E60 Transcript
Most people think of creativity as something extra.
A reward.
A luxury.
Something you make time for after everything else is handled.
But what if that’s backwards?
What if creativity — especially the kind that lives in your hands — isn’t a bonus at all?
What if it’s closer to preventative first aid?
Not the annual wellness visit kind.
Not emergency-room first aid.
But the normal life, apple a day kind that helps you steady yourself.
Helps you Regulate.
Come back into your self when life gets loud or demanding or just… too much.
A lot of us find our way back to fabric and fiber during those moments.
Not necessarily because we’re trying to make something impressive.
But because stitching, cutting, handling cloth does something that our nervous system understands before our mind catches up to it.
And here’s what’s interesting — that’s not accidental.
Science tells us we’re all born creative.
That our earliest way of making sense of the world is through touch, repetition, and exploration.
But somewhere along the way, that instinct gets sidelined.
Responsibilities move in.
Efficiency takes over.
And creativity gets reframed as optional.
Still, it never really leaves.
In this episode, I want to talk about creativity — and sewing in particular — as a kind of creative first aid kit.
Why working with your hands can be stabilizing in ways we rarely talk about.
Why it helps when words don’t.
Why it so often shows up exactly when we need it most.
This isn’t about productivity.
And it’s not about turning creativity into one more thing to optimize.
It’s about why everyday acts of making can help you feel more like yourself again —
and why your hands may already know how to help, even if you haven’t named it that way yet.
Let’s talk about why you are creative and how you benefit from letting it run.
Let me define what I mean, because “first aid” can sound dramatic.
I don’t mean sewing fixes everything.
I don’t mean fabric replaces therapy.
I don’t mean you stitch your way out of grief and suddenly you’re fine.
I mean something simpler — and honestly, more useful.
I mean: making can help you stabilize.
It can help you come back into yourself when you feel scattered.
It can give your brain one steady job when everything else feels like twenty tabs open.
It can soften the edges of stress — not by pretending the stress isn’t real, but by giving your body a different signal.
And this is one of those places where research and lived experience actually shake hands.
There’s a big body of evidence showing that arts engagement — making, music, movement, creative participation — is associated with benefits across mental and physical health, including stress reduction and emotional regulation. The WHO’s evidence review on arts and health is basically a gigantic “yes, this matters” document.
Now. That’s broad.
So let’s get specific, because we’re fabric people.
Sewing is a very particular kind of creativity. It’s not just thinking.
It’s not just imagining.
It’s hands + material + attention + time.
And that combination is powerful.
Not because it’s magical.
Because it’s how the nervous system works.
When your hands are doing something rhythmic and purposeful — cutting, pressing, stitching, pinning — your body gets information that says:
“We are here.”
“We are safe enough to focus.”
“We are doing one thing at a time.”
That’s not motivation. That’s physiology.
And if you’ve ever started a sewing session feeling irritated… and then looked up later and thought,
“Okay. I’m still dealing with life, but I’m not trembling anymore,”
you already understand the concept.
That’s creative first aid.
Now I want to go all the way back to the beginning for a second — because I think it helps us understand why we crave this so much.
Most of us weren’t “introduced” to creativity.
As I said before, we were born doing it.
Kids don’t wake up and think, “Should I be creative today?”
They just… are.
They play. They build. They make up stories. They invent rules. They try things that don’t work. They try again. They don’t ask permission to be imaginative.
That’s you as a kid.
There’s a famous set of claims that gets repeated a lot — often connected to George Land — that young children score extremely high on measures of creative thinking, and that this drops as people age. The exact stats get repeated in different ways, and they’re sometimes oversimplified in internet form… but the pattern matters: we tend to train creativity out of ourselves as we prioritize correctness, compliance, efficiency and performance.
And that tracks with what so many of us feel in our own history.
Somewhere along the way, creativity stopped being “how I exist”
and started being “something I’m allowed to do if I’m good at it.”
Or worse:
“something I’m allowed to do if I can justify it.”
And you can see how that sets people up.
Because then, when adulthood gets heavy — work, family, health, caregiving, money, fatigue, stress — creativity is the first thing that gets shoved to the back burner.
Not because it isn’t important.
Because it doesn’t scream the loudest.
And here’s the twist: that back-burner strategy doesn’t actually work long-term.
Because humans don’t just need productivity and responsibility.
We also need creative contact.
And that’s not just my opinion.
Donald Winnicott — who wrote about play and development — described creativity as part of healthy living, not just something reserved for “artists.” The gist is: creative living is tied to feeling real and alive, not just compliant and functional.
And if you’re sitting there thinking,
“Yes, and I do start to feel dead inside when I lose touch with my making,”
I’m right there with you.
I’m nodding.
Because that is the signal.
Not that you’re broken.
Not that you’re being dramatic.
Not that you need to monetize your hobby.
Just that you’re human. You’re human
So when we talk about sewing as first aid, part of what we’re talking about is this:
Creativity isn’t an accessory.
It’s a core system.
And when we neglect it, we pay for it — sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly.
And there’s proof.
So let’s talk about the science part in normal-person language.
When we’re stressed, the brain loves two activities:
Scanning for threats and Replaying conversations you can’t fix
That’s just what it does.
And sewing interrupts that pattern in a very specific way because it asks for:
attention to detail, sequencing, tactile feedback, small decision-making
and a clear physical outcome
In other words: when you’re sewing, your brain has a job.
And it’s not the job of panicking.
A lot of research across arts participation points to stress reduction and improved wellbeing — not because the arts remove life problems, but because they support regulation and resilience.
There’s also research showing that making art can reduce stress hormones for many people — including a well-known Drexel study where a short art-making session lowered cortisol for a substantial percentage of participants.
Now, sewing isn’t exactly the same as drawing.
But if you’ve ever had the experience of sitting down at the machine feeling tight in your shoulders and then noticing your body drop about two inches… you’ve run your own experiment.
And here’s the part I want to say out loud because I think it helps people stop judging themselves:
Sometimes what you need is not a grand life plan.
Sometimes what you need is ten minutes of contact with something real.
Fabric is real.
Thread is real.
A seam is real.
And the brain likes that.
In addition, sewing has built-in guardrails that make it especially good first aid.
Because sewing won’t let you do ten things at once.
You can try.
But the machine will humble you.
You can’t press while you cut.
You can’t stitch and doomscroll at the same time
You can’t do the finishing touches cleanly while rushing.
The work requires presence.
And presence is often the opposite of spiraling.
So if you’ve ever wondered why you feel better after “just doing a little sewing,” even if the world is still a mess… that’s why.
Let’s look at a few of the “everyday injuries” this creative first aid kit helps with.
Not the Emergency room stuff. The quiet stuff.
Like the “I’m on my last nerve” feeling
You know that sensation where your brain is chaotic and your body is tired, but you can’t get settle?
A lot of people think the solution is rest. And yes — rest matters.
But sometimes the nervous system doesn’t settle through stopping.
Sometimes it settles through rhythm.
This is where sewing shines.
Cutting pieces.
Sorting notions.
Threading the machine.
Even winding a bobbin — which nobody has ever done for fun in the history of the universe — still has a calming predictability to it.
And you don’t have to do it perfectly for it to work.
This is one reason needlecraft and textile handwork are so often described as soothing or regulating — a theme that shows up across reviews of needlecraft and wellbeing, even while researchers are still refining exactly how and why.
And again — you don’t need a citation to know it’s true.
You’ve felt it.
What about that “I’m not myself lately” feeling
Sometimes stress doesn’t look like panic.
Sometimes it looks more like disconnection.
You’re doing the tasks. You’re showing up. You’re handling responsibilities.
You’re going through the motions, but you don’t feel like you.
Sewing can bring you back because it reconnects you to preference, taste, and agency.
What color?
What texture?
What weight?
That’s not trivial.
That’s identity.
And this is where that Winnicott idea matters — creativity isn’t just output, it’s a way of being alive in your own life.
And finally, what about that “I can’t handle one more decision” feeling
Decision fatigue is real.
And when you’re exhausted, everything becomes a decision.
What to cook. What to answer. What to postpone. What to worry about.
Sewing gives you decision-making that is smaller, clearer, and more satisfying.
Shall I press this seam open or to the side?
Do I want under-stitch?
Would a topstitch at a quarter inch or an eighth be prettier?
These are decisions with feedback. Immediate feedback.
The fabric tells you.
And that kind of feedback loop is exactly why creative work can restore a sense of competence when life feels chaotic.
You make a choice.
You see the result.
You adjust.
You learn.
That is the opposite of helplessness.
This is where I want to gently challenge the cultural story.
Because a lot of people still treat creative making as fluff.
And I get it — we’ve been trained to rank things by economic value.
But the “just a hobby” label can do damage, because it implies that creative work is optional… and it implies that you should feel guilty for wanting it.
Meanwhile, the research landscape is moving in the opposite direction.
There’s growing recognition — again, not in cheesy internet form, but in actual public health conversations — that arts engagement is connected to wellbeing and can play a role in how people cope and stay resilient.
And you don’t have to call it “art therapy” to say:
Handwork can help you regulate.
Handwork can help you process.
Creative work can help you come back to yourself. And this is fabulous news.
So when you reach for sewing in a hard season, you are not being frivolous.
You are being wise.
And if anyone questions it, say this with a smile - just tell them you’re doing preventative maintenance for your nervous system.
Because, essentially, you are.
Now let’s make it practical without turning it into a checklist.
Because I’m not interested in giving you homework.
But I am interested in helping you recognize what you already have.
A creative first aid kit is not necessarily:
• a full day of uninterrupted studio time
• a flawless workspace
• the perfect project
• a new machine purchase (although I respect the impulse)
A creative first aid kit is often:
• a scrap bin
• a small stack of fabrics you love touching
• one project you can pick up without re-learning everything
• a simple repetitive action
• a place where your hands can move for fifteen minutes
And this matters because when people feel stressed, they often tell themselves:
“If I can’t do it properly, I shouldn’t do it at all.”
No.
First aid isn’t about doing it flawlessly.
It’s about doing enough to stabilize the patient. And that of course is you.
So here are a few “first aid” modes of sewing that count:
Mode 1: The Reset
When your brain is fried, choose something that is repetitive and sensory.
Press fabric.
Sort scraps by color.
Wind bobbins.
Cut pieces for a future project.
Hand stitch something mindlessly while you watch a show.
You’re not “wasting time.”
You’re self-regulating.
Mode 2: The Return
When you’ve been away from making and you feel rusty, pick something small that reintroduces you to competence.
Mend something.
Sew a simple seam.
Make a tiny pouch.
Test stitch on scraps. Find out what all those fancy stitches on your machine look like
The goal is not a masterpiece.
The goal is: “Oh. There I am.”
Mode 3: The Anchor
When life feels chaotic, choose one consistent practice that keeps you tethered.
Maybe it’s ten minutes a day.
Maybe it’s 30 minutes twice a week.
Maybe it’s a Sunday afternoon ritual.
The point is: you have a place where your hands know what to do.
And if you’re thinking,
“Okay Virginia, but how is this different from… mere distractions?”
Here’s the difference.
Distraction removes you from your life.
Creative first aid brings you back into it.
For example, if I am stressed and circling, I can sit and just put in the buttons and buttonholes. It’s repetitive, quick, and I don’t need to think.
Or maybe I’m feeling a bit disconnected. Wandering aimlessly around the house. If I sit and begin stitching one of the many small projects I have cut and waiting, the direction returns.
If I am suffering from decision fatigue, I pick something like a series of small tote bags or Mara bags. The fabric and trims have already been cut and stacked. There are no decisions to make. Just simple, repetitive sequences to put it together and I am immediately reminded of my own competence.
Now, nothing in my life was magically fixed. But I become more capable of handling it.
And that’s the point.
First aid doesn’t erase the injury.
It helps you function while you heal.
Now let’s circle back to that “everyone is born creative” idea, because I want to land it in a way that feels hopeful — not nostalgic and sad.
If creativity dims as we grow up, it’s not because it disappears.
It’s because it gets crowded out.
And the beautiful thing about fabric work is that it’s a door back in.
Not through performance but through contact.
Through the physical act of making something real.
So if you’ve been feeling that longing — that little ache for creativity — that’s not random.
That’s you noticing what your system needs.
And the “first aid kit” idea gives you a way to stop treating that longing like an inconvenience.
Instead, you can treat it like information.
Let me offer a few things to simply notice — not to fix, not to optimize, not to fill out on a list.
Just notice.
When you feel stressed, what happens in your mind and body when your hands begin working with fabric? Do your shoulders drop even a little?
Does your breathing change?
Does your mind stop racing quite so loudly?
Even if nothing is solved…
do you feel yourself come back into the room?
When you’ve had a hard day, what kind of making calms you the fastest? Is it something repetitive, like hand stitching or pressing?
Is it something orderly, like cutting pieces or organizing your tools?
Or is it something expressive — letting color or texture lead, without needing an outcome?
Do you notice that your nervous system seems to prefer a certain kind of rhythm?
When you’ve gone a while without making, what’s the smallest “re-entry” that brings you back? Not the big project.
Not the perfect plan.
But the smallest doorway.
Is it winding a bobbin?
Touching a favorite fabric?
Sewing one simple seam ?
Do you feel that moment when your hands remember before your brain does?
And here’s a big one, maybe the most important one:
What have you been calling “just a hobby” that might actually be part of how you stay well? What have you been minimizing…that your body might quietly depend on?
And if you listen closely…Do you start to realize that the urge to make isn’t indulgence? It’s information.
It’s your system asking for steadiness.
For contact.
For something real.
You don’t have to answer those out loud.
Just notice what you recognize.
Because a lot of the time, the first step isn’t a plan.
It’s permission to take yourself seriously.
So as we wrap up today, I just want to leave you with something simple.
Sewing isn’t only about what you produce.
It’s also about what you restore.
It restores steadiness when life feels crazy.
It restores attention when everything feels scattered.
It restores confidence. The quiet kind that lives in your hands.
And that’s why I keep coming back to this idea of a creative first aid kit.
Because creativity is not a cute escape.
It’s genuinely protective. It’s preventative.
It’s one of the ways we stay human in the middle of everything else.
And the truth is…
You don’t need a crisis to reach for it. You don’t need to earn it.
Sometimes you just need ten minutes with fabric.
A familiar rhythm.
A few stitches.
Something real enough to bring you back to yourself.
So if your life feels a little frayed around the edges right now…
Keep the kit close by.
Let making be part of how you take care of yourself.
Not as a luxury.
But as a practice.
As a return.
As restoration.
Until next time…
keep your hands on the cloth and your heart in the work.
