Crochet, Chaos, and Creativity: The Story Behind My Pattern Designs

It still feels a little surreal to say this out loud, but crochet has been part of my life for over a decade now. What started as a “let’s try this and see what happens” moment has slowly turned into something creative, chaotic, and honestly… a little bit addictive.

I actually started crocheting 12 years ago when I was expecting my first child. Like many soon-to-be parents, I had this sudden urge to make something with my own hands. Something tiny. Something meaningful. Something that said, “Yes, I am absolutely nesting right now.” I even had a book called Nesting for beginners.

Did I have any idea what I was doing? Absolutely not.

The very first thing I ever crocheted was a string of… let’s call them “abstract” balls. They were technically meant to be cute little decorations for the baby carriage. In reality, they were wildly uneven, slightly lumpy, and full of personality. Some were tight, some were loose, and one or two looked like they had just given up halfway through life.

But I loved them. And more importantly, I made them.

At the time, I didn’t know how to read patterns. Not even a little bit. All those abbreviations? The structure? The logic? It might as well have been written in another language. So instead of following instructions, I just guessed. I improvised. I tried something, looked at it, frowned, pulled it apart, and tried again. Trial and error became my teacher.

Looking back, I think that was actually a gift. Because while learning patterns first might have made things easier, figuring things out on my own forced me to really understand how crochet works. I wasn’t just copying steps — I was learning how stitches behave, how shapes form, and how tiny changes can completely transform a piece.

Somewhere along the way, I realized something about myself: I love crochet… but I don’t like making the same thing twice. I know. That’s probably a controversial statement in the crochet world. There’s something very calming about repetition, and I completely get why people enjoy it. But my brain? It’s always chasing the next idea. The next shape. The next “what if I tried this?” moment.

Instead of recreating patterns, I found myself constantly wanting to invent new things. I love taking simple shapes and putting them together in unexpected ways to create something new. A curve here, a twist there, a slightly different stitch combination — suddenly it becomes something completely different. That’s where the magic is for me.

My designs almost never start with a detailed plan. I wish I could say I sketch everything out neatly beforehand, but that would be a lie. Most of the time, they begin with a random spark of inspiration. It could be something I see while out walking, a color combination that catches my eye, or even just a weird idea that pops into my head while I’m supposed to be doing something else.

And once that idea shows up? That’s it. I’m hooked. The problem is… I have a lot of ideas. Like, a lot a lot.

I am the kind of person who gets excited about a new project, dives in headfirst, and then—oh look, a different idea! And off I go again. As a result, I have a slightly embarrassing number of works-in-progress lying around. By “slightly embarrassing,” I mean probably around 25. Yes, really.

There are baskets, bags, and little piles of yarn scattered everywhere, each one attached to a project that I fully intended to finish immediately. Some of them are halfway done. Some are barely started. Some are just a single row that felt promising at the time. Do I regret it? Nope. Because every single one of those projects is part of the process.

When I do sit down to turn an idea into an actual pattern, things get a bit more intense. This is where the real work begins — and by work, I mean a lot of trying, frogging, trying again, and then… frogging again. If you’re not familiar with the term “frogging,” it basically means pulling your stitches out and starting over - rip it, rip it. And let me tell you, I do a lot of it.

I’ll crochet a section, look at it, tilt my head, and think, “Hmm… not quite.” Then out it comes. I’ll try a different stitch, a different tension, a different shape. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it definitely doesn’t. But it’s okay, and every “nope” gets me closer to a “yes.”

I spend a huge amount of time in this loop - testing, adjusting, reworking - until the design finally feels right. Not just “good enough,” but right. The shape sits properly. The stitches make sense. The whole piece comes together the way I imagined (or sometimes better than I imagined). Only then do I start writing the pattern.

And this part might surprise people: every single one of my patterns is written line by line by me. No automation. No fancy software doing the work behind the scenes. Just me, my notes, and a lot of double-checking. I write them the way I think patterns should be - clear, detailed, and easy to follow. Because I remember what it felt like to be completely confused by abbreviations and instructions that assumed you already knew everything. I don’t want anyone to feel like that.

So I take my time. I go through each step carefully, making sure it all makes sense. And yes, sometimes that means rewriting entire sections because one little part could be clearer. It’s not the fastest process, but it’s one I care deeply about.

Over time, something unexpected started to happen. People began finding my patterns. At first, it was just a few here and there. Then more. And more. And before I really had time to process it, I had sold close to 500 patterns. Five hundred. Even typing that feels a bit unreal.

What means even more to me, though, is the feedback. Seeing that people are not only buying my patterns but actually enjoying them, creating from them, and leaving kind reviews… that’s the part that sticks with me. Somehow, all those hours of experimenting, all the frogging, all the half-finished projects scattered around my home — they turned into something that connects with other people. And that’s pretty amazing.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s that you don’t need to start perfectly to end up somewhere meaningful. You can begin with misshapen crochet balls and zero knowledge of patterns, and still grow into something you never expected.

Creativity doesn’t have to be neat or organized or efficient. Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s chaotic. Sometimes it involves 25 unfinished projects and a lot of unraveling and frustration. But it’s also really fun.

And if you’re someone who loves trying new things, who gets excited by ideas, who doesn’t necessarily want to follow the same path over and over again — then crochet design might be a lot more accessible than you think. You don’t have to wait until you feel “ready.” You don’t have to know everything. You just have to start. Pick up some yarn. Try something. See what happens.

And if you’re curious about the kind of patterns that come out of this slightly chaotic, very enthusiastic process… well, they’re out there now, waiting to be explored. No pressure. Just possibilities.