scar

The scar tissue of my soul lingers in the background of everything I do.

But what if I decide not to be ashamed of it?

Not ashamed of the fact that I am, in some ways, incomplete.

That I have broken and been pieced back together again.

That I have wounds which have, in time, healed — but left their marks.

What if I choose to see them as part of me?

What if I treasure everything I’ve been through as my greatest teacher?

Because of all that, I am exactly who I am.

Uniquely me.

I carry tools in my basket that others cannot even imagine.

Tools I gathered through the hardships I have walked through.

They are like badges of honor on my chest — marks of battles survived.

Because I am a victor, simply because I made it through the war alive.

Sometimes the scar tissue aches more.

Sometimes, I almost forget it’s there.

But it would be a lie to say the scars don’t exist.

And pretending would only make it sadder.

It would help no one.

I would only be polishing a mask to look like someone else — denying parts of the road I have walked.

And in doing so, I would be throwing away the treasures I have gathered along the way:

The understanding of human fragility and the ache of living.

The hidden grace and beauty tucked inside every shard of pain.

The healing that springs from the eternal embrace of love.

A beautiful mosaic, pieced together from broken fragments, might just be the best vessel to scatter glimmers of hope into the cracks of a shattered, despairing soul.

Wounds leave their marks — but as long as there is life, even ashes can hold the seeds of new hope.

When the fire that devoured everything is finally out,

the ashes can become fertile ground for something unimaginably beautiful to grow.

And so, with a soft smile on my lips,

I gently run my hand over the aching scar and whisper:

"You are beautiful.”

Love

Pia

The freedom of letting it be good enough

I remember when I was doing my thesis—it was one of the scariest things in my academic life. We were living in Sweden at the time, and I kept playing in my mind stories of people who had never finished theirs. One woman told me she had started her master’s degree over a decade ago and still hadn’t completed the thesis. That stuck with me.

When I finally sat down to write mine, I had all these thoughts playing in my mind—that this was bigger than life, that I wasn’t capable, that I would fail. There were days I was completely overwhelmed with emotion, stuck in a loop of negative thoughts. And to top it off, it was the middle of the pandemic.

If I go even further back in time, I realized the feeling reminded me of two major fears I had in high school: passing my driver’s license test and passing the matriculation exam. Both felt impossible. I genuinely thought I might die trying. And when I passed both, I was stunned—I had made it through. I told myself: “Now my life can finally begin.”

So when I sat down to write my thesis, that same old fear returned. I felt like I was about to be exposed. That people would finally see that I wasn’t good enough. Even though I was sitting alone, writing, it felt like the whole world would judge what I created. And what I feared most was being labeled: not smart enough, not capable, not worthy.

But then, I had a kind and wise professor. He reminded me to take the pressure off. He pointed out that one of the chapters I thought was too easy, too boring, too “nothing”—was actually PhD-level work. That woke me up.

That reminded me: this was a master’s thesis. Not a PhD. And yet, I had unconsciously internalized PhD-level standards because of the sources I was reading. That insight alone helped me release so much pressure.

By the time I finished my thesis, we had moved across continents. I was in Uruguay, ready to start working in a new role. But I found myself in another loop—supervisors giving me suggestions, telling me how I could improve my work. And suddenly I saw it: I could keep tweaking and perfecting this paper forever. But… for what?

I realized that the job I wanted, the work I felt called to do—it wasn’t dependent on the quality of this one paper. I already had the skills, the gifting, the passion. I didn’t need my thesis to be perfect. I needed it to be done.

So I drew the line. I said, “This is good enough.”

Even if my professors had more to say—even if I didn’t get the highest grade—it didn’t define me. That decision was one of the most freeing moments of my life.

I let go of the pressure. I let go of the story that this thesis would reveal my worth. I let go of the lie that this work would be the finished product of who I am.

Because you and I know, we are never a finished product. And it's supposed to be that way.

That season taught me how to love the imperfect. It showed me that freedom lives in releasing our work—as it is—not as we wish it could be.

We are not robots. We are human. And our humanness, our messiness, our “good enough”... it’s part of what makes our work meaningful.

So if you’re struggling with perfectionism, with high expectations, with never feeling like your work is enough—I want to encourage you:

Start small. Pick a tiny action. Give it a time limit. Do your best. Then release it.

And remember: Your worth has never been up for debate. You are already held. Already loved. Already enough.

Your imperfect work doesn’t define you. But letting it go might just set you free.

Love,

Pia

what if your breakthrough doesn’t begin with confidence… but with honesty?

 

I want to share a moment with you—one that unraveled something deep in me.

A quiet, gentle unraveling.

One I didn’t expect… but one I needed.

>> when i finally said it out loud <<

We were on a call with friends.

The kind of friends who’ve walked beside you through real life.

Not just the highlight reel.

We met over a decade ago on the Big Island of Hawai’i.

No kids, just scooters, sunsets, and laughter over coffee.

We trained together as missionaries, served different communities,

and reunited again to debrief, pray, and bless one another’s next chapters.

They prayed for us as we returned to our home country—

and ever since, our friendship has stretched across time zones, kids, moves, and seasons.

Barcelona. Hawai’i again. Holiday trip to Spain together.

And these sacred check-in calls in between.

This was one of those calls.

We were simply catching up, sharing about life.

And I almost didn’t say it.

But I’d been sitting with this stuckness for months.

No—years.

I had started a business.

I had poured my heart into it.

But when it came to selling… I was chronically stuck.

I kept ending up back at zero.

And this wasn’t a “strategy” issue.

This was deeper.

So I said it.

Out loud.

Voice shaking.

Heart pounding.

>> “I’ve realized… I have past trauma that’s affecting the way I experience selling.”

“And I think I’ve been carrying this belief that I’m just not made for it.<<

It was a short moment.

They listened with compassion.

And we moved on to chatting about other things.

But for me… that moment meant everything.

>> why honesty was the turning point <<

Saying it out loud helped me name something that had been hiding under the surface.

It was like one of those glaciers in the Arctic—

where only the tip is visible, but the mass underneath could sink a ship.

My fear around selling wasn’t just resistance.

It was something frozen, hidden, heavy.

It kept pulling me backward—making me doubt myself every time I tried to step forward.

But when I spoke it aloud, I began to thaw.

I remembered that I’ve done hard things before.

And this was just another hard thing—one that would take emotional energy, yes,

but one that could change everything once I walked through it.

That moment of honesty gently started separating me from the belief.

What if I wasn’t broken?

What if my identity wasn’t the issue?

What if there was just a deeper layer to be seen and healed?

And that’s when something shifted.

I began creating space inside me to ask new questions—

What if selling didn’t mean I was unsafe?

What if I could redefine what it means to invite others in?

What if…

my fear wasn’t a flaw—

but a doorway?

Now it’s your turn.

>> what’s the thing you’ve been afraid to name? <<

Could saying it out loud—first to yourself, then maybe to someone safe—be the beginning of your shift?

You don’t have to rush.

But you also don’t have to carry it alone.

I’ll be here, cheering you on as you name the thing,

face the thing,

and step gently toward the dream that’s still waiting for you.

This is that safe space for you with zero shame.

You're not broken.

You are a force, facing something impactful with grace.

And you sitting with this pain and fear that's trying to overshadow you,

it's a doorway of healing for you,

and for so many 

your life will touch ✨

Love,

Pia

what if you’re not stuck — you’re just not celebrating the right things?

let me ask you something — does this sound familiar?

you’re sitting there, feeling stuck in a swirl of self-doubt. telling yourself you haven’t accomplished enough. maybe you’ve had real breakthroughs, but they didn’t feel like wins. you expected to feel different — successful, maybe. accomplished. but instead? it was just... normal. and you moved right past it, onto the next thing.

i get it. i’ve done that too.

but what if — stay with me — the real shift happens when we start noticing and celebrating the smallest things?

what would change if you started writing down your tiniest wins every single day? and i mean tiny. like remembering to drink water. like pausing before snapping back. like doing that one task you always avoid. or sitting with a hard feeling instead of pushing it away.

these aren’t nothing. these are everything.

this simple habit of tracking my micro-wins has quietly changed the way i see myself. i’ve started realizing — oh, wow — i am showing up. i am building new habits. i am winning, just not in the loud, flashy ways i used to think were required.

it’s sneaky how much confidence that builds.

and it’s not just about personal growth either — it’s shaped my relationships too.

the other day, hubby and i hopped in the car for a little drive. just to escape the renovation noise and the everyday swirl of responsibility. and instead of falling into one of those stress-fueled arguments (you know the kind), we talked. calmly. about what we each needed. no drama, no defensiveness. just honesty. and you know what? it brought us closer. the very next day, we found ourselves naturally supporting each other in small, practical ways that actually made a difference.

that conversation? that was a win. maybe even a big one.

so here’s my gentle nudge for you: if you’re tired of feeling like you’re getting nowhere, start celebrating the small. the tiny. the often-overlooked.

what’s one small win you’ve had today?

write it down. count it. let it matter.

you’re not stuck.

you’re unfolding.

Love,

Pia

How I almost missed my dream man - and what it taught me about big decisions

Let me tell you a story—one that changed my life forever.

I was in the middle of my studies and waiting for the right guy to come along. We had a season where our schedules were light, and I often hung out with my friends at the local gas station. Now, I know what you’re thinking—a gas station? But in our city, which was medium-sized by Finnish standards yet small enough to lack good late-night hangout spots, the gas station had become a popular meeting place for young people.

As I spent time there, I met all kinds of interesting guys, and conversations naturally flowed. But as I spoke with them, I started asking myself: Who am I really looking for? With each new person I met, my list of "ideal qualities" kept growing longer. I was getting lost in my own expectations.

Around that time, I was serving as a singer in a local church. One evening, a guest speaker shared something that shook me to my core. He talked about how so many people struggle to find their spouse, feeling frustrated and desperate, and he gave one simple piece of advice: Narrow your list down to just three things that truly matter.

I listened intently as he shared stories of people who had followed this advice and quite soon after found their spouses. His words stuck with me, and over the following days and weeks, I reflected deeply. Eventually, I distilled my list to three essential qualities:

1. A golden heart. I wanted someone with a kind and servant-hearted nature—someone who genuinely cared about others.

2. Shared core passions. My love for God had always been central to my life, and I wanted a partner who shared that. I was also passionate about different cultures, and I hoped my future husband would be, too.

3. The ability to build. This one was unexpected. One day, I visited a friend’s house, and her father—who was a carpenter—had built their home from beautiful, raw logs. The scent of wood, the feeling of warmth—it felt like home. I realized I wanted to be with someone who could create something with his hands, whether it was a home, furniture, or anything tangible and meaningful.

Armed with this clarity, I approached dating differently. Whenever I met someone new, I evaluated whether he aligned with these three qualities. And if he didn’t, I let it go. This meant saying several no’s in that season of my life.

Then, one day, at a church event for kids, a guy approached me and asked if I wanted to help film some fun video clips they were making. They needed an actress to bring a woman’s perspective, he said. His enthusiasm was infectious, and he seemed like a fun guy, so I agreed.

We spent the day laughing, filming the kids plays, and just enjoying the moment. And then, a few days later, I received an email—from him. He had realized we attended the same university and used our school email system to ask if I wanted to hang out.

I felt a mix of excitement and nerves, but I said yes. Our first real conversation took place during a long walk, where we talked about our shared love for traveling and different cultures. We swapped stories about family members who had lived abroad and places we dreamed of visiting. The more we spoke, the more I saw that he truly shared my passion for adventure and connection.

Yet, I hesitated. Past experiences had made me cautious, and I wasn’t sure if I could fully trust this new connection. When I confided in a friend about my fears, she said something that struck me: What if this is your future spouse, and you let him go because you’re too guarded? Would you regret not giving him a real chance?

Her words stayed with me, and I realized I had been letting fear hold me back. I decided to trust him and allow myself to be known. And from that moment, everything moved forward quickly. We connected on a deep level, and it became clear that our relationship was something serious and worth pursuing.

Looking back, I see how two simple pieces of advice changed my life. First, defining three essential qualities helped me cut through confusion and focus on what truly mattered. Second, asking myself if I would regret not pursuing something helped me step past fear and embrace love.

Now, years later, I’m still happily married to the man of my dreams—the very man who checked all three boxes on my list.

Now, what about you?

If you’re searching for something—or someone—maybe the answer isn’t adding more to your list. Maybe it’s about simplifying. What are the three things that truly matter to you? When you get clear on that, it becomes easier to see who aligns and who doesn’t. And when you meet someone who does or something you’ve been looking for? Don’t let fear hold you back.

You’re the one in control of your story. You get to decide what you want and what you’re willing to wait for. And maybe—just maybe—your person or your answer is closer than you think.

So tell me—

what are your three things?

Love,

Pia