When I crocheted a sweater for my 10-year-old daughter, I thought I was stitching love into every loop. She had begged for a handmade piece after seeing a TikTok trend, and I poured hours into selecting the softest yarn, matching her favorite colors, and perfecting the pattern. It wasn’t just a gift—it was a labor of love, a quiet tribute to our bond.
But when she unwrapped it, her face fell. “It’s… nice,” she said, voice tight with forced politeness. I brushed it off, thinking maybe she was overwhelmed. But later that night, I overheard her telling her friend on FaceTime, “It looks like something grandma would wear. I can’t wear that to school.”
I felt gutted. Not because she didn’t like the sweater—but because I realized I’d missed the mark. I’d made something I thought she’d love, not something she actually wanted. I had wrapped my affection in wool and warmth, but she was craving cool and trendy.
The next day, I asked her to be honest. She hesitated, then admitted she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. “I love that you made it,” she said. “But it’s not really me.”
That moment cracked something open. I realized how often we project our love in ways that feel meaningful to us—but don’t always land the way we hope. So we sat down together, picked a new pattern, and chose colors she loved. This time, she helped me crochet. We laughed, tangled yarn, and made something together.
She wore the new sweater to school the next week. Her friends complimented it. She beamed. And I learned that love isn’t just about giving—it’s about listening, adapting, and creating space for someone else’s voice.
