Stitching the End of 2025

When I began this daily stitching journey back on January 1st, I had two long strips of fabric laid out in front of me, each marked with six months of the year. The days ahead stretched out endlessly — full of promise, curiosity, and possibility. At the same time, it felt a little daunting. All those tiny sections waiting to be filled with stitches… could I really keep going, day after day, for an entire year?

Now, I’m down to the last few squares, and I honestly don’t know where the months have gone.

Isn’t that how it always feels at this time of year? We look back and take stock — of what the year was, or wasn’t; of what we managed to do, and what quietly slipped by. We pause, reflect, and begin thinking about what we might do differently next time. Because surely, when 2026 arrives, that’s when we’ll be prepared.

With only a handful of stitched squares left, I started thinking ahead a few weeks ago about how this piece would live once the stitching was complete. This journal was always meant to become a book — a tangible record of 2025, told one stitch at a time. I followed the wonderfully clear instructions shared by Karen Turner in her blog about turning her stitched journals into books (thank you, Karen, for generously sharing your process).

Out came the measuring tape — and then it came out again, just to be sure. I added extra allowance (experience has taught me to do that!) and cut the covers from the same vintage fabric I used for the journal pages. I love the crocheted edging on this old textile, so I used it along the top edge of the book. For the bottom, I carefully cut an additional strip of edging and stitched it in place, echoing the original detail. I also added a layer of Stitch Regulator® by Wonderfil — a creative medium that helps reduce puckering and gives the piece a bit more stability.

Then came the stitching: long vertical lines of running stitch across the surface, with the edges finished in blanket stitch. As always, all that handwork caused the fabric to shrink — which made me very grateful I’d cut the covers a bit larger than needed. Once everything was stitched, the final step was to bring the piece back to its intended shape.

I wet the covers thoroughly and stretched them carefully, pinning them to a square of insulating board (an ironing board works just as well). One edge first, then the opposite, followed by the remaining two — slow, deliberate, and mindful, much like the stitching itself. After drying overnight, I removed the pins.

When I finally unpinned everything and held the covers in my hands, they were flat, rectangular, and ready.

Before calling it finished, I added one last, meaningful detail: a stitched label for the year. Using the same vintage fabric, I cut the label from a corner of the tablecloth so it would retain that beautiful crocheted edging. To balance it visually, I fused a second corner piece to the back, creating a neat and even finish. The label was attached to the cover with simple running stitches, and the numbers 2025 were stitched by hand in stem stitch — a quiet but deliberate marker of time. Just like the journal itself — finished not with a rush, but with care, attention, and a deep sense of completion.

Finishing this stitched journal reminds me that a year isn’t really made up of big moments, but of small, repeated acts. A few stitches a day. A pause at the worktable. Showing up even when there wasn’t much time, energy, or inspiration. Some days are bold and colorful; others are quiet and barely noticeable — but they all belong.

As this book closes, I’m not thinking so much about what comes next as I am about what this practice has taught me: to slow down, to pay attention, and to trust that small marks, made consistently, really do add up to something whole.

Thank you for reading. Until I write again, keep stitching,

Ana

PS: I promise to share the finished book in a future blog.