As you may have heard, I spent the afternoon knitting in Restore, the charity organisation supporting people with mental health issues. It was a lot of fun, though it didn’t exactly go as planned. The three of us who agreed to run the workshop were expecting to actually teach people how to knit. I took along some of my first pieces to show new knitters that mistakes were inevitable, but that with a little practice, you could knit some lovely pieces (as demonstrated by James’ collection of scarves, gloves and other woolly wonders). I also took along the book I used to learn to knit, Knitty Gritty by Aneeta Patel, just in case people preferred learning from through words and photos. Yet, lo and behold, I ended up being the worst knitter there. Or should I say, more favourably, the least experienced. It became more of a social knitting group than a workshop, which was actually fine for us. In fact, I learned a little myself, including a much faster and prettier way of casting on using just one needle.

What was a bit sad, though, was that only three people showed up, and only two did any knitting. I suppose Restore was running a whole week of workshops, with sessions in the morning and afternoon, and people could choose between three in each time slot. We were competing with ‘Fun Drama’, which seemed to attract a lot of interest. I wonder if this is because it wasn’t clear that the knitting workshop was for beginners, or if there’s still stigma surrounding knitting. (Just like there’s stigma surrounding mental health issues!)

Afterwards, my co-facilitators and I went to have a light snack and chat, which ended up being refreshingly honest. We talked about our own experiences with mental health issues, and how there’s a distinct difference between feeling ‘sad’ and feeling ‘depressed’. I do feel I connected a lot more in our intimate meetup today than I have with anyone at an actual knitting meetup on Wednesday nights, when there are just so many people, and they’ve all already formed their subgroups.

I wonder how the people who came to the group felt. I wonder if maybe having three facilitators and three attendees was the right mix, particularly as my fellow facilitators weren’t aware that they conversed mainly with each other. I’m not saying that they were at fault, as I’m sure they didn’t realise that they were potentially isolating at least one of the attendees, a young woman who appeared very low in mood and was very withdrawn, sitting a few seats away from the rest of us. (She was an amazing knitter though, starting and finishing a hat before the session was finished.) While I tried to engage her in the conversation, it was quite difficult with everyone else continuing to have their own discussion.

If we were to run this workshop again, would it be worth it to subtly explain to my co-facilitators the effect of their ‘inner group’ chatting? It is something to consider; however, I don’t want to come across as patronising. It would be one thing if they were fellow healthcare workers or students, but they didn’t sign up to professionally run groups and haven’t had an education in the area. However, surely it would benefit them and others if I do kindly say a thing or two before running a group again, as then they would be more aware of how their actions could isolate new people joining the meetup group or other people with mental health issues they encounter in their day-to-day life.

Wow, I didn’t intend for this post to go into such a reflection, not drawing the connecting between my own experience in the knitting meetups and today’s workshop until I got to the paragraph! That was quite handy…