Crochet, Caffeine, and Ceridwen’s Cauldron of Chaos

Ceridwen, Crochet, and the Curse of Too Much Yarn

Let’s start with the name — Crefftau Ceridwen. People often ask, “Who’s Ceridwen? Your nan?” Nope. She’s a witch. A proper mythical, cauldron-stirring, wisdom-brewing, Welsh powerhouse of transformation. The OG multitasker. And honestly? I feel her on a spiritual level.

Ceridwen was all about turning chaos into magic — and that’s basically what I do with yarn. Except instead of potions, I’m making granny squares at 2 a.m. and summoning chaos with my crochet hook (which, by the way, is technically classed as a dangerous weapon in the wrong workplace).

Crefftau Ceridwen was born out of that kinship — a blend of witchcraft, Welshness, and what I like to call “ADHD crafting tendencies.” You know, that innocent thought of “I’ll just make one.” Fast forward twelve hours and I’ve made it in every colour I own, plus three new shades I ordered online at midnight because they “might go nicely together.”

So now my old Welsh house — the one that already creaks like it’s haunted — is bursting at the seams with crochet. There’s yarn on the sofa, yarn in the bed, yarn in the bread bin (don’t ask). Honestly, if an archaeologist ever excavates my living room, they’ll think a very stylish sheep exploded.

It’s not that I mean to sell the things I make — I mean, I’d happily keep 99% of them. But when you hyperfocus like I do, you end up producing enough handmade goods to supply a small village. So Crefftau Ceridwen became my outlet — a place to share my makes, justify my yarn addiction, and maybe fund my next “accidental” order from Wool Warehouse.

People often ask if I’d like to quit my job and crochet full-time. And honestly? No. I love crochet — but I also love being able to afford electricity and snacks. Crochet is my sanctuary, not my stressor. It’s what I do to unravel my brain (pun absolutely intended).

If I ever tried to do it full-time, I’d probably ruin it by making productivity spreadsheets and KPIs for blanket output. Nobody wants that. I should, however, be allowed to crochet at work. The world would be a calmer place if we all had a hook and some chunky yarn at the next staff meeting. Though, to be fair, my colleagues might not agree that a sharpened 5mm aluminium hook is a “mindfulness aid.”

My friends call me The Machine because once I start, I don’t stop. Blink and I’ve finished a jumper, a blanket, and three emotional support octopuses. Crochet isn’t a hobby anymore — it’s a lifestyle. A slightly unhinged one, but a lifestyle nonetheless.

So here we are: me, my yarn, my witchy muse, and a house full of handmade chaos. Ceridwen had her cauldron — I’ve got my stash. And between the two of us, we’re still stirring up a bit of Welsh magic, one stitch (and one hyperfocus episode) at a time.