Stitching Myself Back Together

On Grief, Growth, and Reclaiming My Name

There are moments in life when everything seems to suddenly unravel—when the very fabric of who you thought you were begins to pull apart, stitch by stitch. For me, it was the sudden, painful, and wholly unexpected end of a marriage I once believed was woven tightly with integrity, love, trust, and forever.

In the quiet that followed, I found myself wrestling not just with heartbreak, but with identity. Who was I now, on my own? What pieces of myself had I given away—and what could I reclaim?

The answer came, slowly and surely, in the way it often does for makers like us: through yarn and hook, needles and meditative stitching. Through the act of making, I remembered who I am.

Reclaiming My Name

After months of soul-searching, I’ve chosen to return to my maiden name—a name that carries in it the roots of who I was long before marriage, and the woman I’ve become since. It’s the name of the girl who learned to crochet and knit at her mother’s side. The woman who stayed up too late sketching shawl ideas or chanting: Just one more row. The dreamer, the doer, the daughter.

It’s more than just a name. It’s a return to myself—Rosalie’s daughter.

The Grief of Letting Go

Divorce is a death of sorts—the loss of a shared story, a future once imagined. It’s the sneaky thief that tries to rob you of your dignity, the monster that hides under the bed when you awake at 3am. Grief doesn’t move in straight lines. It loops back on itself. It surprises you. One moment, you're fine. The next, the sight of a pair of forgotten lawn-mowing shoes left outside, or a single strand of long, black hair clinging to a clean towel, brings you to your knees.

But grief, like any worthwhile project, teaches patience. It asks you to sit with the knots, the dropped stitches, the mess. And little by little, you find the courage to pick up the yarn and allow yourself to dream again.

The Healing in Making

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that fiber arts have guided me through some of life’s most tangled seasons. Making gives shape to the shapeless. It’s something we can literally hold when everything else feels like it’s slipping through our fingers.

In times of grief, making isn’t just a hobby—it’s a form of meditation. Of protest. Of healing. A way to say, I’m still here. 

Even if the stitches are uneven. Even if I’m not sure where the pattern design is going. Even if I’ve just frogged those last two rows six times because my executive function feels nonexistent. Even if I can barely see the tips of my needles through my tears, I can still feel the fabric being created beneath my fingertips.

I couldn’t even think about designing in those first days—anger and confusion roared in my head, crowding out all creative thought. The best I could hope for was that my attention might hold long enough to work on a simple project for more than ten minutes at a time. People would ask me if I was OK. And I would respond: ‘OK’ feels like a zip code very far away, and if ‘fine’ even still exists, it must be in a galaxy too far from here to reach.

But with every row, I built myself a little sanctuary. And in the rhythm of those stitches, I heard my own voice again—steady, soft, and stronger than I remembered.

Moving Forward

This new chapter isn’t about pretending the past didn’t happen. It’s about honoring what I’ve been through—and choosing to grow anyway. It’s about standing in my truth, with my hands busy and my heart open.

I’m certainly still not ‘fine,’ but at least most days, ‘OK’ finally feels within grasp. Mostly I’m just faking it—hoping that I’ll eventually make it—and trusting that every stitch brings me one step closer.

If you’re going through something similar, I see you. You’re not alone. Making has a way of helping us stitch ourselves back together—and when we’re ready, to design something entirely new.

Thank you for walking this path with me.

With love and yarn, Becca Goldthwaite (formerly Becca Carlson, always Rosalie’s daughter)

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If you’ve walked through something similar—grief, change, a quiet reclaiming of self—I’d love to hear from you. What helped you get through? How has making supported your healing? Feel free to share your story in the comments. This space is for all of us—makers, grievers, rebuilders. Your voice matters here. Let’s hold space for each other, one stitch at a time.