FROM MOTHER TO DAUGHTER: KNITTING ACROSS GENERATIONS

There is an invisible thread that connects generations. It’s the one passed from hand to hand, from mother to daughter, while learning the art of knitting. And it has always been like this, within the home, during slow afternoons, in meaningful silences. Because passing down knitting through generations is not just about teaching a technique, but about transmitting affection, patience, and a piece of oneself.

Join us in discovering a story woven with warmth, memory, and little stitches filled with love.

Once upon a time, there was a ball of yarn

Once upon a time—and still today—there was a ball of yarn. It wasn’t just a thread to be worked: it was a thread that got generations closer. A thread that passed from a grandmother’s hands to a mother’s, and then to a curious little girl sitting beside them on a winter afternoon, on the couch. This is what knitting is: not just a creative gesture, but an emotional legacy, a wordless language that travels through time and tells stories.

The history of knitting is a story made of hands. Hands that teach and hands that learn. Hands that make mistakes, unravel, and start again. And for centuries, it has been intertwined with the figure of the mother: a guardian of ancient knowledge, passed down not through books, but with patience and love.

A tradition as old as time

Knitting, as we know it today, has ancient roots. Some of the earliest examples date back to late antiquity in Egypt, but it was in the Middle Ages that knitting began to spread across Europe. At that time, it was mostly men in artisan guilds who practiced knitting—but inside the home, it was women, mothers, and daughters who made knitting with needles a daily activity, essential for dressing the family and facing the cold.

Over the centuries, the art of knitting became part of the female heritage passed down in families: a skill learned early, often before reading or writing.

Even in the past, knitting was a social activity: women gathered in living rooms or courtyards to knit together. The act of knitting was accompanied by chatting, laughter, and the sharing of news, recipes, and local stories.

Today, those moments have returned in new forms: knit cafés, workshops, yarn circles. In these spaces, age and skill level don’t matter: what matters is the desire to share. A mother teaches her daughter, but a young woman might teach her grandmother a new pattern she found on Pinterest.

Learning becomes mutual. Generations don’t overlap; they complement each other.

When mom said: “Let me show you”

Many of us have a similar memory: mom sitting with a project in her hands, the rhythmic sound of the needles. And then that special moment when she said, “Come, let me show you.”

Sometimes it was almost casual—a way to keep us busy while she finished a sweater. Other times it was a real rite of passage. But in every case, it was more than just instruction: it was a quiet transfer of care, attention, and time.

Teaching a child to knit isn’t just about passing on a technical skill. It means teaching focus, patience, and how to handle mistakes. It means showing that the most beautiful things take time and care.

Today, many moms say they started teaching their children to knit to keep them away from screens, but they were surprised to discover how it became a daily ritual: a few rows after homework, or on Sunday mornings, on the couch, with coffee and milk.

“My son is eight. We started with small needles. He knits every stitch with such focus it moves me. And whenever he makes a mistake, he says: ‘It’s okay, mom, let’s do it again.’ I’m not that patient, even as an adult!”

Knitting teaches humility, too—the beauty of trying again.

Grandma’s hands, mom’s hands

In many families, the thread doesn’t stop at two generations. Grandma teaches mom, and mom teaches her daughter. It’s a chain of gestures that are refined, adapted, and reinvented. Each generation adds something of their own: a different stitch, a new color, a more modern use of materials.

There’s something magical about thinking that a scarf made today with grandma’s needles carries not just the yarn, but the memory of the hands that held them for decades.

Family stories

“My mother taught me to knit when I was six. I still have my first project: a terribly wonky rectangle made from leftover yarn. It’s worthless, but to me it’s my most treasured keepsake.” — Laura, Bettaknit customer

“Grandma left me a trunk full of yarn. There are no notes or patterns, but I know each skein: the red one was for Christmas, the blue one for grandpa’s scarf. It’s her way of still speaking to me.” — Elena, Bettaknit community

When the teacher isn’t mom

Not all stories begin with a mother handing down her needles. Sometimes the thread extends in other directions. It might pass through an aunt, a neighbor, a kind teacher, or a stranger met by chance in a yarn shop. Yet, even in these “detour” stories, the same warmth and sweetness are there.

“I was thirteen and going through a rough time. One day after school, I stopped by a little notions store. The woman running it saw me looking at the yarn and said: ‘Want to try? I’ll show you how.’ I never stopped.” — Silvia, Bettaknit community

“I never met my mother, and my grandma didn’t knit. But my neighbor, Maria, did. In the summer, she sat out on the balcony and I watched her, mesmerized. One day she said, ‘Come here, I’ll teach you something useful.’ She taught me much more than stitches—she taught me to trust my hands.” — Carla, Bettaknit customer

“My partner gave me my first skein of yarn. I had no idea where to start, so he signed me up for a class. That’s where I met Francesca, a retired woman who took me under her wing. Now, she’s like a second mom to me.” — Giulia, Bettaknit customer

It doesn’t matter where the thread begins: from a mom, a grandma, or a generous stranger. What matters is how it’s welcomed. Every new project becomes part of a collective story, made of affection and intertwined fibers.

Knitting as emotional education

There’s a special tenderness in how knitting is taught. It’s never just “technical.” It’s full of encouragement: “It’s okay if you mess up, we’ll unravel and do it again.” It’s a way to teach patience, persistence, and the value of things done slowly.

This approach aligns perfectly with the philosophy of Slow Knitting: mindful, sustainable creativity, where every gesture and stitch is part of a conscious, fulfilling process.

Learning to knit with your mother also means learning how to wait. And today, in a world that moves fast, this may be one of the most valuable lessons we can pass on.

From tradition to personal creativity

Once the basic stitches are learned, each daughter is free to create. This is where knitting stops being just “replication” and becomes “expression”: experimenting with new patterns, choosing colors, telling your own story.

But that first knit stitch, taught by mom, remains like a root. Even when you use recycled yarns, giant needles, or ultra-modern projects, there’s always a part of that motherly voice that says: “Well done, keep going.”

Beyond stereotypes: knitting as heritage and choice

For a long time, knitting was seen as something “for grandmas”—a label that, while affectionate, also risked confining the craft to a dusty corner of nostalgia. But those who truly know this art understand it’s always been anything but static. Knitting has been revolutionary, rebellious, creative. It has survived wars, economic crises, and changing styles. And most importantly, it has evolved, generation after generation.

In the 1940s, during World War II, thousands of women—and even children—learned to knit to support the war effort: making socks and hats for soldiers. At that time, knitting was a political act, a symbol of solidarity and resilience. But even after the war, the thread kept connecting people in unexpected ways.

With the post-war economic boom and the rise of industrial fashion, knitting shifted from necessity to choice. And often, that choice was a way to reclaim a familial, feminine, creative identity. Mothers kept teaching it to daughters, no longer out of need, but out of love. It was during this period that new ways of sharing knowledge emerged: group classes, magazines, neighborhood circles.

One of the most fascinating aspects of knitting is that, even as it changes form, it never stops being an emotional language. Even when learned from a 1970s magazine or a TikTok tutorial, it’s part of a centuries-old conversation. It’s not just a technical gesture: it’s a way to connect with those who came before us.

Today, we know knitting is everywhere: in the hands of grandmothers, but also in those of young people, men, and children. It knows no boundaries of gender, age, or origin. And if there’s something that keeps it alive, it’s this quiet but powerful way of passing from one generation to the next, constantly renewing itself.

Because knitting has never been “just a hobby for little old ladies,” as some still joke. It is culture, therapy, and connection. It’s that invisible thread that holds us together, warms us, and endures.

Your knitting story

At Bettaknit, we feel honored every time you share your stories with us. Because behind every skein we ship, we know there’s a mother teaching, a daughter learning, a grandmother smiling from afar.

In every hand-made stitch, there’s a bit of history. Every sweater passed from mother to daughter tells of a winter, a birth, a celebration, or a loss. It’s a memory you can wear, hug, and pass on. And maybe that’s the true magic of knitting: turning yarn into a bond, and quiet time into living memory.

So let’s keep passing that thread, from mother to daughter, from heart to heart.

If you also learned to knit from your mom—or from a special figure who guided your hands—share it with us. We’d love to tell your story!