I BLINK a lot. Seriously, loiter downwind on a particularly fearful day and I’ll flutter your ship home in no time. No, I’m fairly sure I wasn’t Jessica Rabbit in a past life, but if that heel fits then I’m more than happy to wear it. But these lashes have known such hard labour over the years that the Working Time Regulations no longer apply.

It’s no secret that I’ve long battled with my mental health. Secrets don’t pay the bills folks – unless they’re someone else’s and your moral code is indecipherable. For many an awkward decade though, I tried hard to conceal my social anxiety and I would have gotten away with it too if it hadn’t been for those meddling tics.

Not content with ravaging how I felt about myself, my nervous system had designs on the opinions of others. An array of twitches charmed their way into my armoury, allowing me to delight my friends with the latest trends in involuntary contractions.

It’s funny how the things that cause you anguish, for which you’re torn apart and tortured, can some day bring you the greatest pride. Not hilarious, granted, but at least my bouche is amused. While I’ve outgrown most of the others, blinking is the twitch that stayed the course, graduated, and took up a permanent position in my repertoire.

Though being called “blinky” and assaulted for every ocular stirring during a painful school career has somewhat dampened the effect, my flickering lids have become a bit of a beacon for me, a reminder in my hours of deepest struggle of all the times my eyes were blackened and all the times they’ve healed. Rather than a petty irritation now, blinking is my war wound, it’s a conversation starter, and it’s my own quiet rebellion against the abuse that should have crushed me.

But what if there’s a better way than repetitive eye strain and unintentional flirting to protest peacefully? And what if that way involves embroidery? Well, hand me a loud hailer, ’cause this sounds like something to shout about.

Craftivism, for fans of a decent portmanteau, is a bringing together of the disparate disciplines of crafting and activism. If you prefer just regular luggage, there’s a good sale on at Debenhams. As hobbies go, these two aren’t natural bedfellows, you may think: one a hot-house of passion and political commentary, the other more cardigans and candle-wax. But while they might bicker over who gets the most duvet, craft and activism are a marriage that not only spawns some creative beauties, but passes down the willingness to use them – for better or for worse.

The concept of craftivism may seem fanciful but, when you consider the reasoning, it makes a lot more sense than most of the alternatives. Of course, anger at the world and its injustices will always spark the desire to campaign for change; that depth of hurt, disappointment, outrage, is what stirs emotion into action, but it’s how we eventually use that kinetic energy that defines the potential outcome. And surely even knife-wielders love a decent bowl of Ambrosia.

I’m being glib, I know, but the point pokes through my poor writing skills, getting the message across in a way that can bridge a divide of which traditional campaigning often falls foul.

Crafting has held the hand of activism, deliberately or otherwise, throughout history.

I’ll always remember my gran being very creative with language during the poll-tax days. But over the last decade or so, the grip has tightened, and at its forefront, handmade banner held aloft, is Sarah Corbett and the Craftivist Collective.

A seasoned activist whose little feet toddled their first march early in childhood, Sarah established the Craftivist Collective in 2009 as an individual response to her growing departure from conventional campaigning methods. Basically, fire was no longer her weapon of choice for which to fight the flames – not when they could be suffocated with personalised blankets instead. And so the Collective was born: an international movement, weaving together artistic talents for the greater good. It’s a big ol’ picket line – with bows on.

Before long, Sarah was lending her “gentle protest” methodology to charities and community campaigns; using the mindful experience of time spent crafting to consider the problems at large, while creating something that attracts both eye and thought towards the cause. Sarah’s Collective isn’t an exclusive party, the invitation to join extending as far as that proverbial piece of string. Just pick up your needle and thread your way through an issue that’s close to your heart. If you struggle, though, to find your fervour, the Craftivists have a whole raft of projects you can sail your skills on: stitch a “Don’t Blow It” hanky to encourage the recipient not to sneeze at potential for change or fashion a Heart for Your Sleeve in support of the Climate Coalition. For this oppressed pencil-pusher though, the craftivism adventure could only really begin with the unlikely combination of tackling bullying and stationery.

Now, I’d consider myself to be a crafter. Granted, I’m one of great intent but little note. Hand me a sheep and I’ll knit you a malcontent shepherd, but I doubt he’d be recognisable to his flock. My efforts are rushed and tinged with guilt, as those moments spent in creative pursuit feel often wasted in life’s ever-quickening race. But that’s the other thing I love about craftivism: only a monster would grudge themselves time to change the world – and I can’t even spell Frankenstein.

So I was light of conscience, if not of heart, when picking up my Craftivist Collective kit to add my very own stitches against this issue that, I think you’ll agree, should have been sewn up long ago. In collaboration with Bystander Revolution, the post-it project serves to remind those who make, receive and see the cute embroidered notes of the damage that bullying can do, and that we, through our attitudes and actions, can affect the fabric of others’ lives in whichever direction we choose. Now there’s a craft motivation that my thimble and I can get behind.

With a hand as steady as Bambi on a booze cruise, I pencilled my slogan on to the felt square, sat back smugly and realised I’d missed the S in disgrace.

Like stories though, there are two sides to every craft project and fortunately the reverse of this one inspired improved spelling. All that was left to do then was thread up and spin a pretty yarn. If you haven’t before known the meditative pleasure of stitching, imagine the calm of repetitive movement, the zen of unerring focus, and the hundred-year sleep of a well-pricked finger. Wait, that last one’s optional. Truly though, sewing is like a practical pilates, and when your labours are rewarded with not only artistic pride but righteous satisfaction to boot, no shoulder bridge can quite compare. My finished post-it now lives on a bookcase by my bedside, a quiet call informing each day’s deeds. Maybe I’ll never solve bullying with a fabric swatch and good intentions, but it’s a gorgeous place to start.

Craftivism brings beauty and truth together, gently nudging society along when it can’t be forced to move – and even these tired eyes can’t be blinkered to the sense in that.