What is slow stitching?

I was chatting with a friend the other day and happened to mention my slow stitching project.

“Slow stitching? Do you sew in slow motion or something?” she asked, with one of those looks that clearly said she thought I’d lost the plot.

I could have just told her to look it up online, but where’s the fun in that? This was my chance to share what slow stitching really means to me—and maybe you're also curious?

Think about those embroidery kits you see in shops. You know the ones—a perfect picture on the front, promising your finished piece will look just like it. Everything is planned out for you, stitch by stitch. It’s satisfying, sure, but there’s not much room for surprise.

Slow stitching is nothing like that. It’s about starting with no idea how it will end. No neat little chart to follow, no rules to trip you up—just you, your needle, and whatever bits of fabric and thread you’ve got lying around. It’s a bit like one of those mystery novels where you can’t guess the ending until the very last page. The fun is in the journey, not knowing what’s coming next.

Every stitch feels like it belongs to the moment. Some might meander across the fabric; others might build up layer upon layer. It’s not about getting it “right.” It’s about seeing where your creativity takes you.

And let’s be honest, there’s a certain freedom in that, isn’t there? No one to tell you what goes where or that you’ve used the wrong shade of green.

Slow stitching is a reminder that sometimes, it’s okay to just let go and see what happens.

The Pleasure of Uncertainty

There’s something wonderfully exciting about not knowing how a project will turn out. For me, slow stitching is like wandering down a quiet, winding country lane—no map, no plan, just the joy of discovering what’s around the next corner.

There’s no final destination, no need to follow someone else’s directions. Instead, I get lost in the process, letting the design grow naturally. What colour should I pick next? Which stitch feels just right? Should I grab that textured thread I’ve been itching to use? Each decision feels like an adventure.

The freedom is exhilarating. There are no rules, no boundaries—just the quiet thrill of creating something that’s entirely your own. Some days, a humble running stitch is all I need. Other times, I’ll throw in something more intricate, just for the joy of it.

The humble running stitch

Slow stitching might sound modern, but it’s rooted in traditions. Take Japan’s Sashiko, for example. Originally, it was a practical way to strengthen and repair worn clothes using simple running stitches. Over time, these practical repairs blossomed into intricate, beautiful patterns. The Japanese even have a name for these lovingly mended fabrics: Boro.

When I think of stitching scraps together like this, it feels like building a blank canvas—one I can decorate with embroidery stitches as the mood strikes. Preparing that canvas is just as soothing as the fancy stitching itself. There’s no need for elaborate designs or planning. Mistakes? Who cares? They’re just part of the charm.

Getting started with slow stitching

One of the joys of slow stitching is that anything goes. I love mixing repurposed fabrics with new ones: soft cotton, tactile linen, even bits of wool.

The texture of the cloth matters to me. After all, I’ll be holding it in my hands for hours. Some scraps carry memories; others just catch my eye. It’s like gathering old friends and intriguing strangers together for a creative party.

I usually start with a plain, light-coloured backing fabric. If I’m feeling particularly organised (which, let’s face it, doesn’t happen often), I might cut all the backing fabrics to the same size so they’ll fit together later. But that’s about as far as my planning goes.

From there, I pour out my scraps onto the table, run my fingers over them, and let intuition take over. This one feels right next to that one. Maybe I’ll rip this one down a bit, or swap that piece for something brighter. It’s like playing a creative game of mix-and-match until something clicks.

To hold the pieces in place, I often use long, loose tacking stitches, with more thread on the back than the front. (Some stitchers prefer glue or spray adhesive, but I like the hands-on approach.) It’s wonderfully freeing—no pressure, just pure creative flow.

If you’re curious to see how it all comes together, I’ve recorded a video of one of my slow stitching projects. Below is the final front cover I created in the video.

The embroidery process

Planning? That’s not my style here either. Sometimes the fabric itself whispers where to begin—a flower might ask to be outlined, a gap might beg for a little bloom of its own. Maybe a stripe in a print inspires a not-so-straight line of stitches. It’s all delightfully unpredictable.

I don’t fret about perfect spacing or ruler-straight lines. This is hand embroidery, after all. Imperfections aren’t just inevitable—they’re part of the charm.

Each stitch seems to nudge me toward the next, like a conversation between me and the fabric. An unexpected pairing of scraps might spark an idea I never saw coming—a splash of colour here, a bit of stitching there to disguise a spot in the pattern I don’t quite fancy.

Then comes the moment when I pause, look at the piece, and ask, “Are we done?” Sometimes it’s clear the story’s finished, and I set it aside with a satisfied sigh. Other times, it begs for one last touch—a dash of thread or a tiny detail—to bring it all together. I let the work decide.

What to do with slow stitching?

The finished piece is a physical record of my creative exploration, and to be honest, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of it. The joy came from the making. If it turns out beautiful, that’s just the icing on the cake.

Sometimes I turn my slow stitching into something practical—a bag, a pincushion, a journal page, or even a wall hanging. Other times, I leave it as it is, ready to be touched and admired whenever I feel like it. It doesn’t need to “do” anything—it’s enough that it exists and that I enjoyed creating it.

The benefits of slow stitching

The real magic of slow stitching is in the process, not the outcome. The rhythm of the stitches is meditative, calming my mind and bringing a deep sense of relaxation. 

Using recycled materials adds another layer of satisfaction. Repurposing old clothes or scraps isn’t just thrifty—it’s sustainable. There’s something deeply rewarding about knowing I’m reducing waste and doing my bit for the environment.

But the best part?

It’s a movement anyone can join. Grab some old fabric and thread, and stitch your way to a greener, more creative world. Together, we can make a difference—one stitch at a time. Will you join me?