I returned to Takayama by myself in October 2025 for a photoshoot. After hosting the Sashiko Japan Retreat twice, I honestly believed I would be okay — that I would no longer react to the memories. I even told my mother, Keiko, that I could visit the Hida Sashiko Store again.
But… reality isn’t that simple. PTSD is real. I couldn’t stop shaking when the bus reached Nyukawa — about 20 minutes before arriving in Takayama, the last stop before the station.
This experience reminded me once again: without your support, the Sashiko we practice today might have disappeared completely — lost in the passing trend. By teaching the Core & Essence of our Sashiko — Unshin — we can preserve both the technique and the mindset behind it. I feel reassured knowing that more and more Sashiko stitchers are now using a round, palm-side thimble and holding the needle in a way that resembles the tradition we inherited.
Workshops are one important way to keep Sashiko alive… but through the Sashiko Japan Retreat, I hope to pass down something even deeper — time in Japan with Sashiko. Time with the people, time with the stories, and even time with someone like me — Atsushi Futatsuya — who still trembles when he returns to his own hometown.
What happens in the past is described here briefly.
I never want anyone else to feel the way I did
The reaction I had in Takayama makes it very clear: even after 12 years, I am still feeling everything. Sashiko is more than stitching. I understand that for many, Sashiko can simply be a form of needlework. But for someone like me, it holds a life’s worth of weight — it carries someone’s very existence.
I carry memories that have never been spoken aloud. Perhaps they were never meant to be shared… yet they are very real. The smiles of artisans who stitched with joy. The lively storefront during the days when Japan’s economy was still full of hope. The countless late-night conversations with my father about the future of Sashiko, even as the business began to decline. His emotionless face, his small back, and the October of 2013 when he ended his life. Then the days and months that followed — when I blamed myself for not being able to help him, either physically or emotionally.
Life is filled with happiness and sadness for everyone. For me, so much of both came through Sashiko.
Sometimes I wonder if there is anyone else in the world who has lived with Sashiko in the way I have. I don’t know anyone in Japan — or anywhere — who makes a living only through Sashiko… who supports a family… who continues employing others and protecting their ordinary life through this practice.
I lost everything once. I failed miserably.
The company I tried so hard to protect eliminated the very employment that defined it. The business still exists, but now it only sells the remnants of what once was. How can a company claim to preserve a tradition when it lets go of the artisans who are that tradition? “Hida Sashiko” does not belong on a financial statement — it belongs to the practice we shared, and to every artisan who shaped it with their hands.
So yes — no matter what I have built in these last 12 years — I once failed, very badly. I hurt people. I may have taken away someone’s ordinary life, even though I speak so strongly about protecting it.
It would be easier to stay silent and just stitch by myself. Everything I do — workshops, talks, the Sashiko Japan Retreat — happens because someone asked me. And while I am deeply honored each time, it also brings a strong sense of responsibility. It is not simply joy — it is a duty I choose to carry.
Because I never want anyone else to feel the way I did.
And the way I still do.
Without you, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.
So, when I go back to Japan, I become fragile.
Well… let me rephrase that. The “strong” Atsushi you may know on SNS and in media isn’t really me. It is a figure I somehow created — the figure that others may want me to be.
In reality, I am weak.
I do not want to stand on the stage.
I never wanted to share my stories in a place where I could be criticized. As one complete introvert, I would be perfectly happy just stitching. However, I also understand the importance of speaking up. Without someone doing it — and in this case, without me doing it — what I find as a “treasure” will be lost. It will be repainted into something completely different. And that new picture of Sashiko, repainted by someone instantly, may completely erase the stories I have kept inside myself.
So I needed to do this, regardless of my weakness.
Somehow, I stand here today — in front of more than 90K followers — and I am even publishing a book. It is all thanks to you who are reading this, and those who are coming to Japan with me. Without you, I would not be able to do any of this. I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.
In this last Sashiko Japan Retreat, I will share everything I can — in the most comfortable and enjoyable setting I can think of. It is just one small way I can return your continuous support, your encouragement, your understanding, and the fact that you “found me” and have chosen to stand by me.
Thank you.