These days it feels like the world is just … terrible. Really terrible. Especially watching what’s happening in the United States right now. I’m a Canadian — currently comfortable, safe, insulated — and yet, I still can’t even fully comprehend the scale of the fear, the cruelty, the uncertainty unfolding just across the border.

People are scared. My LGBTQIA+ community is scared. Immigrants, Black and brown people, Muslims, trans folks, Indigenous folks — all of them carrying fear that shouldn’t be theirs to hold. And why wouldn’t they be? The rhetoric. The violence. The laws that feel designed to grind people down instead of protect them.

Most of the headlines focus on white victims of violence, but what about the people nobody talks about — the ones dying in systems that are supposed to be “safe”? The ones whose stories never make it past a headline, if they make it there at all.

These deaths aren’t footnotes. They’re human beings — fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, siblings — whose lives were cut short inside a federal system that treats them like property, not people.

And this is just one piece of the nightmare.

Creating Isn’t Escapism — It’s Resistance

Here’s the thing about making stuff: people sometimes talk like it’s a cutesy hobby, like a “nice thing to do when you’re bored.”

Bullshit.

Creation is political. It always has been.

When people make things — whether fabric or words or quilts or protest banners — they are affirming life. They are insisting that their voice matters, that their perspective counts, that beauty and meaning exist even in violent times.

When governments try to strip dignity from people — when they detain them indefinitely, when they let them die in custody, when they vilify whole communities — art and craft become acts of defiance. Making is saying, I am human, and I am here.

That’s why I sew.

Not because the world is perfect. Not to wash my hands of the chaos.

But because if I stopped, even for a second, I’d be turning my back on everything worth fighting for — including my own mental health.

Why Creating Keeps Me Sane

Let’s be honest: it’s hard not to stick my head in the sand. Some days I want to unplug from the constant flood of bad news and just stare at a blank wall, and I absolutely do. 

But gritting my teeth and staring at doom doesn’t help anyone, least of all me.

Here’s what making gives me:

Grounding — The whirr of the sewing machine, the feel of fabric under my fingers anchors me to the present moment.

Control — I can’t control governments. I can control stitch length and thread tension.

Purpose — Each piece of work is a reminder that something good can come out of a messed-up world.

Community — Creating connects me to others who are also making, resisting, living.

That doesn’t mean I ignore the news or hide from the pain (all the time). It means I try to balance caring for the world with caring for myself — because you can’t pour from an empty cup.

We Can’t Stop Talking About It

We cannot be quiet about what’s happening. Not when people are being harmed. Not when systems fail people so profoundly.

Supporting marginalized communities — in words and actions — matters. Advocating for immigrant rights, LGBTQIA+ safety, racial justice, and humane treatment in detention isn’t optional. It’s essential.

And if creating is what helps you keep your heart beating in this chaos — do it. Not instead of caring about the world … but because you care about the world.

So I’ll Keep Sewing

I don’t have any answers. I don’t know exactly how we change systems that are killing or harming people. I’m just over here with my sewing machines and bobbins, not drafting legislation — but I have to say that this isn’t okay.

But I do know this:

We make. We speak. We show up.
Not because it’s easy but because it’s human.
And that matters.