Still Me... free heart block pattern

For the past few weeks, I’ve been still.

Not the kind of stillness that’s intentional or performative. Just the quiet kind... where you pause long enough to hear your own thoughts and notice what keeps rising to the surface. Dissecting current events. Turning over affirmations proclaimed on social media. Revisiting memories I didn’t invite but welcomed anyway.

Something kept tugging at my heart through all of it. An idea that felt partially true, but not whole. Like something meaningful had been wrapped in certainty, when really it was more complicated than that. Of course, this is personal opinion... everything usually is.

In that stillness, my thoughts drifted back to myself at a younger age... running my fingers across fat quarters, always searching for the brightest colors I could find.

Before I understood what quilting was. Before patterns and techniques and intentions. I just loved pretty fabric and the time spent with my mom and grandmother. There wasn’t a mission statement behind it, only curiosity. I liked collecting fat quarters. I liked the colors and designs. I liked listening to joy-filled conversations happening around me.

I remember a local quilt show, standing in front of a quilt made entirely of strips. I couldn’t wrap my head around how it was made. My grandmother tried to explain, and none of it stuck. What stayed with me was the wonder.

Then I noticed a group of older women gathered around a hooped quilt, hand quilting together. I was mesmerized by the patience, the time, the care poured into something meant to keep someone warm at night. That image settled somewhere deep, long before I knew why it mattered.

As those simpler moments echoed, my mind kept circling back to the messages I see so often now... the ones that ask our making to carry more meaning than it sometimes can, or to become something other than what first drew us in.

And then I thought about my niece.

She’s around the same age I was when I first started collecting fabric and learning to sew. Does she have a mission statement? Probably not. If she did, it might sound something like: I like it the way it is. Isn’t this pretty? I can’t wait to show my friends. I want to make something for someone I love.

Simple. Honest. Enough.

In my stillness, I realized something.

Through all the noise that comes with growing older... expectations, refinement, pressure to explain ourselves... I am still me.

At the end of the day, when I lay my head down to sleep, I know my heart. The layers it holds. I’m still the girl who loves collecting fat quarters. I’m still the daughter who enjoys listening to joy-filled conversations in quilt shops and show aisles. I’m still mesmerized by the time and care it takes to make a quilt.

This heart block, "Still Me",  is built using the traditional log cabin method, one strip added at a time. I made it using fabrics I collected years ago, before quilting was ever part of my plan. Chosen by instinct, not strategy.

It isn’t about going backward. It’s about continuity.

About honoring the parts of ourselves that don’t disappear just because we grow, learn, or change direction.

Here are a few of the things that are still me—layer by layer, much like this heart block itself:

• Loving a good stack of fat quarters, especially black and white with a bold pop of color
• Choosing fabric by instinct first, plans second
• Staying curious, even when I don’t fully understand yet
• Doodling on anything, sketching ideas just to get them out of my head
• Being drawn to strong contrast and graphic shapes
• Enjoying the puzzle of how pieces fit together, especially in block design
• Being a quiet observer first, taking things in before speaking
• Feeling most myself working quietly, behind the scenes
• Letting memories and family stories guide my designs, now with a hint of nostalgia
• Making room for detours and slower paths without apology
• Appreciating the time it takes to make something by hand
• Valuing gratitude and care over urgency

If you let yourself get quiet for a moment, what do you notice is still there? Maybe it’s a memory, a color you’ve always loved, or a piece of fabric you’ve been holding onto for years. Let yourself sit with it.

What did you love before you knew how to explain it? Before you felt pressure to refine it or make it make sense?

Maybe this heart is an invitation... not to become someone new, but to sew from the place that’s been with you all along.

Layer by layer—
still you.

Free Download!