Five years ago I was stitching school uniforms for children in my neighbourhood, charging barely enough to cover the thread. I had a smartphone with a cracked screen and a lot of free time between orders, and I started watching embroidery tutorials on it, late at night, pausing every few seconds to copy the stitch by hand.
It took two years of failed attempts — unpicked threads, wasted fabric, pieces I was too embarrassed to show anyone — before my work was good enough to sell for what it was actually worth. Today I run a small embroidery business from the same room I used to stitch uniforms in, and my work has been shipped to customers in the UK, Canada and Australia. Nobody funded this. Nobody mentored me. It was a cracked phone screen, a lot of stubbornness, and the refusal to accept that where I started was where I had to stay.
Leave Your Footprint
"I lived this." "I relate." "My father was exactly like this." Say what this stirred in you.
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