What if you don’t have to be good at something for it to be good for you?
If You Need to Hear This Today…
You are allowed to be bad at something.
Not forever, necessarily. Not because you lack potential or because you should lower your expectations.
But because not knowing how to do something is different from not being capable of learning it.
And somewhere along the way, a lot of us forgot that.
We stopped saying, “I don’t know how to do this,” and started saying, “I’m just not creative. I’m not coordinated. I’m not artistic. I’m not one of those people.”
We turned a skill we hadn’t learned into a statement about who we are.
And I wonder how many lovely experiences we’ve quietly talked ourselves out of because we confused being a beginner with being incapable.
When Did We Become So Afraid of Being Bad at Something?
I have a confession.
I desperately want to be someone who knits.
In my imagination, Knitting Danielle is fantastic.
She has beautiful yarn. She makes thoughtful handmade gifts. She probably sits somewhere cozy with a cup of tea, creating gorgeous things with her own two hands.
Actual Danielle has attempted to learn to knit multiple times.
I even purchased Knitting for Dummies.
And after all that effort, I successfully produced what can only be described as one very long chain.
So there’s that.
I know I’m capable of learning complicated things. I’ve taught ballroom dance. I’ve learned choreography. I can make some pretty impressive things out of folded paper.
But knitting?
Apparently, my fingers did not get the memo.
And here’s what’s interesting.
When something comes naturally to us, we rarely question whether we’re the kind of person who can do it.
But when something doesn’t?
We can be surprisingly quick to make it personal.
- Maybe I’m not creative.
- Maybe I’m too old to learn.
- Maybe I’m just not good with my hands.
- Maybe this isn’t for me.
Notice how quickly we move from describing an experience to defining ourselves.
“I haven’t learned this yet” becomes “I’m not someone who can.”
Those are two very different stories.
Why Does Learning Something New Feel So Uncomfortable?
I recently had a conversation with Alice O’Connell, founder of Learning to Knit, who has spent more than 20 years teaching people how to knit.
And I was fascinated by something she sees again and again.
People arrive at her classes having never picked up knitting needles.
They’re nervous. They’re uncertain. They’re convinced they’ll be the one person who doesn’t get it.
And then, within about 30 to 40 minutes, they’re knitting.
They’re actually doing the thing they were afraid they couldn’t do.
You might imagine a room full of people celebrating.
But Alice says something else often happens.
Someone looks down at what they’ve made and immediately notices an imperfect stitch.
- Why is that one loose?
- Does this look right?
- Is it supposed to be uneven?
They’ve just learned something entirely new, and their attention goes straight to what needs fixing.
I laughed when Alice told me this.
Not because it’s silly.
Because I recognize it.
How many times have you done something difficult, only to immediately start reviewing what you could have done better?
- You finish the presentation and remember the sentence you stumbled over.
- You host a lovely gathering and apologize for the one thing you forgot.
- You make progress on something that matters to you and immediately move the finish line.
Sometimes we become so practiced at looking for what needs improvement that we forget to notice what we’ve already accomplished.
And that’s a shame.
Because there’s something worth celebrating in the willingness to begin.
What If You Don’t Have to Be Good at Something for It to Be Good for You?
This was the question I kept coming back to throughout my conversation with Alice.
What if you don’t have to be good at something for it to be good for you?
We’re surrounded by invitations to improve ourselves.
Get stronger. Get healthier. Get more organized. Learn a new skill. Build a better routine.
And there’s nothing inherently wrong with wanting to grow.
But sometimes we turn even the things that are supposed to bring us pleasure into another opportunity to evaluate our performance.
You enjoy painting?
Maybe you should sell your work.
You like running?
Have you considered a race?
You love baking?
You should start a business.
You want to knit?
Well, what are you going to make?
What if the answer is simply:
I don’t know. I just want to try.
- What if you make something because making it feels good?
- What if you play because playing feels good?
- What if you learn because you’re curious?
No audience. No business plan. No impressive outcome required.
Just the pleasure of being engaged in something that asks for your attention.
Can Creativity Help When You Feel Anxious or Overwhelmed?
One of the most moving parts of my conversation with Alice was hearing how knitting supported her during breast cancer treatment in 2024.
She described how much of her life became organized around appointments, symptoms, medication, and test results.
And how difficult it could be to look in the mirror and not recognize herself.
Knitting became a thread of continuity.
Something familiar she could return to when so much else felt uncertain.
It helped her connect with herself beyond the identity of being a patient.
It gave her something to do with her hands when anxiety was loud.
And it allowed her to make things for people who were showing up to support her family.
I found that deeply moving.
Because sometimes when life feels overwhelming, we instinctively try to think our way out of it.
- We analyze.
- We rehearse conversations.
- We make plans.
- We look for the right words, the right strategy, the right explanation.
And sometimes those things help.
But sometimes what we need isn’t another thought.
Sometimes we need an experience.
Something tactile.
Something repetitive.
Something that invites us to pay attention to what’s happening right in front of us.
For Alice, that experience is knitting.
For someone else, it might be gardening, painting, pottery, baking, dancing, or working with their hands.
These activities don’t erase difficult feelings or replace professional support when it’s needed.
But they can offer another way of relating to ourselves when thinking harder isn’t helping.
And perhaps that’s part of what makes creativity so valuable.
It gives us permission to participate in life without having to explain, solve, or improve every part of it.
You Wouldn’t Talk to a Child This Way
During our conversation, I shared something I keep near me: a photograph of myself as a little girl.
I’ve found that becoming a parent has invited me to reconsider the patience I offer myself.
When my children are learning something new, I don’t expect them to already know how to do it.
I don’t watch a child take a few wobbly steps and think, Well, walking clearly isn’t for you.
I recognize that the wobbling is part of learning.
The falling is part of learning.
The trying again is part of learning.
And yet, as adults, we can be so unkind to ourselves in that same uncomfortable space.
We expect competence before experience.
Confidence before practice.
And sometimes mastery before we’ve even begun.
When I look at that photograph of little Danielle, I’m reminded that she’s still part of me.
And when I’m being unnecessarily hard on myself, I’m being hard on her, too.
She’s still learning.
So am I.
So are you.
Maybe the patience you’d offer someone you love is something you’re allowed to offer yourself, too.
Starting Over Doesn’t Mean You’ve Ruined Everything
Near the end of my conversation with Alice, we began talking about another part of learning to knit.
Sometimes you have to undo your stitches.
Pull the yarn back.
Take apart something you’ve already spent time creating.
And I immediately thought about all the ways that happens in life.
The career that no longer fits.
The project that isn’t becoming what you imagined.
The dream you thought you wanted until you got close enough to realize something had changed.
I know this feeling.
Years ago, I set out to write a very serious, research-heavy mental health book.
I had a vision of what it would look like, where it would sit on a shelf, and what writing it would mean about me.
What I didn’t have was much joy in the process.
Eventually, a coach asked me a question that changed everything:
“How do you want to feel when you make it?”
And I realized I wanted to feel joy.
Not just when the book was finished.
While I was making it.
That question eventually led me away from the big, important book I thought I should write and toward a children’s book called Wrestling a Walrus.
A book that actually exists.
And one that still makes me smile.
When I shared this with Alice, she offered a beautiful way of thinking about unraveling.
When you undo knitting, you don’t destroy the yarn.
You return it to a form that can become something else.
I loved that.
Because sometimes we treat changing direction as evidence that everything we’ve done before was wasted.
But the experiences are still ours.
The learning is still ours.
The material is still there.
And there may be more possibilities available to us than we can see while we’re busy trying to preserve something that no longer fits.
The Heart of This Conversation
I think one of the quiet costs of adulthood is how easily we stop giving ourselves permission to be beginners.
- We become competent at managing our lives.
- We become responsible.
- We become the people who know what they’re doing.
Or at least the people who are expected to look like they do.
And somewhere in all that competence, we can lose touch with the pleasure of not knowing.
- Of being curious.
- Of being surprised.
- Of making something imperfect and liking it anyway.
But you don’t have to wait until you’re confident to try.
You don’t have to prove you’re naturally talented.
And you certainly don’t have to turn every interest into something productive.
Maybe wanting to try is enough of a reason to begin.
A Gentle Question to Take With You
What’s something you’ve wanted to try but quietly talked yourself out of because you decided you weren’t the kind of person who could do it?
And what might change if you let yourself be a beginner?
Not a particularly impressive beginner.
Just a willing one.
Frequently Asked Questions
Why am I afraid to try new things as an adult?
Trying something unfamiliar can bring up fears of embarrassment, failure, or not being good enough. When we’re accustomed to being competent in our everyday roles, returning to the uncertainty of being a beginner can feel especially uncomfortable. That discomfort doesn’t mean you’re incapable of learning.
How can I stop being such a perfectionist when learning?
Start by noticing when your attention moves immediately toward what needs fixing. Practice acknowledging what you’ve already done before evaluating what comes next. Progress and imperfection can exist at the same time.
Do creative hobbies help with stress?
Creative activities can offer an absorbing, enjoyable break from repetitive thinking and everyday demands. Repetitive, hands-on activities such as knitting may feel especially grounding for some people. The benefits vary, and you don’t have to be skilled at a hobby to enjoy participating in it.
Is it too late to learn something new?
No. Learning may feel different as an adult, especially when you have more responsibilities and expectations of yourself, but being inexperienced isn’t evidence that you’re unable to learn. You can begin with something small and let curiosity guide the process.
A Gift From Alice
Ready to Give Knitting a Try?
If this conversation has you thinking, “Maybe I could actually learn to knit,” Alice has a little gift to help you get started!
She’s generously offering Don’t Cut Your Own Bangs listeners 10% off her prerecorded beginner knitting course, so you can learn at your own pace, from wherever you feel most comfortable.
Explore Alice’s Beginner Knitting Course
Use code Bangs2026 at checkout for 10% off.
And remember, you don’t have to be good at it to enjoy getting started. That’s kind of the whole point.
One Last Thing…
I spend a lot of time, both as a therapist and a speaker, helping people understand what’s happening beneath the pressure to do better, be better, and get everything right.
And sometimes the most meaningful shift isn’t learning another strategy.
It’s giving yourself permission to have an experience without turning it into a performance review.
I loved this conversation with Alice because it reminded me that growth doesn’t always have to feel serious.
Sometimes it can look like two knitting needles, a little yarn, a crooked first attempt, and the willingness to laugh while you figure it out.
You can listen to my full conversation with Alice O’Connell on Don’t Cut Your Own Bangs, where we explore creativity, perfectionism, the emotional experience of learning, and the unexpected beauty of beginning again.
Listen to the podcast: https://danielleireland.com/podcast/
And if you’re looking for a speaker to bring conversations about perfectionism, emotional wellbeing, burnout, and self-trust to your organization or conference, I’d love to continue the conversation there.
Speaking and more: https://danielleireland.com
Until next time, put down the scissors. And maybe pick up something you’ve always wanted to try.
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DANIELLE IRELAND, LCSW
I greatly appreciate your support and engagement as part of the Don’t Cut Your Own Bangs community. Feel free to reach out with questions, comments, or anything you’d like to share. You can connect with me at any of the links below.
CONNECT WITH DANIELLE
- Follow me on: Instagram
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- Buy my children’s book: Wrestling a Walrus
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