Letting go is hard to do…

Going through the yarn bins this evening led me to the conclusion that I really have too much yarn. No, really. I have too much yarn in my stash. Too much yarn that I bought when I was a new knitter, when I gave in to the “oh shiny!” of it all (well, I still do that, I just know to buy a whole project’s worth of one dye lot), too much lime green and hot pink Cascade 220 (what the hell was I thinking? Did I have a project in mind for that? Or was I crazy?) and too much yarn that I bought before I’d figured out what I like to knit. Too much yarn I won’t EVER use. So I’m slowly going through it. Some if it is good, still in ball bands and so I think I can give it to someplace like Stitches From the Heart. The rest, I’m not sure where I’ll donate it. Maybe Goodwill can sell the stuff that Stitches can’t use, like laceweight variegated alpaca in garish colors and all the eyelash yarn.

But letting go is difficult. And sometimes things remind you of other things that have nothing to do with what they are on the surface.

There’s all the baby yarn I bought back when I was hoping that maybe things would work out and the ex Mr. YP and I would have another kid one day. That hit me like a punch in the gut. I don’t care to knit any other babies gifts with that yarn, I don’t think. I would rather just let it go. If only the feelings of loss were as easily dropped off next to the charity box. I wasn’t done yet. I wanted more kids and I waited patiently for him to be ready, only he never was. And now there will be no more kids for me, ever. Not one last baby. I’m done. I have no choice. My own body has up and chosen for me. He chose for me. How do I let that go?

There’s the Cascade Magnum I bought to make yarn dreads when I still had the time and energy to go out clubbing and chill in goth clubs. Hard to do that now that I’m a single mom who has to get to work reliably and find childcare if she wants to go out. Sometimes it feels like my days of having fun, of having a life that makes sense, of being able to gather with my friends and just dance until the lights come up, it feels like those days are gone forever. I don’t have a lot of “fun” these days. I have my kids, I have four cats, I spend a lot of time taking videos of kittens sucking on knitwear, and I go to work and try to muster up energy to cook dinner at night. Somehow, making yarn dreads just seems… useless. I can’t wear them to earn a living.

Then again, sometimes letting go isn’t so hard. You realize that you let go a long time back. That it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

There’s some Lambs Pride I bought when I was felting bags to sell to raise money for our dog’s vet bills, after she died. That was hard, but I’m done now. I loved her, I miss her, but life moves on. Besides, I’ll never wear anything in white and tomato red and I hate mohair. That stuff is FULL of mohair. Let it go.

There’s the cotton my mother in law gave me that’s left over from the 1960’s. Cotton I frogged from the halfknit cardigan she’d shoved into the bag with the rest of the skeins, but never washed. I am honestly never going to use that cotton. And since my marriage has broken up, it’s not like I need to keep it to avoid hurting my mother in law’s feelings. I’d say that whole divorce thing is probably bigger than some cotton in the Goodwill pile. I can’t worry about pleasing my inlaws anymore, can’t pretend or put effort into masking who I really am from them so that they’ll be comfortable wtih me. Let it go.

It’s a process, this letting go of things.

Reading a lot of Crazy Aunt Purl’s new book these days. And wow is that ever stirring up my own weird, not yet finished, still grieving, divorce stuff. Sometimes it feels like I’ve barely tapped the well. I almost wish I could take a page out of her book, just spend months with wine and Cheetos and the crying and get over it. So it would be OVER. I wish that I could feel something and then it opens up and I feel too much, so I slam the lid back on.

How the hell do you let it go? When it’s not something you can just easily leave next to the charity box in the parking lot of Ralphs at 3am because you’re carrying it around and it’s still a part of you?


About Maia Rainwood

Owner and Maker at Maia Rainwood Design. Wearable art for wise women, birth keepers, witches, and world-builders.
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8 Responses to

  1. Mouse says:

    Your yarn stash sounds a lot like my closet – lots of memories and energy stored up in the items. Hopefully it will go to good homes where it can be loved without all of those feelings attached and be turned into something that will be loved for years to come..
    Remember that we’re all here for you, handing out virtual hugs and stealing handfuls of your virtual Cheetos πŸ˜‰

  2. DataGoddess says:

    Sometime when we’re sitting around with some wine and a box of kleenex, remind me to tell you how he and my body chose for me, too. I generally don’t tell the whole story in passing, because it’s just too hard.

    And I prefer crunchy Cheetoes.

  3. Lucia says:

    (((Rain))) Yep, I wanted another baby too, and I can’t blame anything on DH. And while I was never the clubbing type, my wings are well and truly clipped. So… I find joy in the kids I have, and in the turning leaves of fall, right in my back yard. And try not to think too much. It’s a tricky dance, at least a half-step back for every one forward.

  4. Laura says:

    I have lately found myself in a hurry to be done with the drama I’m in right now. Fine, it hurts, I get it–now make it OVER with. That plea isn’t working. So I have to take a deep breath and trust that all this will just make the better days to come that much sweeter.

  5. Phoe says:

    My body stopped me before I really got going at anything. And as I shed aspects of who I thought I’d be, there’s sometimes nothing to do but cry. And I miss Cheetos.

  6. Jess says:

    Fiber is very absorbent, isn’t it? On the positive side, sometimes it really is easier to let go when you have a tangible object to help you do it. ***HUGS***

  7. sopranospinner says:

    Sometimes having the “stuff” with history is good, sometimes not. And sometimes both. Sorry you’re having a rough time. If I had started younger, I’d want another baby, too, but DH and I are too elderly nowadays to start another one. I live vicariously through my younger friends a bit and try to enjoy first grade.

    Thanks for sharing your feelings.

  8. Tempted Handpainted Yarns says:

    Funny how many people can relate to the pain, divorce, lack of children ect. Different lives slightly different stories but lots and lots of similarities. Been there and it does get a lot better, I fact all that pain brought me to a wonderful and blissful place finally. Don’t let the bitterness get ya, and you will be fine. Just my 2 cents. Good Luck and thank you for shareing.

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