When I got engaged eight months ago, my future mother-in-law took me dress shopping once. Just once. Long enough for her to make a few “helpful” comments about *flattering cuts for my shape* that made me want to disappear into the floor.
I came home and cried on the couch. My fiancé held me and said, “Forget her. Wear whatever makes you happy.”
That night, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to wear something that made me feel less than myself—I was going to create something that felt like me.
I’ve been crocheting for years—mostly baby blankets and small pieces I sold for extra cash—but I’d never made a whole garment. Until now. I found a beautiful vintage-inspired pattern called the *Edith Dress* and ordered cream cotton yarn. Every night after my hospital shifts, I picked up my hook and worked on it. Through exhaustion, through self-doubt, through three failed starts. My family room turned into a yarn explosion.
Yesterday morning, at 6 a.m., I finally wove in the last end. And today, I’m getting married in a dress I made with my own scarred, capable hands.
When my fiancé saw me, he cried. Not because the dress was perfect, but because it was *me*—every stitch, every hour, every ounce of love poured into it.
And honestly, that’s all that matters. 🥹❤️