Tangled Roots: How The Wrinkled Thistle Grew
Life before Wrinkles and Thistles
My story starts in a lab coat, not wool and needles, and the journey between the two is more tangled than anything I've ever knit.
It started in academia, with a PhD, a love of research, and a belief that if I worked hard enough, I'd enjoy the day-to-day life in a lab and have a rewarding career. But despite the fact that I loved the learning, research was not the right environment for me.
A move to publishing allowed me to continue to work in the scientific subject area, but really, it was an office job with a long commute. After around 10 years, I was delighted to get a work-from-home job with a trade association supporting scholarly publishers around the world. I even eventually headed up that organisation. It was hard work, but it was also so much fun. On paper, it looked successful. But internally? I was running on empty.
Around six months of medical tests later, I received a diagnosis: post-viral fatigue, also known as chronic fatigue syndrome, or ME. Life, as I knew it, had stopped. For several years, I existed in a space where even getting out of bed felt like climbing a mountain. My husband and I had to give up our house and move in with my parents. And then along came the pandemic. I avoided it as long as I could. I got vaccinated when it was offered. But eventually, I caught it.
It was tough, but I avoided the worst of the symptoms, and here's the strange thing: a few weeks after the main symptoms disappeared, the chronic fatigue no longer felt like it was there. Am I the only person in the world to have something positive associated with Covid?
It took a while to convince myself that this really was the case. It's difficult to describe what chronic fatigue feels like, but it's not the same as being tired or exhausted. It's almost as if fatigue is not the correct terminology. It's a lack of strength in the muscles. They cannot do what they are designed to do, as the energy they need to work correctly is not available in sufficient quantities. Being exhausted means you can still pick up that cup of tea and drink it. Having CFS/ME means that your muscles cannot move your arm to pick up the tea. It's not a paralysis — the muscles still work, they just don't have what they require to function correctly.
It took more than a year to start to rebuild my strength. And then I had to face a question: what now?
No way back
The publishing industry had quickly moved on and I knew it would be a struggle to get back in. So I turned to what had gotten me through the darkest times: knitting and crochet. And here's where I started my journey through the tangled root.
Everywhere I looked, I heard the same message: "You can't make a business out of this hobby." or "You'll ruin your hobby if you make a business out of it." And I believed it. Deep down, I thought monetising my craft would somehow diminish it, or that it simply wasn't possible.
So I looked for other paths. I had always loved dabbling in spreadsheets and considered levelling up my skills and finding ways to monetise those skills. However, all I could see at the end of those spreadsheets were more jobs in and around offices, long hours in front of the computer and deadlines.
Then social media led me to a course on technical editing for knitting. It sounded perfect! Analysing knitting patterns, proofreading, copyediting, spreadsheets. It felt like everything I loved was coming together in one job. I worked through the course, passed all the tests and received my certificate.
And then the roots closed in — not as a physical thicket, but as a paralysing lack of confidence. I had passed all the tests. I had the certification. But the fear of "not being able to get it right", failing someone else and putting both their and my reputations in jeopardy stopped me from seeking clients. I had no idea my confidence had taken such a hit during my illness.
At this stage, I felt trapped. The thicket of roots seemed determined to hold me in place.
Peering through the roots
Now, I still have my science mind. I need to know how things work. I'm also told I'm stubborn. These traits were still there.
While I was ill, I had set my sights on learning how to knit a gansey, a traditional fisherman's sweater rooted in maritime history. I’d had the yarn in my stash for a quite a while. But, not content with making one from an existing pattern, I decided I needed to know exactly how to knit my own, unique version.
It took a while. I pulled together information from websites, books, patterns, and forums. Eventually, my first one was done. Mr. Wrinkled Thistle is still very happy with it, and I knitted a couple more, just to make sure the first one was not a lucky accident!
I offered my services to a local lady who takes commissions (Deb at Propagansey) and I made a little bit of pocket money. But more importantly, I experienced what it felt like to create something with my own hands that someone else valued.
I researched more about ganseys, how they came to be, the myths that grew up around them. And then I wondered: what if others might be interested in them too?
There are plenty of options to have a gansey hand-knit for you. As I have already mentioned, I knit ganseys which have been commissioned. But what if you wanted to do it yourself?
Did I have what it took? Could I shut the inner critic up long enough to do something about it?
The short answer is yes. But it was not an easy journey. Imposter syndrome is strong with this one.
Escaping the tangle
So how did I get to where I am now, helping people understand more about ganseys, knitting in general, and building an online course teaching people how to knit ganseys?
The most important and perhaps challenging thing I had to get over, was the recurring voice which kept asking: "Why would anyone listen to you about this, what makes you the expert, there are other people who know about ganseys, why you?” The answers didn’t come until I stepped back and took a look at what other people who were experts in their field and started seeking answers to questions: What were their credentials? Why were people listening to them? What made them the expert in their field?
Take crafting, for example. There are many people who have trained in textiles or design and have formal qualifications. They are undoubtedly experts — they've done the training and have the certificates. But there are equally as many, perhaps more, who have built knowledge and experience through trial and error, sharing ideas, learning from others, and helping others learn.
They are also experts in what they do. Slowly, I started to convince myself that this was me! I had been taught to knit at an early age and had been knitting on and off for most of my remembered life. I am one of those people who didn’t always just accept the pattern, but had to tinker with it to find out why the designer had chosen the options they had; sometimes I discovered why, other times it meant I ended up with a different product!
In terms of ganseys, I had got curious. I had researched. I had knitted. I had frogged — many times — each time learning something and banking experience.
I learned that your skills and experience are every bit as valuable as the qualifications you have.
And this is where I am now, with The Wrinkled Thistle, building a small business around ganseys, knitting and sharing my love of learning with the world. I haven’t fully gone back to the technical editing yet, but the skills I learned from the course have helped my knitting journey more than I could have imagined.
Why The Wrinkled Thistle?
I admit, it’s not the most obvious name for a business about knitting. When I started putting together the idea to set things up, the idea of what the business would actually be hadn’t fully formed. I was still dabbling in spreadsheets and taking the Technical Editing course. Given that these two things are quite different, I didn’t want the name of the business to reflect the business too closely, as it would have been a pain to change it or worse, feel forced into a business direction I no longer wanted.
My husband and I did a lot of brainstorming and started to narrow things down. Thistle, was included as a reflection of my Scottish roots. There were quite a few companies already working with that as part of their name and I had to avoid overlap there. And Wrinkled? Well, I’m not as young as I used to be and that’s only going in one direction!
But the crucial factor was I could get that name across many social media sites and could register the domain, and that’s why I ended up with a business called The Wrinkled Thistle. It grew from those tangled roots and up out into the light.
The Wrinkled Thistle today is focussing on helping other knitters discover ganseys, through social media, newsletters, and this blog (more coming soon - watch this space!). I am also developing resources to help knitters realise their own, unique gansey, without a pattern forcing them down a specific route. I’d love for you to come on that journey with me.
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