2025: A Year of learning
2025 was a heck of a learning curve for me.
It was a year of learning how to be myself while building something that asks a lot from me, emotionally, financially, creatively, and physically. Not just running a business, but doing it without abandoning who I am in the process.
This year taught me something important: trauma doesn’t disappear when you register a business. It comes with you. It shows up in conversations, in crochet sessions, in moments of connection. And that’s okay. Every time I name it, every time I talk about it openly, it becomes easier to manage. Less heavy. Less hidden.
Markets were some of the most emotionally demanding parts of 2025.
They require confidence, presence, and physical stamina. Some markets felt aligned and connective. Others felt unsafe and genuinely scary. That experience has shaped my decisions for 2026.
I won’t be chasing “guaranteed footfall” or “highly advertised” events anymore. Next year is about well-known, established yarn events, spaces that understand the craft, the people, and the pace. Safety matters. Nervous system regulation matters.
Another big lesson of 2025 was money.
Not numbers on a spreadsheet, but the emotional weight of charging fairly. I noticed how often I apologised for my craft, for my prices, for taking up space. This year asked me to face that gently but firmly.
I learned that my skills have value. My time has value. My experience has value.
My lessons now pay me at least minimum wage, and I charge a fair price for the beginner bundle I carefully designed. That shift wasn’t just financial, it was emotional. It was about unlearning the belief that care-led work should cost less.
In 2025, I also made deliberate choices to ensure Rainbow Dandelion Crochet isn’t just emotionally considerate, but practically responsible.
My kits are UKCA tested. I am Trading Standards certified. My materials, instructions, and age guidance are intentional, especially when working with children and beginners. Trust matters to me. Safety matters. People deserve more than pretty things; they deserve products that stand up to scrutiny.
This year, I stopped implying who my work is for and started saying it clearly.
Rainbow Dandelion Crochet is a safe space for LGBTQIA+ people. For neurodivergent people. For anyone who has been made to feel “too much” or “not enough” in traditional craft spaces.
That means inclusive language. No gendered assumptions. No pressure to perform productivity. Permission to go slowly. Respect for different bodies, brains, and identities.
This isn’t a marketing strategy. It’s my lived experience shaping my practice. I am neurodivergent. I am poly. I am pan.
Teaching crochet in 2025 did something quietly profound for me.
Every beginner, every child, every adult, arrived convinced they would fail. And not one of them did. Over and over, I said, “There’s no rush.” “You can do this.” And now so many people have a way to find calm, focus, and mindfulness through crochet.
In February 2025, I received my SBS award a Small Business Award given by a Dragons’ Den judge.
On paper, it should have been a high point. National recognition. Validation. A sense of accomplishment. And for a moment, it was. I was proud. I still am. The award recognised my work, the care behind it, and the community it serves.
But the experience around it wasn’t good.
What followed felt dismissive and emotionally unsafe, particularly for neurodivergent and physically disabled entrepreneurs. I learned that being seen is not the same as being supported.
That experience changed how I think about growth, opportunity, and whose rooms I actually want to be in. It strengthened my commitment to building my own spaces slowly, ethically, and with care rather than chasing validation that costs too much internally.
I am still proud of the award. And I am also allowed to say the experience was harmful.
Both can be true.
What This Year Actually Gave Me:
A deeper respect for my limits
Clearer ethics around money
Confidence in my professionalism
Evidence that my work creates safety
Rainbow Dandelion Crochet is still growing.
So am I.
And for the first time, that feels like something I’m allowed to say out loud