Five years ago, in the middle of Melbourne’s endless lockdowns, I hit post on my first Instagram photo.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how far things have come since then.
I was a second-time mum in the thick of postnatal depression, navigating life with a newborn. My husband was working from home in what used to be my office. I had no space that felt like mine anymore.
Postpartum was never meant to be done in solitude. Yet here I was, trying to juggle everything alone.
I got mastitis. Couldn’t get seen by a doctor because the symptoms matched COVID, despite having a bright red breast. My son had a tongue tie that made feeding excruciating, but getting it looked at meant navigating social distancing rules and waiting lists that felt endless. As soon as it was finally released, the mastitis stopped. The pain stopped. But it shouldn’t have taken that long.
The sleep deprivation was relentless. The anxiety was constant. Not just about the virus, but about when we’d be allowed to participate in life again. Logically, I understood why the lockdowns were happening. I got it. Keep the community safe. Flatten the curve. But the mental cost felt so much bigger than what we were being locked up for.
Eventually, I was admitted to a mother-baby unit with thoughts of self-harm and struggling to cope. I spent three weeks there.
I’m still angry about those lockdowns. About what they did to people like me. Postpartum, undiagnosed autistic and ADHD, middle-aged women whose carefully built coping mechanisms disappeared overnight. I’m pretty sure I have clinical PTSD from it all, but I’m not ready to unpack that yet. Maybe one day.
What I could do was sew.
I’d sewn growing up. Mum had even paid for me to have lessons with a tailor to make two of my formal dresses, so I had a solid foundation. I didn’t sew much through my twenties. But when Jemma was about 12 months old, I picked it back up. I loved making bespoke outfits for her that didn’t cost the earth. People told me time and again I should sell my makes, but I knew there wasn’t much money in it. And honestly? I get bored making the same thing over and over. I liked the creativity of making different pieces.
When Ted was born in 2020, I kept going. I thought boys’ clothes would be boring to sew, but they were still pretty cute.
I started the account as “Jemted and Me” for Jemma, Teddy, and me. Just a way to share the clothes I was sewing for myself and the kids. A tiny creative outlet when everything else had been ripped away.
Around the same time, I started pattern testing for PDF pattern companies. It was unpaid (whole other story), but it gave me something that felt like work. A reason to show up. And it taught me how to fit my body, how to sew for myself in a way that actually worked.
Sewing gave me a sliver of control when everything else was chaos.
Was this just pocket money? Or was I actually building something?
But I never meant to build a business.
Jemted and Me was just supposed to be a space to share what I was making. Connect with people who got it. Feel a little less alone.
But 2021 became the year I couldn’t stop sewing.
I’d started using a projector to speed up pattern cutting, and suddenly I was making more than I ever had before. Clothes for me, clothes for the kids, experimenting with fit, trying new patterns, bags, clutches…everything. I shared it all on the account, and people were showing up.
I also did a pattern drafting and block making course. It was interrupted multiple times with continued snap lockdowns, but it taught me a lot about how patterns actually work.
Then a friend mentioned that Brindille and Twig were looking for people to film tutorials for their patterns. She thought I’d be good at it. Suggested I apply.
So in March 2022, I emailed them. It was a paid gig. I’ve never had a problem being on camera. And I got it.
Around the same time, I convinced my husband to let me set up a sewing space behind the couch in the lounge. It wasn’t much. But the moment I had it set up, something shifted. I felt like I belonged again. Like I had purpose. A place that was mine. And I could still watch the kids play while I sewed.
I started doing tutorials for Brindille and Twig. Taught myself how to edit videos. Upskilled. Started a Patreon to try and recoup some money for the pattern testing and content work I was doing for free. I also started writing blogs and filming videos for a local haberdashery, Ebony Craft (now defunct, but that’s another story).
I didn’t want to go back to traditional work while the kids were young. I needed flexibility. But I also realised I loved building a business. It lights me up in a way nothing else does.
People kept showing up. Asking questions. Where did you get that pattern? How did you fit it? Can you teach me how to do that?
I started offering workshops and sew-alongs. Teaching in-person classes. The account grew. The DMs grew. The asks grew.
And then I had to make a call.
Was this just a creative outlet that was bringing in a bit of pocket money? Or was I actually building something?
In December 2022, after I had been using the name for a while, I officially registered Sew and Tell Australia.
It felt terrifying and right at the same time.
I'd need over 33,000 members. It was a wake-up call.
Sew and Tell Australia worked… until it didn’t.
When I registered the business, adding “Australia” made sense. I was teaching in-person classes in Melbourne. My audience was mostly local. It felt right to anchor it to where I was.
But the business didn’t stay local.
In September 2022, my husband agreed that the kids could share a room so I could move into my son’s space. I’d outgrown behind the couch. I needed more room to create, to film, to build without being disturbed.
It was a signal that I was taking this seriously.
I’d had two businesses before. Never took them as far as I could because I self-sabotaged. If I was going to make this one work, I needed help.
So in November 2022, I started working with a business coach. My husband was helping me pay for her, but we both knew it couldn’t stay a hobby anymore. If we were going to invest in it, I had to prove it could make money, not drain the family finances.
That was a tough conversation. But he was right. He was looking out for us as a family.
The coach pointed out something I hadn’t seen: I was charging $3 a month for my base Patreon level. To reach my revenue goals, I’d need over 33,000 members.
It was a wake-up call.
The mindset work that followed was huge. I thought I just needed strategies and business advice. Turns out, it wasn’t just that. It was mindset. Learning to back myself and not repeat old patterns.
I realized people didn’t need me to be an expert. They needed someone who got it. Someone who’d show up in their stories wearing their grandpa’s dressing gown and just tell the truth about what was working and what wasn’t.
I started doing collaborations with companies like Schmetz and Baby Lock Australia. Suddenly I wasn’t just a local sewing teacher anymore. I was working with global brands.
Then came the expo.
I came up with the idea in October 2023 while celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary in Bali, kid-free. The concept landed. By March 2024, I pulled it together in a matter of weeks.
So I built it. Together We Stitch. A worldwide online sewing expo.
1,900 people registered.
It was live. It was chaos. It was everything.
The response was massive. People from the US, Canada, Europe, New Zealand… all showing up, learning, connecting. The business had outgrown its borders.
And it lit another fire in me.
I wanted more brand deals. I started approaching companies, big ones, international ones. But they kept getting stuck on the “Australia” part of my name. Yet my stats showed I had a 50–60% North American audience share on some platforms.
“Sew and Tell Australia” didn’t fit anymore.
I tried a bunch of names. They were all wrong.
Once I knew “Sew and Tell Australia” had to go, I started brainstorming what could replace it.
I wanted something that felt global. Something that captured what the business had become. Something that didn’t box me into one location when my audience was everywhere.
I played with everything. Sew and Tell Global. Sew Essential. Sew Together Now. Secret Life of Sewing. Some were already taken. Some felt too literal. Some just didn’t sit right.
I asked people. I workshopped it. I sat with it.
And nothing clicked.
The problem wasn’t just the name. It was that I didn’t fully know yet what I was trying to say. What was the thread that tied everything together? The courses, the expo, the co-sewing sessions, the community?
It wasn’t just education. It wasn’t just connection. It was something bigger.
Then it hit me.
Sew & Tell co.
Drop “Australia.” Keep what people already knew. Add “co.” – short, clean, and loaded with meaning.
Co.nnection.
Co.mmunity.
Co.llaboration.
Co.creation.
It fit.
But now I needed it to look right.
I worked with a designer to build the visual identity. We started with colours. I wanted something warm, approachable, not the usual sewing pastels. Something that felt modern but still inviting.
We landed on a natural palette inspired by eucalyptus and the colours used in natural dyeing. Onion skins. Avocado peels. Mustard. Earthy, rich, grounded.
Then came the logo concepts.
The first round? Completely missed the mark. Too cutesy. Too craft-fair. It didn’t reflect what I was building. This wasn’t a hobby brand anymore. It was a global business.
I pushed back. We reworked it. And when the final version landed… it felt right.
This is what we built.
The natural palette, eucalyptus, onion skin, avocado, mustard. Colours that feel grounded, warm, real.
The logo that finally reflects what this business has become. Not a hobby. Not just local. A global community built on connection, collaboration, and creating together.
After seeing concept after concept that didn’t fit, I realized no one else could design this. I took the elements I loved and created the logo myself. The designer cleaned it up and built out the brand guidelines, but the heart of it? That came from me.
When I saw the final version, it finally felt like me.
It’s been five years since that first post. Five years of growth, pivots, tough conversations, and figuring it out as I went.
And this is where it’s landed.
But the rebrand isn’t just about a name or a logo. It’s about what those four words stand for.
I'm here because of four words.
Co.nnection.
Co.mmunity.
Co.llaboration.
Co.creation.
Five years ago, I started Jemted and Me because I needed connection. I was isolated, struggling, desperate for something that felt like mine. Sewing gave me that. And sharing it gave me a thread to the outside world.
Connection is what I needed then. It’s what I still build every day.
As the account grew, so did the community. People started showing up, not just to watch, but to participate. To ask questions. To share their own wins and struggles. To feel less alone in their sewing journey.
Community became the foundation.
Then came collaboration. Working with indie pattern designers. Partnering with brands like Schmetz and Baby Lock. Building the expo. None of it happened alone. It was always about working alongside others who believed in what we were creating.
Collaboration is how it grew.
And now? Co-creation. The live sewing sessions. The courses. The community space where people show up in real time to sew together, solve problems together, grow together.
Co-creation is what happens when we all show up.
That’s what “co.” means. It’s not just branding. It’s the entire story.
From that first post in lockdown to where we are now, Sew & Tell co. has always been about doing it together.
Sew together. Grow together.
Here’s to the next chapter.
Megan
