WIPs: That One Project Giving You Side-Eye From the Corner

-

 Let’s have a little chat about WIPs, shall we?

(For the newbies—WIP = Work In Progress. Aka: “Things I started with pure joy and enthusiasm before life, boredom, or another shiny idea derailed me.”)


If you’re feeling guilty about not finishing every single crochet project you start—first of all, stop. Second of all, welcome to the club. We don’t do shame here. We do chaos, yarn piles, and the occasional existential crisis over a tangled skein.



It’s Okay to Have a Million WIPs

Crochet is supposed to be fun, soothing, and—if you're like me—a way to quiet the noisy ADHD brain. But somewhere along the way, the guilt creeps in. That voice that says, “Shouldn’t you finish this before starting another one?”

To that I say: absolutely not.

Starting new projects is a special kind of joy. That fresh yarn? The new idea? The dopamine hit? YES PLEASE. And just because something doesn’t get finished immediately (or ever...) doesn’t mean it didn’t serve a purpose.

WIPs are little moments of inspiration. Some get finished. Some don’t. Some become tangled regrets. And that’s okay.


The Weight Blanket: My Judgy Yarn Demon


Let me introduce you to her. The queen. The curse. The guilt blanket.


She’s a weighted crochet blanket I started back when I launched my TikTok—one of the first “big” projects I shared. Everyone loved her. The comments were popping off. “So soothing!” “Can’t wait to see it finished!”

Well, surprise: she’s not finished.

Not even close.

Turns out, crocheting a weighted blanket is… a lot. Like, heavy, literal weight and the emotional burden of “You haven’t finished me yet, have you?”

She now lives in the corner of my room, half-done, watching me like a passive-aggressive flatmate. Every time I start a new project, I swear I can hear her whisper,

“Really? Another one? I’m still here, you know…”

Yes, I know. She’s practically furniture now. A silent, judgmental yarn goblin.

Will I finish her? Maybe.

One day.

Probably not.

We don’t talk about it.


Reasons Why I’ll Always Have Too Many WIPs (and Why That’s Fine)


1. They match my moods. Stressed? Grab a granny square. Focused? Let’s frog something. Spiralling at 3am? Amigurumi it is.

2. I like variety. One colour? Boring. One stitch? Boring. One project? Couldn’t be me.

3. Future me will be delighted. Or horrified. Either way, it’s a surprise!

4. Each WIP is a timestamp. Like a yarny scrapbook of my mental state.

5. Perfection is overrated. I’ll take passion, mess, and half-finished projects over crochet burnout any day.


Final Thoughts (From a Pile of Yarn)


Your WIPs do not define your worth as a maker. They are not failures. They are not clutter. They are proof that you are creative, curious, and maybe just a little bit chaotic (same).


So if your  Weight Blanket is giving you the side-eye while you start your fourth project of the week, just nod politely and carry on.


You’ve got things to make, dopamine to chase, and zero time for guilt.

WIP BINGO!



Screenshot it, share it, or cry quietly into your yarn pile when you get a full row.


BONUS QUESTION:

How many WIPs is too many?

Drop your number in the comments below—let’s see who’s got the most yarn chaos going on!

Comments

  1. CrazeecrochetAmy9 April 2025 at 14:23

    Fab blog, you've made me feel less guilty 😉. I have 6 WIPs currently, I'm determined to get them finished one day. Love your weighted blanket 🌈

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

15 Years of Lies, £11,000 Gone – My Story

-
 My mum stole £11,000 and left me with trauma, anxiety, and silence. Here’s how I found the truth – and why I’m done being quiet. You know what’s worse than growing up in a toxic family? Realizing, 15 years later, that your mum didn’t just mess with your head—she emptied your bank account too. And the cherry on top? A family who told me I was “over the top,” “making a fuss,” and, my personal favorite: “She’s your mum, why would you walk away?” Spoiler: because she stole £11,129.38 from me. For 15 years, I was made to believe: ✔ She was ill. ✔ It wasn’t a big deal. ✔ I was dramatic. ✔ And if I just kept quiet, everything would be fine. Meanwhile, she lived mortgage-free, with two holidays a year, a fully decorated house, and zero consequences… while I battled trauma, anxiety, and fear so heavy I still hesitate to leave my house in case I bump into any of them. The Day the Truth Slapped Me in the Face sat down to check old bank statements, thinking maybe a few hundred quid… maybe a g...
Read more

Therapy’s Too Expensive, But Watching Me Online Is Free,A daughter’s love can’t compete with cheap holidays and self-pity.

-
 There’s a kind of grief no one prepares you for — the kind that hits when your mum is still alive, still living just across the road, and still choosing everything else over you. She’s two minutes away. She could knock. She could say sorry. She could even sit in silence and just try. But instead… she stalks. She taps through stories like she’s flipping channels. Watching, always watching. Not to understand. Not to grow. Just to gather enough crumbs to feel like she’s still “involved” — in a life she won’t admit she broke parts of. Because therapy? Too expensive. Accountability? Nah, that’s not in the budget. Better save for that all-inclusive trip and the new outfit for someone else's birthday party — the one you’ll show up to smiling, pretending your daughter’s absence is her fault. Spoiler: it's not. What I needed wasn’t money. It wasn’t grand gestures or Facebook posts pretending we’re close. It was you. Present. Healing. Willing. Even just a text that said, “I’m sorry I go...
Read more

🌙 Garden Chair Chronicles Vol 3 – The Envelope That Changed Everything

-
 “ It wasn’t just a card. It was the moment I stopped making excuses for other people’s choices.” It’s June now. Easter has long since passed, the chocolate’s melted, and the kids have moved on to their next chaos cycle — but I haven’t. Not really. Because that Easter card is still lodged in my throat like a sentence I never got to finish. But to be honest, this didn’t start in April. It started back in February, on Hunter’s birthday. My nan came down — just her. My grandad doesn’t speak to me anymore, because staying quiet is apparently easier than facing the discomfort of truth. His silence is his allegiance. His daughter comes first — no matter what that’s cost me, or what it’s now costing my kids. She stayed for an hour. Long enough to drop off a pile of cards. One of them? From my mum — the same mum I’ve had to go no contact with to keep my sanity and my kids safe. And I still tried. Still let it happen. Still gave them the benefit of the doubt. Still stood there, smile nailed...
Read more