I hated ripping out the bindings and sleeves of a quilt that I thought was done. I sliced into a quilt in progress not sure if I would ever be able to repair the damage. There was no satisfaction at the time, and lots of wounded pride. I have always thought my skills as a seamstress were pretty good, but after much thought and introspection I have found that I have lots to learn about craftsmanship.
I have been working like a fiend for the last two weeks on two pieces with a deadline, not sure if either piece will meet the requirements. I have fought with bindings, pressed a finished quilt within an inch of its life, stretched cotton until I thought it would tear, aligned and realigned. I have sliced through the back of a quilt like a surgeon, taking out excess batting- actually two layers of excess batting and restitched it as if I was sewing a suture. And through it all, I kept thinking if I had only taken more care when I squared this quilt the first time, if I had paid more attention to the bindings, if I had adjusted my pride to seek answers and had not be so stubborn and confident, I would not be in this pickle.
This experience has been humbling. And numbing. But as they say, "Pride goeth before the fall."