[stylist] Knitting and Healing

Tue Aug 21 18:27:21 UTC 2012

I was asked to write an article on how knitting is a healing art. It will be published in a book that is being written. Here is what I wrote to him:  I will paste it here since I have DOCX and so many of you cannot use it.  Here goes:

"
I always knew the joy of knitting. I had learned as a young child. On my own, I had taught myself how to knit by looking at a knitting book, and by visiting a local merchant who helped me select needles and yarn and gave me some lessons along the way. No one in my family knitted, and I have no idea to this day how I ever became so absorbed in knitting but it has been a  life-long passion.

My adult career has been in the arts and humanities and my first love has always been the visual arts. That eventually led me to become a professor of Fine Arts and Humanities where I taught studio arts, art history, and English literature.

In October 2007, I  was  in the middle of a sabbatical research project   on Medieval Art and Literature.   At that time, something completely unexpected  happened  to me that has changed the course of my life very  suddenly.  Overnight, I  lost most of my eyesight to Ischemic Optic Neuropathy. It is a stroke-like event that kills the optic nerve - there is no way to know this will ever happen, and no treatment once it does.  But, the real story here is not what happened to me, but  what we do after such a life altering event.

Loss of sight is not like any other event  that can happen to someone. For many people, it marks the end of life as they knew it. Trying to figure out what to do or how to even begin to recover is a daunting new adventure into the unknown. 

Very quickly I learned that no one knew what to do with me. I did not know anyone who had suffered sight loss. And, no one in my family or circle of friends knew anything about blindness.  My doctors understood how to diagnose me, but never knew what to do from there.  Blindness rehabilitation is something that most doctors know nothing about. They diagnose the patient, and then the patient has to try to figure out what to do from there - it was a maddening time for me and I thought my life was over  since I could do nothing I had done before my sight loss. 

I did not know if it was day or night at first. The most simple tasks were impossible for me to do:  How to cut my nails?  How to get tooth paste  on my toothbrush? How to apply make-up?  How to make a cup of tea? How to make a phone call? How to even find a phone number? How to know what day it is and how to make an appointment on a calendar?  How to memorize everything I would need to remember?  How to use a computer?

For the first five months I was not able to do anything but listen to some books on CDs  my husband brought me from the library. But, these books were nothing like the academic and challenging works I was accustomed to reading. They were so boring to me, and just listening to them deepened my depression and feelings of loss.

One dismal winter afternoon  I sat  in the soft, velvety , pink reclining chair.  I was in our "pink room" as the children always called it. This room was a solitary place where we visited with friends and sat to read on long winter days. It was a soft and warm place, filled with afternoon light.  My feet were extended on the foot rest, and my eyes were closed. I often sat with my eyes closed since it helped me to center myself and to relax.  The strain of trying to see would be overwhelming and I would suffer from painful headaches.  I would later learn that these are "bad eye days" and  the entire body is affected by this straining of the brain to see.  I was so aware of the connection between the brain and the body at this time.  My brain would try so hard to see things, and my body could not do the work of "seeing" any longer. When a "bad eye day" would begin, it would often be another three days or so of intense pain throughout my body. I would end up spending many days in bed, trying to cope with the pain and the loss. I became aware of the tension between my body and my mind on those bad eye days.

On that particular day, I recall how I was thinking about the sweaters I had been making for charity. I had been knitting sweaters for needy children.

 I was thinking of the sweater I had been knitting for charity and I was wondering how I would ever do that again.  I thought of the one I  was  doing at the time of my  sight loss. I longed to be able to finish it. I began to think that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to knit again. Desire to finish this little child's sweater just filled me and I decided to go get the unfinished project and to give it a try.

The yarn I was using was a soft acrylic worsted weight yarn.  I sat there with the fibers in my hand, holding my needles. I could not even see the color of the yarn, and certainly could not see the stitches or the needles. My eyes stared downwards, straining to see it all, but I could not.

 I  began by holding the  soft yarn in place in my two hands.  Just the feel of the yarn brought a surge of pleasure through me. The long aluminum knitting needles felt cold against my warm hands. I was nervous, and my hands were moist against the thin, cool needles.  I remembered how much I had always loved to knit. If nothing else in my life was going right, I always had my knitting. It was a place I went, and I would become one with the yarn and the movement as I would knit the hours away. Can I ever do this again, I wondered? 

I started to move the needles, balance them between my two hands and put them into position for knitting.  I struggled. I tried and tried again, but could not do it. In my solitude, I felt the sting of failure.  I felt worthless and useless at that moment. I shed hot tears. They slid   down  my face, to my faltering hands.  

In my sorrow, I suddenly  had an inkling of a thought that came to me. It was a revelation and something I had not thought about before.  In this moment, I realized I could not do it because I was trying to SEE  it.   The idea was that it seemed logical that since I could not see, I should just close my eyes, and try to begin to feel it.  Yes, I realized it was my desire to see what I was doing, that was keeping me from seeing it. I had to learn to see things non-visually, to use my hands and fingers and my other senses to see. My fingers  would now become my  eyes!

Soon, I was feeling my way through and I finished that sweater and donated it. Knitting  created a breakthrough in my healing process. Knitting gave me a beginning  place on the pathway to my recovery.  Knitting gave me hope.

 Shortly after this healing breakthrough, I was able to go away to attend a  rehab center for blind people.  Of course, I took my knitting along with me.

I knitted my way through the hard days of struggles and the depression of trying to re-learn  how to do little things that people take for granted.  When I was feeling overwhelmed and tired for all the learning that I had to do each day, I would retreat to my room and pick up my knitting.  It   was my knitting that brought me through those hard times.

 I learned how to put my knitting patterns onto a digital sound device called a Milestone. Oh, how I love this little device!  With my Milestone,  I could carry the verbal directions with me and knit anywhere. I learned how to put my patterns on a computer so I could "read" them again. I learned how to organize my patters in ways that I could access them when I needed them.

By successfully knitting again, I gained confidence in myself and took pride in what I could do. For me, knitting was a game changer. I was back in the game of knitting and being a creative soul. I continue to experience the healing power of knitting as I stretch myself to do projects that are beautiful and satisfying.  My knitting successes give me the confidence I need to once again be the creative person I have always been."

 Lynda Lambert

Lynda Lambert
104 River Road
Ellwood City, PA 16117

724 758 4979

My Blog:  http://www.walkingbyinnervision.blogspot.com
My Website:  http://lyndalambert.com