There are, at the time of writing, five projects on my needles. Five. That number felt quite reasonable until I said it out loud just now.

Technically six, if you count the abandoned sock that I’m definitely going to finish eventually and have absolutely not emotionally surrendered on. But I’m not counting that one because the denial is load-bearing.

Ok, fine. Way more, because for the sake of this article I am choosing not to count all the cross-stitch WIPs that I have neatly waiting for me. We are not looking at those today. They are in a different room and living a different life.

(The real number? We don’t say the real number.)

The Cast-On High

You gotta play ball with me here: the high of starting a fresh new project is unbeatable. Finding a pattern that just speaks to you, selecting the yarn, preparing your needles, and inhaling all that beauty that has yet to go wrong, casting on is an experience of its own, and a very intense one at that. Nobody really abandons a beginning. You can’t. Beginnings are perfect by definition: the stitches are even, the motivation is intact, and the problems haven’t arrived yet.

Now, that middle part, though.

Startitis: A Loving Diagnosis

I am generally against people self-diagnosing mental health conditions. And yet, here I am, hand on my heart, admitting to you: I’ve been living with startitis. Yeah, it’s an epidemic, I think a lot of us have it, but there’s not enough honest dialogue about it online.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think it’s pathological. I stop myself from casting on a new project on a whim at least three times a day. But it’s definitely something with enough pull that it shapes the decisions I make about my projects. A new pattern drops and suddenly the sweater body I’ve been working on for six weeks feels unreasonably boring and why am I even knitting it, actually?

Here’s the thing, though: startitis is a symptom, not a disorder. Whether it signals boredom, genuine excitement, or quiet avoidance, what matters is being able to recognise which of those three things is actually driving it. The treatment is different for each.

The Slog, Documented

Just as powerful as the cast-on high is the finish-line rush: seeing that bind-off approaching and actually crossing it. The problem isn’t with the ends. It’s with that middle section, somewhere between 40% and 70% done, that’s neither exciting enough to be fun nor close enough to the end to feel urgent.

Think second-sock slog. Think endless stockinette on a sweater knit in the round. Think whatever turns your project from a genuine pleasure into a moral obligation you’re dragging behind you like a very soft, very expensive ball and chain. That’s the slog. It’s the part where you check how many rows you’ve done, feel briefly optimistic, check how many rows are left, and reach for a snack instead.

It’s also where the startitis hits hardest, because the new project can’t be in its slog yet. It’s still pure potential.

An Honest Case for Abandonment

There are a lot of valid reasons for abandoning a project. Actually, scratch that: abandoning a project is valid, period.

There are projects that should be frogged not because we failed them, but because we’re making a deliberate decision to never finish them: yarn bought for a different life, patterns chosen during a phase that has passed, gift knits (cursed, as an institution) for people who’ve drifted. You can sure finish them, if you want to. But it’s also fine to decide that finishing them means honouring a version of yourself that no longer needs honouring.

Frogging a project that doesn’t serve you isn’t failure. It’s editing. The yarn goes back to the stash. You go back to the pile. Everyone gets a second chance.

Two Strategies, Reluctantly Admitted

There are a lot of ways to keep startitis in check. I’ve tried them all, with varying degrees of commitment and follow-through.

The one that’s stuck for me, inconsistently but genuinely: the one-cast-on-per-finish treaty. It creates a rhythm instead of a backlog. I also accept that I’ll skew from this agreement, because I’m only human and the indie dyer just dropped a new colourway that I simply cannot be expected to ignore.

So when the pile gets unwieldy, I push myself through a WIP audit, with a clear head, which means while on a temporary ban from perusing Pinterest and Instagram, where all the beautiful project photos live and all the worst decisions are made. I look at each thing and actually decide: do I still want to finish this, or am I keeping it around because abandoning it feels like admitting something about myself? There’s no shame in the audit. Especially when the audit is confrontational, which it usually is.

So Is It Actually Fine?

So why do we start more than we finish? Well, does it matter?

I don’t think it does. Not really. My tally of started vs. finished doesn’t tell me anything meaningful about who I am as a maker, and it definitely doesn’t determine whether I’m enjoying myself. The pile is fine as long as it’s still pleasurable. As long as looking at it produces anticipation rather than dread. As long as the WIPs in the basket are things I’m genuinely looking forward to returning to.

What I don’t have space for, in my craft corner or anywhere else, is obligation. The moment the pile becomes a to-do list, something has gone wrong, and the fix isn’t finishing faster. It’s deciding which parts of the list you actually want.

Now: Tell Me Your Number

‘Sup? Looking good over there.

So: what’s your number? Of WIPs, don’t give me that look. You don’t even need to tell me the real one, just the one you’re comfortable saying out loud without bracing first. And with that number in mind: what are you letting go of, and what are you starting next?