repetitive motion of drawing the yarn back and forth is relaxing, meditative, and a way to channel my fidgeting so I can focus.
I wondered if I could unravel other crafters’ stories with fibre arts and see if there is something unique with the needle and thread as a tool for de-stressing and concentration. One consensus was that the slow and gradual repetition is calming—like hearing the predictable splash of a wave on the sand or the low beat of the bass in R&B music.
“[Crochet] is continuous. I don’t have to look at it. I don’t need to think. My brain can just relax,” Evi Missios, Vice President of the McGill Knitting Club, said in an interview with The Tribune.
Noa Garmaise, U2 Management, who has knitted since the age of six, echoed the sentiment: “I think just the repetitive nature of it is very relaxing for me.”
Research backs this up.
“A lot of stress-reduction activities are simple, repetitive things,” said Blaine Ditto, a professor in the Department of Psychology at McGill.
The same response is triggered by other relaxing activities, like watching a video of a tortoise chomping on a banana, listening to our favourite song on loop, or going on a walk and feeling the rhythm of our feet pressing on the pavement. With knitting, people experience the effects of calming through repetition in two distinct ways: A distraction from negative thought patterns and a form of tactile stimulation allowing us to better engage with our environment.
Between midterms, work deadlines, and growing political concerns in my hometown of Washington, DC, I’m often consumed by day-to-day worries. As a student, my life is a constant muddle of coloured chunks on Google Calendar and pages of to-do lists. While stress responses are normal, they’re supposed to fluctuate, surging occasionally to help us manage imminent physical threats and respond to urgent situations. However, ruminations on the future and anticipatory concerns can lead to high levels of continuing stress without a productive outcome.
“People are running scenarios a lot,” Ditto said. “One of the strange things about the stress response is that, in addition to running into the stresses of everyday life, people are sort of creating stress by trying to anticipate and solve problems in advance [….] While taking your mind off of current and possibly future issues, you’re just sinking into this slow, relaxed breathing state.”
When I knit, the turning of the needles over and over between my fingers and the gradual counting of stitches pull me away from my worries and into the present because I’m able to be immersed in my hands instead of my head. The tactile nature of fibre arts provides a sharp contrast to our intangible anxieties. The rhythm of the stitches parallels the slow, relaxed breathing that comes with untangling ourselves from the busyness in our head.
In re-centering ourselves in the present moment through tactile repetition, we also practice mindfulness. As David Dunkley, an associate professor of Psychology at McGill, noted in an interview with The Tribune, mindfulness can apply to any activity that allows us to focus in the moment.
Fibre arts are also unique in that they are portable and easy to bring out in a pinch.
“I keep my knitting and crochet in my bag, so if I’m feeling kind of stressed I can pull it out and, right where I’m sat, I can start destressing right away. I bring it to bars, I bring it to class, I bring it everywhere,” said Jess Sekora, Primary Rep of the McGill Knitting Club.
“If I’m really stressed, like if I have three assignments due this week, I don’t care,” Missios shared. “I would still take out two hours during my day [to crochet] because I knew it would help me. I could just chill for a second and not have to worry about what I have to get done.”
Doing fibre arts doesn’t have to fully cut us off from the world; it can actually tie us into it. I have to remember whether I have to knit or purl, but I’m still able to engage with my surroundings. In class, the mindless repetitive motion is grounding, letting me listen to my professors unobstructed by distractions on my devices.
There is an ongoing scientific debate about the correlation between fidgeting and focus. For example, a 2024 review study published in School Psychology Review finding significant variation between individuals in the efficacy of fidget toys, with no overall positive correlation between fidgeting and focus. However, studies recognize the different ways people find to self-regulate: Kathrine Isbister, a professor of Computational Media at the University of California, Santa Cruz, writes in The Conversation that, “Psychology research about sensation seeking tells us that people often try to adjust their experiences and their environments so that they provide just the right level of stimulation.” Acknowledging that much of the support for fidgeting in focus and relaxation is anecdotal, she emphasizes the importance of trusting people’s personal experiences and allowing them to dial in their sensory input to suit their needs.
For many, including myself, the fibre arts are an aid to consume and absorb information. Garmaise said that, while knitting, she likes to listen to a podcast, and when she was younger, she would read. Missios said that she crochets while watching television. Sekora was knitting a rather intricate hat during our conversation.
For many fibre artists—especially for those who use it while listening to music or looking at screens—knitting and crochet act as a buffer against pure online consumption because they’re still productive activities. We’re not only giving ourselves a tactile repetition that calms us, but—unlike going for a walk or playing a game—we’re also creating something useful and lasting.
“I just found myself being on my phone too much and my screen time being high. I felt sluggish, I just didn’t feel good. And then when I started crocheting, I felt like I was actually productive with my life,” Missios said.
Instead of feeling frustrated or unfulfilled by looking at screens, I’ve gained a sense of accomplishment because I know that I’m producing something that takes effort, patience, and skill. Students, whether for assignments or in relationships, often fall into perfectionism, which sets unachievably high standards. When I knit, the emphasis is on growth, my standard being only to continue manipulating the yarn and improve over time.
“[Through knitting and crochet], I’ve learned patience and letting myself make mistakes. Knitting takes a while, but you really have to let yourself go through the process of it, of creating. There’s no deadlines. It’s just a craft, and it’s not going to be perfect,” Sekora said.
Like many art forms, the community around knitting and crochet is incredibly tight-knit and welcoming. Historically, knitting has not just been an idle hobby, but a way to come together as an act of personal and political expression, especially for women. When I was a kid, my mother brought me and my sister to the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival, a pastoral event to peruse yarns, pet sheep, and meet other knitters, shepherds, weavers, spinners, and dyers. The fibre arts community doesn’t just encompass those with needles and hooks but all levels of the art, from animals to manufacturers to our homes. At McGill, the Knitting Club has fostered a space to connect and teach other knitters and crocheters, bringing a slice of the community to our campus.
“I mostly don’t even do it for the crochet itself. I was having a hard time finding a friend group at McGill, and then when I came across the Knitting Club, I was like, ‘These people are like me,’” Missios said.
When I knit, I am usually not among other knitters, instead working on a piece while in class, listening to an audiobook, or watching a show with my roommate. Yet, this practice started with my grandmother, then my mother, then me. The skill has been passed through my family generationally, and I now use it to ground myself and relax. Knitting is a thread that connects me to my family, my community, the physical world, and a sense of calm amid my knotted thoughts. When you don’t know what to do with yourself, start with a stitch.