When I started knitting, it was a form of therapy. I was utterly depressed (and not in the way teenage girls seem to declare 'I'm so depressed' just after being dumped by some Justin Bieber look-a-like - that was the depression I wished for every day - but more in the 'noone would miss me if I just fell in front of that car/taxi/truck/train' and actually considered it for more than just a few seconds kind of way) and my doctor suggested a hobby. Knitting was the only thing that seemed cheap enough (HA!) but also interesting enough to keep me busy on the days I was not considering my death as a favour to the world. It started off with no ambition, I didn't learn any special technique - I muddled my way through knit and purl stitches, knitting square after square after square, and eventually my days weren't about death, but about knitting. And it became an obsession for a few years, fuelled by fear that if I didn't knit I wouldn't be happy any more. (And funny but not that funny story is my flat mate was so worried about me at the time actually encouraged me in my knitting venture, but it's only funny to people who know him because he is the most bitter man to have ever lived the planet and takes every opportunity to rip the piss out of anyone).
I remember the day my knitting mojo left me. I was on my third pair of mittens for a 1 year old, knitted on 2.5mm circular needles using the magic loop method, and it suddenly occurred to me there was more to life than knitting tiny mittens. That's how it happened at first. I was burned out and needed a break. So I took one. The fact that it lasted 2.5 years rather took me by surprise.
I did occasionally knit, the things you are 'supposed to do', like knit baby cardigans when I was pregnant with The Gremlin (more on that later), but didn't enjoy it. I knit mittens for me which took me just under a year to complete, and I only finished them so the guilt would stop yelling at me. I suddenly found myself removing blog subscriptions from Google Reader merely because they seemed to make people believe the only way to be a good mother/parent was to craft lots and lots and lots and, as I have already covered, there is more to life than being made to feel bad by some nameless woman (not that there is no place for crafts, but our family life doesn't revolve around it).
I even went as far as selling some of my wool :O (I have since made up for this slight by buying more, expensive wool (well, to me it was, to others who can spend £40 on a project and not think twice it was probably small change) to replace it)
The mojo started coming back late last year, but every time I've thought it was coming back, I started knitting and ended up wanting to stake myself. An opportunity arose to go to a fibre festival of sorts in Farnham. I bought 1 lone skein (the story of my knitting life recently!) just to test the water, and the water was nice.
I am not a prolific knitter. I won't ever write anything poetic about how tranquil knitting is for me, because it's not. I am not perfect, and neither is anything I knit. I don't feel guilty for not knitting for a few days, and won't ever apologise for lack of knitting related posts. I probably won't take part in goal based challenges/ideas because that sucks the fun right out of it for me. However, I do enjoy crafting immensely, and will blog about what I'm working on, and probably about things not at all to do with crafts.