my five fave C A L M recipes for a cozy mind

Some people collect recipes for cooking—I collect recipes for calm. Although as a foodie as a side note I do collect fave cooking recipes as well, but more of that some other time. Now I’d like to share my calm recipes with you.

Life can be loud, fast, and overwhelming, so I keep a little mental recipe book filled with go-to rituals that bring me back to a soft, calml state. Here are five of my absolute favorites. Maybe one of them will become yours too.

1. a fireplace + a favorite book = instant cozy

There’s something about the flickering glow of a fireplace that melts away stress. And not to forget the warmth. Especially as here in the North Winter gets so cold. I grab one of my treasured illustrated Harry Potter books, Little Women, or a Moomin story and let myself sink into another world. My next must-have? A collector’s edition of Anne of Green Gables—because what’s more calming than walking through Avonlea in your imagination? 

2. walking through a mossy forest

Not just any walk—my calm route. The one where I can hear the rustle of leaves, feel the soft moss on the boulders, and catch glimpses of the seaside in the distance. This particular stretch of woods is always peaceful, always welcoming, and always does the trick when my mind feels too full. Just me, the trees, and the quiet.

3. shower or sauna therapy

There’s a reason steam and warm water feel so healing. For me, it’s not just about the heat—it’s the scents. I’m obsessed with the smell of tar soap, which instantly takes me back to childhood Summer and tarring my grandpa’s boat. When I need a deep unwind, it’s eucalyptus and pine in the sauna. I could stay there for ages, letting the warmth and forestry scents wrap around me like a hug.

4. knitting my way to peace

Knitting is basically a form of meditation disguised as a craft. Right now, I’m working on an Icelandic sheep wool sweater—I made one for myself and my older son, and now I’m knitting a winter hiking sweater for hubby. The sleeves are ready to be attached to the body, and soon, it’ll be something warm and beautiful to wear on those chilly outdoor adventures. There’s something deeply satisfying about the slow, repetitive motion of knitting—stitch by stitch, calm settles in. And I love the feel of the wool, this specific one is perfect for the wet snow days as well as it keeps the moisture outside and us dry.

5. nature’s playlist + calming music

Sometimes calm comes in the form of sound. I love opening a window just to listen to the wind in the trees, the birds chirping in the morning, or even the soft hum of distant rain. And when I want to recreate that peace anytime, anywhere? I turn to soundscape apps. O Relax is my go-to for stormy night and camping sounds, and I recently discovered myNoise, expanding the sound repertoire even further.

Calm doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes, it’s as simple as curling up with a book, stepping into the woods, or knitting one more row. What are your favorite recipes for calm?

Love,

Pia

Moving from Fear Paralysis to Action

Have you ever wondered why fear freezes us? Fear has been my greatest kryptonite, and I’ve spent years pondering how to move through it instead of letting it paralyze me. Over time, I’ve tested small ways to shift from fear into action. Here’s what I’ve learned.

How to Take Micro-Steps Through Fear

The key for me has been taking the tiniest possible steps in the area of my fear. It sounds simple, but it’s powerful. When something feels overwhelming, I shrink the step down until it no longer triggers that frozen state.

My First Breakthrough with Fear

I've always been fascinated by other cultures and languages. Traveling abroad was a deep desire of mine, but fear made it feel impossible. My first breakthrough happened in high school when I heard about a summer volunteer camp in Russia, where we would teach children—including those from a local orphanage.

I was immediately intrigued. But then fear spoke up:

"I’m too shy. I lack talent. I can’t perform in front of people."

That inner dialogue almost stopped me in my tracks. But deep down, I knew this was something I wanted.

Lesson One: Recognize Your Desire—Because Fear Will Challenge It.

Fear often targets the very things that matter most to us. Realizing this helped me separate my fear from my desire instead of letting fear automatically win.

Then, something unexpected happened.

My best friend—someone bold, outspoken, and full of confidence—was forming a team to go to the camp. When she asked me to join, I hesitated, but then I saw an opening: I didn’t have to do this alone. With a team, I wouldn’t have to lead. I could just be there and contribute in my own way.

Lesson Two: Find Your "Who."

Fear is easier to face when you’re not alone. Whether it’s teaming up with someone, seeking advice, or leaning on a mentor, the right "who" makes the "how" much more doable.

Facing Fear and Finding More Than I Expected

That summer in Russia changed me. I still remember the faces of the children—the way one girl, from the orphanage, took me under her wing and taught me her language, quizzing me every time we met. She was a better teacher than I could have ever been to her.

I remember the warmth of the borscht soup, the little boys fascinated by bugs, always carrying toads in their pockets. The Siamese cats that belonged to the camp leader. The twin boys, older than the others, always so polite. And, of course, the infamous outdoor toilet—a hole in the ground that became my personal nightmare. I would pray not to slip inside when venturing there in the dark.

Most of all, I remember the realization that I could do hard things when I wasn’t doing them alone.

That summer was a turning point. After that trip, I went on four more. Eventually, I even led teams myself.

Lesson Three: Small Steps Lead to Big Momentum.

The first step is the hardest, but it unlocks doors you never expected. What once felt impossible becomes second nature.

Your Fear Isn’t a Stop Sign

If fear is holding you back, try this:

Identify the smallest step you can take—one so tiny that it doesn’t overwhelm you.

Find your who—someone who can support or guide you.

Remind yourself that fear isn’t a stop sign; it’s just a challenge to move through.

You don’t have to be fearless to take action. You just have to take one step.

What’s one small step you could take today toward something you’ve been afraid to do?

Love,

Pia

P.S. The photo was taken one night during my last trip to Russia, while I was texting with my boyfriend and future husband Henkka

Breaking out of the mold: How New York changed my self-image and my work

Fourteen years ago, I stood backstage at New York Fashion Week, surrounded by models, designers, and a world so far from my own that it felt unreal. It should have been exhilarating, but instead, I felt like a fraud. Like I had somehow stumbled into a world where I didn’t belong.

Because up until that moment, I had carried a deep, unshakable belief: I was not enough.

Growing up, poverty wasn’t just something my family experienced—it became part of my self-image. When you can’t even afford a thrift store T-shirt, when every choice in life is shaped by what you don’t have, it’s easy to start believing that the lack isn’t just around you—it is you. That somehow, not having enough meant I was not enough.

So when I stepped into that backstage world, surrounded by people wearing clothes I couldn’t have imagined affording, but had always dreamed of, I expected to feel small, unworthy, invisible, yet again.

But something shifted inside me.

For the first time, I saw clearly: poverty had been something outside of me, not something that defined me. It had shaped my experiences, but it had never been the measure of my worth. And just like that, in that surreal surrounding, the weight of it cracked.

I realized that I had been deeply loved and accepted all along—not because of what I had, not because of what I could prove, but simply because I existed. And that realization—that my worth had never been tied to my circumstances—set off a chain reaction in my life.

Because if that belief had been a lie, what else had I been carrying that wasn’t true?

🌊 How my past had held me captive

I believed work had to be draining to be worthwhile.

 Just like I had learned to see lack as part of me, I had believed that work had to be exhausting and self-sacrificing to be meaningful.

🪷 I mistook discomfort for growth.

 I forced myself into environments that overwhelmed me, believing that pushing through exhaustion was the only way to prove I was strong.

🪷 I assumed my deep sensitivity was a flaw.

 Growing up, I had learned to suppress my emotions. Sensitivity didn’t seem practical when survival was the focus. So in work, I ignored how much environments drained me, thinking the problem was me, not the setting.

🪷 I let other people’s work styles define what was 'normal.'

I shaped myself to fit the people around me, believing that if they could thrive in loud, fast-paced settings, then I should be able to as well.

🪷 I was stuck in a mold that wasn’t built for me.

Just like I had let poverty define my worth, I had let the world around me define what kind of work I was supposed to do. I had never considered that I could build a life that fit me.

🌊 How I Broke Out of That Mold

🪷 I stopped forcing myself into work that drained me.

Instead of shaping myself to fit environments that exhausted me, I started shaping my work around who I actually was.

🪷 I redefined success on my own terms.

Instead of chasing what looked good from the outside, I asked: Does this work bring me peace? That question changed everything.

🪷 I honored my sensitivity instead of fighting it.

I stopped seeing my deep awareness as a weakness and started using it as a guide. The more I leaned into work that felt right for me, the less exhausted I became.

🪷 I embraced my introversion as a gift, not a limitation.

I stopped forcing myself into high-energy group settings and started choosing work that allowed for quiet, deep thinking, and one-on-one connection.

🪷 I let go of the idea that I had to 'earn' my belonging.

That moment in New York showed me something I had never fully realized: my worth had never been tied to what I could achieve, what I had, or how well I fit in. I already belonged.

That realization didn’t just change the way I saw myself—it started a snowball effect. If I had been wrong about my worth, what else was possible? What else could I choose instead of just accepting?

Looking back, I can see how much that time in New York shifted something inside me. It wasn’t about stepping into the fashion world—it was about stepping into a new understanding of myself. It was the first time I saw that I could stop living in survival mode. That I could build a life, and work, that actually fit me.

And if you’ve ever felt like you don’t belong in the life you’re living, maybe it’s time to step into something new. Maybe it’s time to break the mold.

Love,

Pia 

the twilight of a good girl

The good girl knew too much about meeting others’ expectations and swallowing her own needs and feelings. If kindness had been a paid profession, she would have been a wealthy girl from an early age. She knew little else—only how to be good.

But growing into adulthood, she found the key to locked cupboards where forgotten feelings and unspoken needs had been stuffed away. They could have easily crushed her beneath their weight. Taking stock was necessary, and the inventory was revisited, piece by piece, over the years.

The woman who uncovered the shadows of her childhood had to navigate them carefully. She had believed that being good had protected her from her own darkness. But instead of the mature softness she sought, she met something else in the shadows—a rigid, unyielding force demanding justice. Cold indifference introduced itself as both rightful and necessary, a teacher in the art of self-defense.

It was all too easy to swing from one extreme to another. The boxing gloves fit her hands with unsettling ease, and she took up the fight—not just for herself, but for the little girl she had once been. Opponents were pulled into the ring—some even from among her own. But one day, she caught sight of her reflection, and the stare that met her was empty—hardness without beauty.

A woman was not meant to be hardened to the point of breaking, a ruthless enforcer, or a fierce and fragile fighter. She was created to be soft yet unbreakable, a keeper of tender love, resilient in spirit.

So, she stepped away from the mirror and sought the father. Her heart as hard and lifeless as stone, she placed in his hands. His breath wove unseen threads, awakening what had turned to stone.

She felt the restoring of her sensitivity, the beauty, the tenderness which was woven into her from the very beginning.

Not long after, she was seen tending spring plantings, a small girl by her side. Under the guidance of the gentle gardener, they weeded out both excessive kindness and icy hardness, pulling them from the soil one by one.

Their labor bore fruit. As summer neared, the seedlings of love stretched their soft stems toward the sun, opening their buds into a sea of radiant bloom.