Ribbit

Start Again

Recently, I unraveled something I had already spent hours making. It may not look like much, but it was going to be a triangle-shaped neck wrap, bandana style made with double yarn. A black cashmere and a veriegated sock-weight yarn.

©2026 Suzanne Gibbs

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In knitting, the sound of pulling stitches out is often called “ribbit.” Like a frog. The yarn releases itself, loop by loop, undoing what was once carefully constructed.

It is not a quiet process. Nor is it easy when unraveling two colors. The yarns tangle, easily. I used a yarn arm (what are these things called?) and a dining room chair.

©2026 Suzanne Gibbs

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The fabric resists, then gives way. The structure collapses back into string.

Ribbit.
Ribbit.
Ribbit.

Tangle.
Tangle.
Tangle.

©2026 Suzanne Gibbs

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Untangle.

Before I ripped it out, I sat with it longer than expected. I knitted a few more rows, even when it wasn’t working. My stitches were way too tight—likely due to wrong sized needles, I know now. I had no pattern and no way of knowing if it was possible to finish it… but already hours were spent, making.

There is always a moment when I wonder if I should keep going, adjust, tolerate the mistake, or begin again. Starting over is not efficient. It does not reward the time already spent.

But the work knows.

The yarn knows when something is not quite right.

So I pulled.

What had been rows of knots became lines of yarn.
What had been form would become possibility again.

There is something honest about this kind of undoing.

No hiding.
No patching over.

A willingness to return to the beginning, not as failure, but as part of the process.

I think about how rarely we allow this in other parts of life.

We continue.
We tolerate.
We adjust around what is not working.

We do not always give ourselves permission to unravel.

Yet here, in my hands, it is expected.

Ribbit.

I start again.

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