How Knitting Became My Healthiest Coping Mechanism

I tried knitting a while ago and immediately gave up.

Not because I didn’t like it, but because I genuinely had no idea what I was doing. The needles felt awkward in my hands, the yarn kept slipping, and nothing I made looked like what it was supposed to look like. I left it alone and told myself I’d “come back to it one day,” which usually means never.

Fast forward to recently, when I decided to try again.

This time, I actually sat down and watched a few YouTube videos. Not the overly complicated ones, just real people explaining the basics slowly. The looping. The gripping. How to hold the yarn. How to move your hands without fighting them. And something clicked.

Knitting isn’t just about making something. It’s a technique. A rhythm. A kind of muscle memory that forces you to slow down and be present in your body.

And apparently, that’s exactly what my nervous system needed.

I deal with anxiety and depression, and most of my days are spent either overstimulated or mentally exhausted. Being a single mom, working from home, navigating autism parenting, and constantly switching between roles doesn’t leave much room for my brain to ever truly rest.

So when I’m stressed or overwhelmed, my default used to be grabbing my phone or smoking a cigarette.

Now, I pick up my knitting needles.

There’s something about the repetition that quiets my mind. Counting stitches. Watching the yarn turn into something real. Feeling my hands move in a way that isn’t tied to a screen or a task or a responsibility. It forces me to focus, but in a gentle way. Not the kind of focus that drains you. The kind that regulates you.

It honestly beats smoking a cigarette, which is something I’m actively trying to quit.

Knitting gives me the same pause I used to get from stepping outside for a smoke, but without the guilt, the smell, or the long-term damage. It’s a healthier interruption. A way to self-soothe that actually gives something back to me instead of taking from me.

I knit when my daughter is napping.

When she’s playing independently and doesn’t want me to interrupt her.

When I just need a breather break in the middle of the day, which as a parent, I need more often than I like to admit.

It’s become my version of a mental reset.

I even tried to introduce it to my daughter as a kind of occupational therapy moment. Not in a “you need to learn how to knit” way, but in a sensory, exploratory way. Letting her touch the yarn. Watching me loop and pull. Letting her feel the texture and colors.

She didn’t exactly take to it the way I imagined, but that wasn’t really the point.

The point was showing her that calm can be created. That our hands can be used for regulation. That not everything needs to be loud, fast, or digital to be engaging.

And maybe more importantly, I needed to see that too.

Knitting feels like one of those hobbies that found me at the exact right time in my life. Not when I was trying to be productive. Not when I was trying to monetize something. Not when I was trying to be impressive.

Just when I needed to feel okay again.

I love doing this now. Not because I’m amazing at it or making anything spectacular, but because it gives me a way to exist without pressure. To sit with myself. To breathe. To move my hands instead of spiraling in my head.

It’s quiet. It’s simple. It’s grounding. And somehow, it’s helping me feel more like myself again than I expected.

A few people have asked what I use when I knit, so I put together a small Life Essentials mood board with the exact tools and supplies I keep on hand. Nothing fancy, just the things that made it easier for me to actually stick with it this time.

You can find it here:

Life Essentials: Knitting