Ever have one of those days when nothing seems — or seams — to be going right?

Let me tell you about one of those days.

It was supposed to be simple: piece a backing so that I could load a quilt on the longarm. Ten minutes for one seam, tops. Three hours later, I was still at it.

First, I sewed the wrong ends of a directional print together — getting a super long rather than wide backing. On the second attempt, I discovered the backing was five inches too short. For the third attempt, I added a little coordinating fabric to make up the length, but put the right side to the wrong side. Back to Jack — my seam ripper — for the third time.

I am a determined quilter, so I tried again. That’s when the bobbin ran out mid-seam.

After rethreading, my sewing machine decided it had had enough and gave me an error message: thread caught under the plate. Alrighty then. I took the machine apart and cleaned it out. Today was definitely not going as planned. I should have walked away when this first started, but I was determined to get this done.

After cleaning the machine, I said a little prayer and started stitching again. I set the fabric at a half inch and began the second seam — or so I thought. Turns out I was stitching the first seam again. I took a deep breath, finished the first seam properly, and then successfully finished the second seam as well. I pressed everything, checked the length — perfect. Three hours from the time I started, I had my backing loaded onto the longarm.

This series of mistakes could have resulted in a bit of cursing. It might have, actually. But I’ll tell you this — if it had been cutting rather than sewing, I would have stopped much earlier. Cutting mistakes cost fabric. Sewing mistakes just cost time and quality time with Jack.

The question I kept asking myself — and the one I want to talk about today — is this: at what point should I have just called it?

Why this is harder than it sounds

There’s a certain quilter stubbornness that kicks in when things go wrong. You’ve already invested the time. You’re this close. Stopping feels like giving up. So you push — and somehow make it worse.

But here’s what I’ve learned after decades at the machine: knowing when to stop is a skill. Not a failure. A skill.

And science actually backs this up.

Your brain works better when you stop

A few weeks ago, I came across an article with memorable acronym (apparently neuroscientist have as much fun with them as quilters do) REST, which is thankfully short for random episodic silent thinking. It is a fancy way of saying that the brain is often more active during rest than during focused tasks like trying to sew two pieces of fabric together late at night! That downtime allows your brain to connect thoughts and experiences in potentially novel ways. So apparently, when I can’t sleep because my brain is trying to figure out the best way to quilt my next project is perfectly normal. Who would have believed it! (inc)

So when you walk away from the machine and give your brain some breathing room, it doesn’t go idle. It goes to work on the problem you just left – like it or not. In fact, walking is just the ticket.  A study published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology found that creative output increases by as much as 60 percent when you’re actually walking. (Stanford)

That stubborn problem you’ve been staring at for an hour? Your subconscious may solve it in ten minutes of dishes. Ok – let’s be honest that dishes are the last thing on our mind… so maybe staring at our stash??

My four signals that it’s time to stop

Over the years I’ve developed a short checklist. Not formal — more like the things I’ve learned to notice before I make the third mistake in a row.

1. My brain feels fuzzy.
This one can happen sooner than you’d think, especially after a long day or if I’ve been doing detail work. Fuzzy brain and sharp scissors are not a good combination. When I notice I’m reading the same measurement twice or second-guessing a cut I’ve made a hundred times, that’s the signal.

2. I’m missing something I need.
No thread. Wrong interfacing. Forgot to cut the binding strips. If I don’t have what I need to finish this step cleanly, stopping isn’t a setback — it’s the sensible thing. Make the list, get the supplies, come back ready.

3. I’ve tried the same thing three times.
Three tries is my limit. If something isn’t working after three attempts — a block that is assembled upside down, a wrong measurement on strip cuts, a tension issue I can’t diagnose — I step away. Not forever. Just long enough for that REST to kick in. Nine times out of ten, the solution arrives while I’m doing something completely unrelated – like feeding the dogs or getting a bite to eat. I have found that low blood sugar and dehydration can lead to brain fog.

4. I ask myself: is this deadline real?
There’s a difference between a real deadline — a quilt show entry, a gift for a specific date, a workshop sample — and a fabricated one. (Pun intended.) If the deadline is real, I may push through or set my alarm for first light the next morning when I’m fresh. If I made it up to motivate myself, I give myself permission to delay for the sake of sanity — and the sake of the quilt.

And when to keep going

To be fair, sometimes the right answer is to finish the session. Specifically:

• You’re almost done a section and stopping mid-seam will cost you more time tomorrow re-orienting than just finishing now.
• It’s a simple mechanical fix — rethreading, cleaning the bobbin case, changing the needle — that takes two minutes.
• You’re in a genuine rhythm and the interruption will break something good.

The difference is awareness. If you’re stopping because you’re done, that’s wisdom. If you’re stopping because you’re frustrated, that’s also wisdom. If you’re stopping because you can’t figure out why the machine is making that noise and it’s now 10pm — that is very definitely wisdom.

Jack and I made it, eventually

That day with the longarm backing? I did finish it. Three hours after I started, the backing was loaded and everything was square. The mistakes just gave me some unplanned quality time with Jack.

But I’ll be honest with you: I should have walked away after the second seam. The extra hour I spent fighting it didn’t make the quilt better. It just made me tired.

So, here’s my question for you: when do you call it for today? What’s your signal — the one that tells you the studio is done with you for now? Hit reply and tell me. I’d genuinely love to know.

Happy Quilting!