Although I have a lot of experience knitting, I still make mistakes all the time.

Every garment I have ever knitted has included at least one mistake. Some of them are minor enough to ignore and some are major enough that they need to be ripped out and redone. But in the choose-your-own adventure game of knitting, learning to embrace these mistakes is part of the fun.

My mom said that one of the best sweaters she ever knitted involved turning a mistake into a feature.

She was three quarters of the way through the torso of a bottom-up sweater when she realized she wasn’t going to have enough yarn to finish it. With strategic planning, she added widening stripes in a second color and between the two colors, she had just enough yarn to finish the sweater. Problem solved! She said she used to get compliments on that sweater all the time.

Every sweater I’ve ever made has been a learning opportunity.

In elementary school, I made myself a cowl-neck pink sweater, only to discover that I hated the way the Pepto Bismol pink yarn looked on me. No more pink sweaters for me!

In college, I knitted a “Charlie Brown” sweater out of yellow yarn and black for the zig-zags. I didn’t know how to carry my floats across the big changes of color, so what I ended up doing was knitting the sweater in yellow and then using a tapestry needle to embroider the black stripes as a second layer of needle-point. I later sold this sweater and the young woman who bought it was so thrilled she put it on immediately after purchasing it, even though it was 90 degrees outside. (My only regret is that I wish I had taken a picture of it before I sold it.)

In college, I knitted my first Aran cable sweater. I made the design and pattern myself using graph paper and multiple swatches. This sweater took me nine months. I am so proud of this sweater. It is definitely a flex item that I whip out to show people — “See! I can knit!”—even during the years when I didn’t knit.

But even with this personal masterpiece, you can see a mistake where I forgot to cross one of the cables. I didn’t notice it until several inches past the mistake. At that point, I had a decision to make: I could either unravel several days-worth of work, or I could just accept the imperfection and move on. That’s what I did. Now, with the help of YouTube, I know how to fix this type of mistake by only unraveling a small portion, and not the entire sweater.

One of my favorite sweaters is this blue raglan zip-up cardigan I made for my husband. I love everything about it: the colors, the fit, the style. I got the free pattern on Knitty. With this sweater, I learned about using smaller needles for the ribbing, and how to knit a double-layered hem and stand-up collar. It fits my husband perfectly.

He even has even worn it to the office. “Ooh, somebody loves you!” the office matrons would exclaim. Out of all the sweaters I made, this is the closest I’ve come to perfect execution. But even here, I can’t help but notice my sloppy finishing—how I didn’t choose a matching color thread for the zipper, so my stitches are still visible. (Note: This sweater was immune from the Sweater Curse because I made it after we were already engaged.)

Around this same time, I also knitted a red sweater for my brother. It was also a raglan-sleeve cardigan with a front zipper, and it had a beautiful eyelet design on the sleeves. Unfortunately, I did not wash both the sweater and the zipper before I sewed the zipper in. The first time the cardigan got washed, the cotton yarn of the sweater stretched out and the zipper remained the same, so the whole front of the sweater looked puckered and bunchy. The zipper had to be ripped out, and I never got around to sewing it back in, so now it’s a loose cardigan. Nevertheless, my brother still has the sweater, and he still wears it once in a while, even though it’s been fifteen years since I gave him that sweater.

The green wool sweater I made for my husband for our first anniversary was a lesson on why it is so important to a) ensure your gauge is correct before you begin casting on, and b) try things on as you progress. I bought eight skeins of premium hunter-green wool. In my enthusiasm as a newly married woman, I didn’t bother with making a gauge and instead cast on the recommended stitches in the pattern. I knit it in the round, and the proportions looked right to me sitting on my lap. What could go wrong?

What I should’ve done is stop at the bottom 4 inches, put it on waste yarn, and have my husband try it on. At that point, I would’ve seen my error. But that’s not what I did. I didn’t stop to check the measurements until after the sweater was already completed and sewn together. And then… oh no! The gauge was totally off. 

My husband has the physique of a tall viking. He is six foot three and weighs 200 pounds. He fills a doorway. He is tall enough to reach up and touch the ceiling in most rooms. But even this sweater looks like it was made for a man four times his size. The sleeves hang down to his knees. It pools around him like a wizard’s robe. Who did I make this for? The Jolly Green Giant?

My sweet husband—the darling man!—still adores this sweater. This is his cozy-oversized comfort sweater. This is what he puts on in winter (with the cuffs rolled multiple times) as we all cuddle on the couch as a family to watch a movie. 

For years, I would look at the sweater and the perfectionist knitter part of my brain sometimes thinks about unraveling it and trying again. But then I look at my husband’s face… how happy he is, and how loved he feels every time he puts on this sweater. And I know I will never unravel this sweater. My husband loves this sweater just as he loves me: flaws and all.

That being said, writing this blog post inspired me to give it another go. With the experience I’ve gained since knitting my husband his oversized sweater, I realized I only need to unravel the sleeves just a little to shorten them. With my husband’s permission, I shortened the sweater sleeves and sewed them back on. It only took me about 20 minutes, and now the sweater fits him perfectly. This goes to show that even after 15 years of marriage, it’s never too late to make adjustments if you’re willing to put in the effort.

The year of The Big Green Sweater, I used the leftover green yarn to knit my mother a shawl-neck pullover. It was a Debbie Bliss pattern that I absolutely loved. (I love her patterns.) But this particular pattern came with a slight flaw where the capping on the set-in sleeves is a little too long and the result is that when you sew it all together it kind of looks like it has puffed sleeves… or like it needs some rad 1980s shoulder pads. As soon as she put it on, I could see immediately that it wasn’t quite right.

Like a good mother, she oohed and aahed over the sweater. She even fixed it somewhat by using a needle and thread to sew a tuck into the shoulder to hide the extra fabric.

But the twist came ten years later, when she gave me a Christmas shawl made from…. “Oh my god! Is that my green sweater?!”

I couldn’t believe it. She had unraveled my green wool sweater, turned it into a poncho, and re-gifted it back to me. Such is the danger of giving a knitted gift to another knitter: they see everything as potential material. Nothing is sacred. 

In her defense, she did keep my ill-fitting sweater for a whole decade before giving it a new life. That’s a lot longer than most people keep their garments!

By the way—I love this poncho. Every time I put it on, I think of my mother and how every inch of this beautiful green yarn slid through both our fingers.

(Note: I’ve also written about this in my blog post “Gift or Burden: The Truth of the Sweater Curse.”)

This striped fisherman’s wool sweater is my second attempt at the same pattern as my mother’s botched green sweater. Only this time, I made sure to alter the shoulder pattern so that it would fit better. 

I started this sweater when I was in graduate school in 2013. I knit the front and back and one of the sleeves.

Then I got pregnant and the project went into a paper Trader Joe’s bag in the closet for seven years. It wasn’t until the world shut down in 2020 that I took the sweater out of the closet and finally finished that second sleeve, the shawl-collar, and sewed it all together. 

During the years between starting the project and finishing it, my body had expanded to grow a human, and then shrunk back down to my pre-pregnancy size. The world had changed. Everything had changed. But even in this new world, it felt like a kind of miracle that a project I had started almost a decade before could finally come to completion. That it could be so warm and fit me so perfectly.

During the years when my son was little, I took a long break from knitting. It was energy triage. The entirety of my focus was dedicated toward helping this tiny, wonderful being grow. Whatever was left over went to marriage, family, writing, and basic hygiene. I didn’t even have time for hair—I wore it short for years because I didn’t want to deal with it touching my face. Who cares about knitting? Not this gal!

I was so certain I would never knit again that I gave away all my yarn and needles.

But the time arrived when I felt ready to take up the needles again. It had been a while, so I needed an easy project. I borrowed some of my mom’s needles and bought a Pound of Love acrylic yarn at the local Michael’s. I knitted a gauge and then a raglan pullover for my son. I had forgotten how to knit raglan sleeves in the round, and I had to rip out the yoke four whole times before I finally got it right. I also did a sloppy job sewing in the kangaroo pockets, so the stitches are a bit visible.

But my son loves this sweater. He wears it all the time, so I quickly knit him a few more sweaters so that he can change between them. At the moment, these mom-made sweaters are all he wants to wear. As soon as they are out of the wash, he puts them on. He says he can feel my love when he wears them, like a big soft hug.

Now my son is giving me commissions.

Can I knit a sweater with stripes? Absolutely! 

Can I knit a sweater for our dog? Sure! 

Can I make a bear hat with ears? I’ve never knitted a hat before, but I’ll try!

Can I knit mittens that look like the Duolingo owl? That’s sounds amazing!

I still make mistakes. 

This “Love” cable vest designed by Kate Chioccio took about two months to make because I kept getting the gauge wrong. I was using worsted weight yarn instead of DK yarn, so I basically had to rewrite the pattern to make it work. It still took three tries.

With this knitted shirt made from bamboo rayon, I knitted a gauge swatch and was surprised by how much it stretched after watching. I had to learn a new way of joining new balls of yarn because my usual way would leave visible scars on the front.

This shirt was originally intended for my son, but by the time I finished, we discovered that the garter stitch around the neckline and hem basically looked like ruffles, and was too feminine for him. He gave the shirt to me.

This is another project I made recently from bamboo yarn. It is a cowl using the tumbling blocks stitch. I’m very happy with how the pattern turned out, but I did not expect the bamboo yarn to stretch as much as it did! After washing and blocking, the cowl ended up one third wider than I originally intended.

I suppose what I’m saying is that making mistakes is all part of the adventure.

This is a hobby, after all. Not a job. No lives are at stake. It’s only string. I have never (that I recall) gotten so frustrated at a project that I broke into tears. I only shrug and move on. Chalk it up as a learning experience.

And I still have so much to learn!

Every time I look on YouTube or Etsy or Ravelry I see something new and inspiring I’d love to try. I have never knitted socks or mittens. I’ve never made a Fair Isle or Norwegian sweater. I’ve never done lace, or brioche, or intarsia. When did short rows become a thing? Why didn’t I learn about Magic Loop or knitting from the top-down sooner? It would have made my life so much easier!

I absolutely love how much the knitting community has grown during the past few years. It’s easier than ever to learn something new and meet new people.

When I look at these projects, I often remember where I was when I worked on them.

The car trip to the Mendocino coast that I took with my mom and son, when I started this sweater.

Sitting in my father-in-law’s garden knitting, while my husband and son swam in the pool.

Cuddling on the couch next to my son while he reads me his favorite comic book.

The apartment my husband and I first shared in Virginia.

The snow-bound cabin in the woods where my husband and I spent a winter early in our marriage.

When I look at these pieces I made, the tactile sensation of these memories are anchored into my body. Perhaps those memories are also anchored into the stitches. And so when I look at the little errors in my knitting, I don’t feel angry with myself or frustrated. I feel forgiveness and compassion for myself. They are part of the story. My story with my family. And I love them, flaws and all.

E. S. O. Martin is the author of Candid Family Portrait: A Novel and the short story collection What We Talk About When We Talk About the Apocalypse. She blogs weekly about books, Slavic mythology, and various other things. Consider signing up for her free Reader’s Club newsletter to get monthly updates on her works in progress.