How sewing and a TV show saved my surgical career

Surgeons operate in one of the most high-pressure environments in the healthcare profession. The long, unpredictable hours, the expectation of personal sacrifice, the constant life-or-death decisions and the pressure to maintain a façade of control — all take a significant toll on our mental wellbeing.

A recent systematic review found that the median rate of anxiety among surgeons was 20% (with a range as high as 54.6%) and the rate of depression was 24% (up to 59%). High-risk factors identified for both included female gender, younger age and concurrent burnout.

A Canadian study revealed that the three most commonly used coping strategies among surgeons were: keeping stress to oneself, focusing on what to do next and carrying on as if nothing had happened. Unfortunately, these approaches were positively correlated with emotional exhaustion.

In contrast, there is growing evidence that engaging in creative ‘grandma hobbies’, such as sewing, knitting, gardening and baking, can improve mental health and overall wellbeing significantly. A study published in the British Journal of Occupational Therapy found that frequent knitters reported feeling calmer, less stressed and more uplifted. These focused creative tasks foster mindfulness, spark joy and encourage social connection.

I fought my own battle with burnout and anxiety three years ago and it was only through a long-forgotten childhood hobby — and an unexpected opportunity on a reality TV show — that I made it through, not unscathed but with scars to be proud of.

A childhood of war, uncertainty and new beginnings

I had a tumultuous childhood and it’s only now that I understand the lasting emotional and psychological impact it had. I was born in Iraq in the mid-1970s and, during the 10 years I spent there, I lived through eight years of war: first the Iran–Iraq War, then the First Gulf War in 1990. Each conflict brought fear, instability and trauma. I spent much of my time indoors. To keep me busy and distracted, my grandmother taught me to hand sew and my mother taught me to knit, crochet and embroider. These quiet, focused activities offered a sense of calm and control in an otherwise chaotic world.

In 1991, we emigrated to the UK — a new country, a new language and new challenges. But I’d already survived two wars, so what was a bit of bullying? I kept my head down, wiped away my tears, worked hard and got the grades for medical school. My goal was simple: to help people in need.

More than 20 years later, I was at the pinnacle of my career and exactly where I had always wanted to be. All the hard work and sacrifices that I made along the way were worth it, weren’t they? But something felt wrong, off, and not how it was supposed to be.

Breaking point

In May 2022, I applied to The Great British Sewing Bee. I often ask myself — why did I do it? Was it for fame? For attention? Validation?

The hard truth is that, for the first time in my life, I felt completely lost and broken. All the coping mechanisms I had leaned on were failing me. I had survived war, achieved my career goals and had a loving family — I was supposed to be strong. But the anxiety was crippling. I had become the surgeon who was silently struggling with burnout, who kept moving forward, pretending everything was fine. COVID had taken its toll and I couldn’t see a way out.

I remember once confiding in someone at work, only to be told: “Just put your big girl pants on.” To which I replied: “My big girl pants have massive holes in them.”

Eventually, I let go of the shame and admitted, for the first time in my life, that I had hit my limit. I couldn’t continue without help. Therapy helped, especially CBT, but the sense of joy and fulfilment in surgery was gone. I started sewing again, returning to that childhood hobby. I found comfort in it, often waking early just to spend 30 peaceful minutes at my sewing machine before heading into work.

So, why did I apply to The Sewing Bee?

Because, after more than two decades in the NHS, I was ready to walk away — and that show felt like my one-way ticket out. The Great British Sewing Bee is a BBC reality competition, in which 12 amateur sewers take on three sewing challenges per episode, under the scrutiny of expert judges. The challenges include following a set pattern, transforming existing garments and creating an original, made-to-measure outfit. One person is eliminated each week and one is crowned Britain’s best amateur sewer in the final.

On the first day of filming, I stood in front of the mirror thinking: “It’s not too late — I can still run away!” But I didn’t. I found that grit I thought I’d lost, picked up my sewing kit and walked through the door. The experience was nerve-racking — full of moments of doubt, panic and fear. But it reminded me of something important: I’m a surgeon. And I always will be. I realised I hadn’t lost my resilience or coping strategies, they’d just been buried under the weight of everything I’d been carrying.

There were some highs, a fair number of lows and times when I doubted my sewing skills. But the same focus, problem-solving and steady hands that I developed as a surgeon took me all the way to the final — and, incredibly, to being crowned the winner of The Great British Sewing Bee 2023.

Life after The Bee

Two years on, I’m still a breast surgeon — but a very different one. I’m no longer the woman who felt she had lost her way. I got my ‘one-way ticket’ — but instead of walking away, I found my way back to where I truly belong: the operating theatre.

At our core we, as humans, are wired to help others – an instinct that emerges in early childhood long before life plays its part in moulding us. Many argue that the urge to help is self-serving but research tells us otherwise. 

Equally innate is our creativity. The ability to imagine, to build, to express and to innovate is not limited to artists or inventors — it lives in all of us. Creativity may take many forms: stitching a garment, solving a problem in the operating theatre, planning a
meal, or finding a new way to connect with a patient. It’s not just a skill, but a fundamental part of human expression.

But when we suppress these natural instincts to help and to create, we pay a price. Denying ourselves the opportunity to be fully human can lead to emotional fatigue, burnout, anxiety and a sense of emptiness. 

Conclusions

As humans, we’re wired to help others. It’s what draws many of us to medicine and surgery. But to sustain that, we need help and support. 

The Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh has an opportunity to lead on surgeon wellbeing by creating dedicated creative hubs — spaces where surgeons can step away from clinical pressures, explore hobbies and reconnect with themselves. These hubs could offer vital support for those facing burnout and emotional fatigue, providing time, permission and encouragement to prioritise mental health. In a profession that often hides vulnerability, such spaces could help normalise self-care and remind us that looking after ourselves is key to sustaining the care we give to others. 

Creativity, mindfulness, community — these are not luxuries. They’re lifelines. And, sometimes, healing comes not through big acts or significant events — but through a quiet morning, a needle, some thread and a stitch at a time.