We often start sewing because we want to make something tangible - a skirt that fits, a dress in our favourite fabric, a pair of trousers that actually feels like us. In my own case it was often an outfit to wear clubbing.
But as I’ve grown older and maybe a little wise I have realised that somewhere along the way, something shifts. The stitches we sew begin to hold more than just fabric together.
They hold us.
The Quiet Joy of Making
There’s something so very, deeply satisfying about taking a flat piece of cloth and coaxing it into shape. Turning it, folding it, pressing it, pinning it, stitching it. Bit by bit, it transforms beneath your hands.
The hum of the sewing machine, the gentle hiss of the iron, the sound of scissors slicing through fabric - it’s all rhythmical, meditative almost. For many of us, sewing is the first time in the day that we are truly able to slow down. I know it is for me.
It asks for your attention. You can’t scroll and sew. You can’t half-watch telly and sew (well, you can, but your stitches will tell on you). It’s an invitation to be present.
In that stillness, we often find something we didn’t realise we were looking for: space to think, breathe, and reconnect with ourselves.
Sewing as Self-Reliance
There’s also a quiet power in being able to make something yourself. I truly believe it is a Life Skill.
We live in a world where we can buy almost anything with a few clicks, but how often do those things really fit, in any sense of the word? Not just our bodies, but our lives and aspirations too.
When you sew, you stop being at the mercy of what the shops decide you should wear. You become more aware of your own body - not as a list of flaws. You learn and develop an understanding of it as a map of lines, curves, and possibilities.
The process teaches you to listen. To notice the slope of your shoulder, the length of your torso, the way a dart or seam can change how you stand and move.
It’s not about sewing perfection - it’s about understanding. And once you start seeing yourself through that lens, something softens. You become less critical and more curious.
That’s what self-reliance really is. Not a stiff independence, but a quiet confidence in your own hands. Your own ability to make and fashion something that meets your own set of criteria.
A Thread Back Through Time
More and more as I thread a needle now, I think of the generations who came before us. The women (and some men too) who stitched out of necessity rather than choice. My nod of acknowledgement is almost a little mantra of gratitude to those that have shared their knowledge with me.
Up until a few generations ago, most families had someone who could mend, make, or alter clothes. My own grandparents had darning mushrooms and button tins; my mum could run up a pair of curtains or take in a waistband without a second thought.
Sewing was part of life, part of care. Because clothes were precious.
We’ve lost much of that in a world of cheap fast fashion, but when you sit down at your sewing machine, you’re reconnecting to that lineage. You’re taking part in a long, unbroken thread of making that links you to your ancestors.
There’s something grounding about that. Something that reminds you that creating with your hands is not a hobby or a female past-time - it is in fact - human.
Sewing as Resistance
But let’s be honest here, sewing your own clothes isn’t always the easy route. Fabric can be expensive, fitting can be frustrating, and there’s always that moment when you unpick a seam for the third time and wonder why you ever started.
But in a world that values speed, convenience, and disposability, sewing is quietly radical.
It says: I choose to slow down.
I choose to understand where my clothes come from.
I choose to value the work, both mine and others’.
When you make your own clothes, you start to see the hidden labour behind every garment. You realise that every seam, every hem, every neatly set sleeve represents time, skill, and care.
And you start to ask questions. Who made this? Were they paid fairly? What happens to the fabric scraps, the offcuts, the waste?
Those questions can be uncomfortable - but they’re necessary. The fashion industry is one of the biggest contributors to climate change - FACT! Sewing opens your eyes as much as it fills your wardrobe.
The Confidence of Fit
Ask anyone who’s made a garment that truly fits and they’ll tell you that it is transformative.
To slip on something that moves with you, that fits your shape rather than fighting against it, is an act of quiet joy. It’s not about looking thinner or taller or more fashionable; it’s about feeling comfortable in your own skin.
There’s a phrase I love: “Fit is a feeling.” And it’s true. When your clothes fit well, you stand differently. You breathe easier. You feel capable.
That kind of confidence doesn’t come from a label. It comes from knowing that you made this. You had the patience, resilience, fortitude and stamina to create something that meets your own desires and that is so incredibly empowering.
Sewing as Community
While sewing can be a solitary pursuit, it’s rarely lonely. Although I love teaching I cannot sew with other people around, I find it just too distracting. However, some of the strongest friendships I’ve seen have been forged over cutting tables and cups of tea.
There’s laughter, swapping stories, sharing tips and cake. There’s that moment when someone finally nails a tricky zip, and the whole room cheers. That’s solidarity in sewing.
Workshops and sewing circles remind us that learning is better when shared. That creativity grows when it’s nurtured together. And there’s something incredibly healing about being in a space where everyone is learning, experimenting, and supporting one another. It’s not competitive - it’s collaborative.
That’s why I love teaching. Watching people come in uncertain and leave with a garment (and grin) that says I did that.
It’s magic every single time.
Sewing as Therapy
Many people turn to sewing during difficult times. The simple, repetitive acts of stitching, pinning and pressing can be grounding when life feels chaotic.
Sewing gives structure to our thoughts - a project to focus on and a sense of progress when the world feels unpredictable.
I’ve seen people sew through grief, through anxiety, through burnout. The process becomes a way of healing - stitch by stitch, seam by seam.
When your mind feels scattered, there’s something deeply reassuring about following a line of thread. About making something whole again.
And when you finish a project, however imperfect, you have something tangible to show for your effort. A small proof that you can create something beautiful out of chaos.
Sewing as Self-Expression
Clothing, at its best, is storytelling. It’s how we show who we are without saying a word.
But shop-bought clothes often speak someone else’s language - the designer’s, the buyer’s, the marketer’s. When you sew, you get to write your own.
Maybe you prefer bright, bold prints. Maybe you like simple shapes in soft linen. Maybe you love the challenge of a perfectly tailored jacket, or maybe you just want to make pyjamas that make you smile.
Sewing lets you create a wardrobe that reflects you completely. Your taste, your values, your life. And there’s a freedom in that. You’re no longer dressing to fit in; you’re dressing to feel like yourself.
Sewing Teaches Patience (and Humility)
Sewing has a funny way of keeping you humble. Even now after all these years, I still cock things up. So no matter how long you’ve been doing it, there’s always something - a seam that puckers, a buttonhole that goes wrong, a sleeve that needs unpicking. Something that trips you up occasionally.
But that’s part of the beauty. You learn that mistakes aren’t failures - they’re just feedback. Every misstep teaches you something for next time - just like in life really.
It’s a skill that transfers far beyond the sewing room. You start approaching life in the same way, with a willingness to try, to tweak, to adjust, to keep learning.
Patience becomes muscle memory.
Sewing Slows You Down - in the Best Way
We live in a culture obsessed with productivity. Faster, more, better.
Sewing refuses to play that game. You can’t rush it - not really. Not if you want to learn, improve and make something worthwhile.
It demands time, attention, and care. You learn to plan, to measure twice, to enjoy the process rather than just the end result. Which can be hard and frustrating sometimes - stopping, taking a breath and thinking definitely helps.
That slowness is a gift. It reconnects you to the rhythm of making. A rhythm our hands still remember, even if our modern lives have forgotten.
Sewing as Legacy
Every handmade garment carries a story. This is something I see time and time again in workshops.
The dress you made for a special occasion. The shirt you stitched for someone you love. The quilt that keeps you warm on winter nights. These aren’t just disposable things to use and then discard - they’re the precious heirlooms of the future-in-waiting.
One day, someone might find your hand-stitched label, or notice the care in your seams, and know that these clothes were made with intention, thought and love. How many times have we stopped to look at something old but beautiful and wondered whose hands created that.
Sewing leaves a trace of who you are, what you valued, how you spent your time.
And that’s surely a legacy worth leaving.
So Why Do People Sew?
The reasons are many and varied but I think it boils down to just 3 things:
Because it makes us feel capable.
Because it helps us feel seen.
Because it connects us to something bigger - to the past, to one another, to ourselves.
Sewing is about belonging. To your body. To your creativity. To a community of makers who understand that the slow, patient act of stitching fabric together can also help stitch us back together.
Yes, we sew for the clothes. Clothes that actually fit us, in fabrics we have chosen, in styles that represent us and who we are, as well as the joy of wearing something made by our own hands.
But more than that, we sew for how it makes us feel.
Grounded. Confident. Creative. Connected.
And every time we press that final seam, we’re reminded: we can make beautiful things - and we can make ourselves anew in the process.
Next Time You Sit to Sew
When you find yourself sitting at your sewing machine preparing to embark on another project, mend something or just fish something off, take a moment to notice what it’s really giving you.
Not just a new garment - but a sense of agency, a little pocket of peace, and a deep connection to generations of makers who stitched before you.
That’s the true magic of sewing.
It’s not just about what you wear.
It’s about who you become while making it.
Jules x