When UFOs Become Love Letters to Your Creative Soul
When UFOs Become Love Letters to Your Creative Soul … Or: What I learned about creative authenticity from my embarrassingly large pile of unfinished quilts
I had eleven UFOs at last count.
(Yes, I counted. Yes, I'm slowly working through them. And no, there's absolutely no need for an intervention, thank you very much.)
For the longest time, those eleven unfinished projects felt like evidence. Not the good kind of evidence—like when you finally find the perfect backing fabric or discover you actually can match points when you're paying attention. No, this felt like evidence of my creative failures, laid out in neat stacks around my sewing room like a jury ready to deliver their verdict.
I thought I was some sort of creative commitment-phobe who couldn't stick with anything long enough to see it through. The internal dialogue was brutal: Real quilters finish what they start. You're just playing at this. Look at all these abandoned dreams.
The guilt was real, friends. Heavy and persistent, like that one seam that never wants to lie flat no matter how much you press it.
The Fabric Stash Epiphany
Then I had one of those realizations that only happens when you're doing something completely quilting-adjacent but somehow deeply quilting-related. You know the ones I mean—those moments of clarity that arrive while you're reorganizing your fabric stash by color for the third time in a month, or when you're supposed to be making dinner but instead find yourself contemplating the perfect thread tension.
I was standing there, surrounded by carefully sorted piles of Liberty prints and vintage florals, when it hit me: What if my collection of unfinished projects wasn't evidence of failure at all? What if it was actually proof of a beautifully abundant creative life?
What if, instead of trying to force myself to finish everything out of some misplaced sense of quilting duty, I needed to get clearer about what I actually wanted to create?
The Grit Revelation
I'd been reading Angela Duckworth's work on grit—you know, that quality we're all supposed to cultivate if we want to succeed at anything worthwhile. But one particular line stopped me cold: "Grit is not just about stubborn persistence. It's also about choosing the right goals."
That hit differently when I thought about it through my quilting lens.
We quilters are masters of stubborn persistence. We'll rip out seams seventeen times until they're perfect. We'll hand-quilt through finger cramps and eye strain. We'll drive to three different shops looking for just the right shade of thread. Persistence? We've got that covered.
But choosing the right goals? That's where things get murky.
How many times have we started projects because they looked stunning on Instagram? How many quilts have we begun because we thought a "real quilter" would tackle that technique? How many times have we said yes to a commission or a gift quilt not because it sparked joy, but because it seemed like what we should do?
I realized my UFOs weren't failures—they were honest feedback. They were my creative soul's way of saying, "This isn't it. This isn't what lights you up."
The Radical Act of Pause
Here's what I think we've gotten wrong about goal-setting in our creative lives: We've made it about productivity instead of authenticity. We've focused on finishing instead of flourishing.
When was the last time you asked yourself what you actually want your creative life to feel like? Not what Instagram tells you it should look like, with those perfectly styled flat lays and enviable sewing rooms. Not what you think a "real quilter" would do, with their impressive quilting resumés and ribbon collections.
Just... what would make your heart skip a little when you walk into your sewing space?
This might sound ridiculous, but I think we've overcomplicated the whole goal-setting thing. We've turned it into this elaborate system of shoulds and supposed-tos, when really, it could be as simple as paying attention to what makes us come alive.
What Creative Authenticity Actually Looks Like
I've started approaching my UFOs differently now. Instead of seeing them as creative failures, I see them as data points. Each unfinished project tells me something about what I thought I wanted versus what I actually want.
That half-finished geometric quilt? It taught me that I love the precision of piecing, but my heart really belongs to organic, flowing designs. The appliqué project that's been sitting in timeout for six months? It revealed that my hands are happiest when they're moving with familiar rhythms, not struggling through unfamiliar techniques just because I think I should master everything.
Some of those UFOs have found their way to the donation pile, and you know what? That felt like freedom, not failure. Others have been reimagined into something that better reflects who I am now, not who I thought I should become.
Your Quilting Practice as a Trusted Friend
Your quilting practice should feel like a friend who's genuinely excited to see you—not someone keeping a running tally of your unfinished business. It should be the kind of relationship where you can show up exactly as you are, with whatever energy and inspiration you're carrying that day.
Maybe that means giving yourself permission to start a new project even though you have others waiting. Maybe it means finally admitting that you'll never finish that complicated medallion quilt, and that's perfectly okay. Maybe it means choosing projects based on what calls to you in this season of your life, rather than what you think will impress other people.
The most radical thing we can do is pause and reconnect with what we actually want to make. Not what we think we should make. Not what would look good on social media. Just what would honor this creative soul we've been given.
The Questions That Change Everything
Here are the questions I've started asking myself before starting any new project:
Does this make me genuinely excited, or do I just think it should?
Am I choosing this because it speaks to who I am, or who I think I should become?
If I never posted about this project anywhere, would I still want to make it?
What would I create if I knew it would never be seen by anyone else?
How do I want to feel while I'm making this?
These aren't productivity questions—they're authenticity questions. And honestly? They've changed everything about how I approach my creative practice.
The Abundance of Unfinished Dreams
I still have those eleven UFOs. Well, maybe it's nine now. Or thirteen—honestly, who's counting? (Okay, fine, I'm still counting. Some habits die hard.)
But now I see them differently. Each one represents a moment when I was brave enough to begin something. Each one is proof that I'm someone who says yes to creative possibility, even when I'm not sure where it will lead.
Some of those projects will find their way to completion. Others will teach me what I needed to learn and then gracefully bow out. A few might be transformed into something entirely different. And all of that? All of that is exactly as it should be.
Because here's what I've learned: A creative life isn't measured by how many things you finish. It's measured by how authentically you engage with the process of making. It's about showing up to your creativity with curiosity instead of judgment, with possibility instead of pressure.
Your quilting practice—UFOs and all—is already enough. You are already enough. And maybe, just maybe, those unfinished projects aren't evidence of failure at all.
Maybe they're love letters to your creative soul, reminding you that you're someone who believes in beautiful possibilities, even when you can't see how they'll unfold.
What would happen if we treated our creative lives with that kind of tenderness?
What do you think? Are you drowning in good intentions and half-finished dreams too? I'd love to hear how you're navigating the space between creative ambition and authentic expression. Leave a comment below, or better yet, come find me on Instagram @sweetlittlequilts where we can figure this out together.
And don't miss next week's post: "How to Identify Creative Goals That Actually Honor Who You Are (Not Who You Think You Should Be)"—because apparently, we're just getting started with this conversation.
