[stylist] Knitting and Healing

Wed Aug 22 03:17:29 UTC 2012

That is beautiful, Lynda!  I love how you decided to learn how to do 
something you loved because you could.  Everyone needs something to get them 
through the tough times.  For me, that has always been writing so I 
understand that need, or that lifeline, to carry you through.
I wish my artistic skills were as varied as yours are.  Even though I 
couldn't stay in lines, I loved to color as a child.  When my vision totally 
went some twelve years ago I put it aside even though there are times when I 
long to.  I always wanted to be a painter, too.  There's something 
satisfying in making something out of nothing: turning a bunch of pieces 
into a piece of furniture, putting color on a canvas, putting words on a 
blank page.
Barbara

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From: Lynda Lambert
Sent: Tuesday, August 21, 2012 1:27 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] Knitting and Healing

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

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