Why Sewing Can Change Your Life

Last week I came across a study published in Frontiers in Public Health that looked at the impact of arts and crafts on wellbeing. The researchers analysed data from nearly 8,000 people across the UK, considering how creative activities such as sewing, embroidery, knitting or painting affected life satisfaction, happiness and our sense of life being worthwhile. What struck me most was that the study didn’t just look at hobbies in isolation, but considered them alongside all the usual factors that explain how content we feel — health, employment, age, where we live, and income.

The results were clear. People who regularly engaged in arts and crafts reported higher life satisfaction, reduced anxiety and a stronger sense that life was meaningful — even once all those other factors had been taken into account. In fact, crafting was shown to have more of an impact on feeling that life was worthwhile than whether or not you were employed. Put simply, sitting down to embroider could, for many people, matter more than their job when it comes to how purposeful life feels.

For those of us who sew, this is hardly news. We already know embroidery isn’t just about making something decorative for the wall. It’s the process — the rhythm of the stitches, the focus, the quiet satisfaction of progress — that changes everything.

The use of sewing and embroidery as a tool for healing is not new. After the First World War, convalescent hospitals across Britain, France, Australia and New Zealand taught embroidery as a form of occupational therapy. It helped wounded soldiers rebuild fine motor skills, but it was also a way of addressing what we now understand as post-traumatic stress. The deliberate focus of stitching offered a kind of respite, a way of easing trauma and restoring dignity.

In some cases, embroidery also became a livelihood. Pieces were sold through the Red Cross Hospital Handicrafts Shop, encouraging the public to support recovering soldiers by buying their work. The Red Cross in Australia even supplied printed templates to help guide stitching. At St Paul’s Cathedral in London, the great altar frontal made after the war was coordinated by the Royal School of Needlework, with more than 130 soldiers contributing to it.

The idea hasn’t gone away. Fine Cell Work, a UK charity, teaches embroidery to prisoners. Volunteers run classes inside, and the prisoners’ work is sold. They gain accredited skills, income, confidence, and in some cases continue on release as mentors for others. The impact is remarkable: just 2% of those who go through the “Open the Gate” programme reoffend, compared with a national average of 40%. For many, embroidery is not just a way to fill time, but a structure, a discipline, a rare chance to complete something and take pride in it.

Since starting The Fabled Thread, I’ve also worked with Oshana, a social enterprise supporting Syrian refugee women in Lebanon. For them, embroidery is not just a craft but a cultural heritage, passed down through generations. Sewing groups give them a way to meet others, to share their stories, to rebuild skills, earn income, and hold on to dignity and identity in the most difficult circumstances.

When you see embroidery used in these ways - to heal trauma, to focus minds in prison, to rebuild lives after unimaginable hardship - it’s hard to dismiss it as an old-fashioned pastime.

For my grandmother’s generation, sewing was a given. Everyone knew how to do it, whether they wanted to or not. Clothes were repaired as a matter of course, and curtains and cushions made at the kitchen table. Sewing was as ordinary as cooking – it was taught in every school in the country. Today, most of that knowledge has gone. Whilst it survives in pockets, usually when a mother has retained the skill, but it’s no longer universal. And in many ways that’s progress. Women now have choices that my grandmother’s generation didn’t – they used to sew because we were at home, but now we can have a career, we have options, we can learn whatever we like.

But with that progress came a backlash. Sewing started to feel like a symbol of a past women wanted to leave behind. It became tied up with domesticity, with small lives and a lack of ambition. More than once, I’ve had someone say to me - usually not intended as an insult - that their mother sewed, but they’re too busy or too intellectual for that sort of thing. The implication is always the same: embroidery and intelligence, embroidery and ambition, embroidery and female empowerment don’t belong in the same sentence.

Textiles in general have long been treated as second-class art. Painting, sculpture, and music are “serious,” but embroidery is dismissed as trivial, as women’s work. When I left banking to start The Fabled Thread, I was surprised by how many people seemed a little embarrassed for me. As if it was odd that anyone with other options would choose this route. If I had left to start a challenger food brand, or some tech-enabled software, or even a hospitality venue, it would have been ambitious and cool. But to leave for embroidery… it seemed like I had just given up on making something of myself.

But things are shifting. In the past decade, feminism has rediscovered the needle as a tool of protest. Embroidery has been used on banners, slogans, and campaigns. It’s been reframed not as confinement but as a way of showing our voice. Just look at Domestic Dusters to see this in action. Whilst I still think there is a way to go to freeing embroidery from its connotations - I certainly don’t like that embroidery only tends to be seen as empowered if it's making some feminist statement – but embroidery is certainly starting to make a comeback!

You can be serious and creative, ambitious and domestic, feminist and embroiderer. These things are not contradictions. They never were.

My own background was not creative. I studied chemistry, worked in pharmaceutical research, and then moved into investment banking. By 2018, I had changed banks and, despite years in finance, struggled to adjust to the new role. It wasn’t the hours so much — you get used to those — but the impossibility of ever switching off. Banking pays well but it asks for everything. You’re expected to be permanently available – whether that’s 5am on a Monday or 8pm on a Saturday or in the middle of your holiday – you give up your independence for a paycheck.

One weekend my mother was visiting and we tried to go to an exhibition. On the short tube journey I had to get off the train four times to take calls. A half-hour trip took two hours. By the time we arrived, neither of us wanted to be there anymore – I was so ashamed. I carried my laptop to weekend lunches with friends, just in case. I would get a sense of dread if I ever accidentally left the house without my phone. I could cope with long hours, but what I couldn’t cope with was the permanent anxiety of never being able to step away.

I wasn’t looking for an answer when sewing came into my life. Two friends got engaged and I decided to make them a wedding gift. My granny had stitched samplers for all her grandchildren, so it felt natural to do the same. From the first stitch I fell in love – the simplicity of the process and the physical restraint from my phone was just what I needed. Three months after that first stitch, I had decided I would start The Fabled Thread and make sharing embroidery my life. A year after that I had a full business plan, 18 months' worth of living expenses saved, and I quit my job. I didn’t start this because I had some grand aesthetic ambition – it was never really about the finished pieces. I started because I felt strongly that if sewing had given me such relief, then it could help other people, too. I saw all those people getting off the tube every morning at Canary Wharf, looking miserable and tied to their phones, and thought there must be others out there like me who need this.

Sewing was the hobby that pulled me back from a life that was fundamentally making me miserable. It gave me patience and stillness, and it came to me exactly when I needed it.

So what is it about embroidery that makes it so powerful for mental health? Many creative hobbies are good for us, but embroidery is distinctive in its accessibility, its rhythm, and its history. These are the qualities that make sewing such an effective tool for mindfulness and meditation:

• Simplicity: Whilst there are of course, no end of techniques you can try if you want to, the beauty of embroidery is that you don’t need them. You only need to learn one stitch and you are off – whether you have been stitching for two hours or twenty years, you can still create something beautiful. There aren’t many crafts you can say that about.
• Repetition & Rhythm: There is a gentle rhythm to sewing – once you have a design and you know the stitch you’re doing, it is very much like colouring by numbers. Your hands move in the same motion again and again, and your mind has permission to unwind, even to wander a little. I always find when I am stitching that it is the one time my head feels free.
• Sense of achievement: As you stitch, something grows beneath your hands. Even in the space of ten minutes, you can go from a blank canvas to a small leaf or line, and you see the design begin to emerge. You don’t need to wait for days to feel progress, it comes in minutes, and that is incredibly satisfying.
• Control in small things: Unlike life, embroidery is predictable and forgiving. Everything you do with needle and thread is reversible – if you don’t like something, you can unpick it and start again. You don’t get that with painting or pottery. That predictability and forgiveness makes the process feel enjoyable rather than pressured.
• Creativity without pressure: In line with the above, embroidery is contained and controlled. You start with a design, a stitch and a colour palette, and that’s enough. You don’t have to invent, or know how to draw, or mix colours, or work with complicated materials. The simplicity of the process creates space for creativity in an unintimidating way.
• Connection: Sitting together and stitching opens up a different kind of conversation. Because your hands are busy, you don’t have to fill every silence, and that creates room for pauses, for reflection, for the sort of depth that can feel harder to reach in ordinary social settings. Much like how walking together can often make conversation easier, stitching together is the same. It makes me sad that sewing groups aren’t more common, as I think they would be a wonderful antidote to the epidemic of loneliness.
• Portable and tidy: It sounds minor, but the physical nature of embroidery kits is part of their strength. You can take them anywhere, you can get them out for just ten minutes and pack them away again. You don’t need special tools, it doesn’t take up space. That practicality means it can slip into the cracks of daily life, which is why, as a hobby so many who begin keep it up for decades.
• Physical restraint: We live in a time when we are all hooked to our phones — the doomscroll of social media, the endless messages, the news alerts — and it can be almost impossible to switch off. Because embroidery needs both hands, it physically prevents you from scrolling. At first, you might manage ten minutes before you cave in and check your phone, but it builds up. Half an hour, an hour, even more. It’s a simple but effective barrier against distractions we know do us no good.
• Patience: And with that restraint comes patience. With everything today so immediate — entertainment, food, shopping, even dating — we are out of practice at waiting. Sewing forces patience. No matter how skilled you are, there is a maximum speed, and it isn’t very fast. One of the most important things embroidery did for me was to make me more patient, and in turn that has allowed me to relax.

Taken together, these qualities make embroidery unique. The mental health benefits of sewing are not dramatic, but they are lasting and powerful. It is a form of mindfulness craft, a way of practising meditation without ever calling it meditation. For me, and for so many others, it is not really a hobby at all, but a tool for creating a calmer and more grounded life.

And perhaps this is why embroidery feels so relevant right now. We live in a century defined by overstimulation: hours of digital screentime each day, the endless pull of devices, rising levels of anxiety, and a sharp increase in ADHD diagnoses. Our attention spans are shrinking, and many of us can barely remember what it feels like to be fully absorbed in one thing. Sewing cuts through all of this. It pulls us away from our screens, demands our focus, and forces us to slow down. In a culture that measures everything in speed and efficiency, embroidery quietly insists on presence, patience and the steady satisfaction of making something with your hands.

None of this will surprise anyone who sews. The joy of embroidery is obvious to those who practise it. Like gardening, with its rhythm of planting and tending, sewing brings small daily satisfactions and long-term rewards. It’s accessible, affordable and endlessly adaptable.

I often say I don’t believe anyone dislikes sewing — they just haven’t found the right kit yet. Whether you’re ambitious or cautious, patient or restless, convinced you’re creative or convinced you’re not, there’s a way into embroidery that fits. It gives people something they didn’t know they needed. Of all our first-time customers, over 70% come back for a second kit, and over 40% (a number that keeps growing) have come back over 7 times! It shows how much it can grip you.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “It sounds lovely, but I couldn’t possibly,” let me reassure you. You can. Embroidery is one of the simplest crafts to begin, and one of the most forgiving. You don’t need to be creative. You don’t need special equipment. You don’t even need much time.

A few thoughts if you’d like to try:

• Start small — If you are nervous to give it a go or are not sure if it is for you, then just start with a small, simple kit. Don’t invest a lot of time or money before you know if you’ll like it. For example, our Jabberwocky or Musician kits only take around 8 hours from start to finish and teach you a few skills. They are enough to give you a taste.
• Don’t worry about creativity — Don’t put pressure on yourself to start designing from the very beginning. Just follow the instructions in a kit and put trust in someone else to do the designing for you. As your confidence builds, you’ll find the creativity sneaks in later, almost without you noticing.
• Set the scene — Good light, a comfortable chair, a cup of tea or something stronger, something to listen to. Create an environment that feels calm, so the whole process feels like a treat. Just find 20 minutes to be undisturbed to make it feel special.
• Accept imperfection — A wonky stitch is not a disaster, in fact it's inevitable. No matter how long you have been stitching, you’ll make mistakes. It’s part of the story of the piece. Nobody else will ever see it in the way you do. In fact, I actually strive for imperfection in my pieces as I often think that is where the charm comes in – if they are too perfect, they feel clinical.
• Give yourself permission — Perhaps the hardest part. To sit down and do something purely for the sake of enjoyment can feel indulgent. We often don’t feel we deserve it. But it isn’t indulgence, it’s essential self-care.

If you’re still doubtful, read my piece on the Sliding Scale of Creative Confidence or take a look at our How to start stitching page. I believe creativity is for everyone. It isn’t the preserve of artists. It’s a muscle, and embroidery is one of the easiest and most forgiving ways to start using it.

The benefits of sewing are many — embroidery for mindfulness, embroidery for mental health, craft as meditation, mindfulness crafts — call it what you like. The act of pulling a thread through fabric can change the way you feel in yourself.

When I look back, it still feels strange that deciding to stitch a wedding sampler for friends ended up taking me out of banking and into a life built around embroidery. It wasn’t the object itself that mattered, it was the process. The quiet repetition, the focus, the relief of actually finishing something.

I don’t think sewing needs to be dressed up as anything grander than that. It’s a small act, but it has a way of settling you. For me, it became a lifeline, for others it will be something different — a pause, a comfort, a thread of connection. However you come to it, it offers more than you expect, and that is reason enough. Regardless of your doubts, whether you think you’ll enjoy it or not, whether you choose to try one of our kits or someone else’s, I implore you to give it a go. You may just surprise yourself with how it changes your life.