etched into your palm

How should I say it? What I see when I look at your face. Maybe like this: I'm crazy about you.

You came to me again when nothing moved in my heart. When I was overthinking, trying too hard to understand. You released the anchors of my heart. How you did it, I don’t know. But something stirred within me, fiercely, and began to pulse through my veins.

The starry sky shone above us that night, when you took me along that narrow path lined with grass. The early morning dew clung to my hem. The soft cooing of doves filled the night around us. You opened the old forged gate, and before us unfolded a misty garden. You led me gently, dancing through rose-covered walkways. All my senses told me this must be a beautiful dream. Could reality ever be this sweet?

Then you pulled me close with your strong arm, and your gaze met mine. In your eyes, I saw eternity and faithfulness. Your truth nailed my heart to yours. I could only breathe deeply the air around us, as if intoxicated. I laid my head against your chest, and time stopped between us. Somewhere, a dove cooed again.

You wanted to show me something. You bent down the rose vines growing beside us so I could see under their shelter. Among the green stems, two white doves slept, curled into each other for warmth. A quiet coo echoed in the air once more.

When the morning sun brushed its first tones onto the brightening sky, you traced the shape of my body onto your palm. As you drew, I looked again into your eyes. How could I describe the burning fire glowing from them? That wildly strong love made my chest ache. It scorched my core like flames licking from the inside. Everything I had once treasured was now ash beside you.

I had never deserved anything like this. Eternal faithfulness and a wildly blazing love that broke down every barrier between us. A deep sacrifice, a confession of love so raw it wounded even you. Speechless, I danced the first dance of morning for you, on a dew-covered field. From your touch, my filthy dust had turned to golden shimmer in your palm.

Look, how beautiful you are, my beloved; look, how beautiful you are—your eyes are like doves.

—Song of Songs 1:15

Love,

Pia

P.S. this poem like memoir I wrote years back and shared in my other blog in my native language, Finnish. Bringing it into life in English now is such a sweet moment, I wanted to share with you.

why a moment of you and a cup of warm tea can feel healing?

What I’ve been searching lately, has been the simple elements of everyday life that can feel healing. I changed several cups of coffee for cups of tea some time ago. I start my day with a cup of coffee, yes, but after that on a regular weekday I drink different kinds of flavours of tea. At home it's mostly green tea with mint and milk. In the office it's rooibos. Sometimes when Henkka brings souvenirs, it's açai cinnamon tea with or without milk. After drinking all those cups of tea I started wondering why a moment of you and a cup of warm tea can feel so healing? Here's what I learned as someone building safety after trauma.

1. A rhythm of daily tea ritual: how predictability signals safety

I’ve experienced myself how trauma disrupts a person’s sense of safety and control. A tea ritual — warm mug, a vibrant shade of black, red or pearly white and green whirling in the hot water, familiar scent — gives the brain something predictable. That tells the amygdala a.ka your threat detector:

this is familiar. we are safe.

2. Warm tea mug in your hands: warmth soothes the vagus nerve.

I never knew that holding a warm cup physically stimulates the vagus nerve. This nerve which I got familiar with just recently, is the nerve, which plays a vital role in calming your nervous system. And when I heard that it can help to move you from fight-or-flight into inner rest, I started making even more tea, haha. Cause I know rest is where healing happens.

3. A tiny moment of calm: small actions rebuild agency.

I’ve found myself often pondering how trauma so easily creates a feeling of helplessness or the sense of being out of control. It's been really life giving to notice how one simple, mundane act of choosing a tea, boiling water, pouring mindfully — it reminds you:

I can make a gentle choice. I’m not stuck.

4. Feeling the now of tea moment: sensation brings you back to the body.

I’ve come to understand how many of us who have experienced trauma live in their heads — stuck in loops of anxiety, shame, or overwhelm. And this is how tea engages the senses:

the warmth

the aroma

the flavor

the sound of the pour

This brings you back into your body, back into the moment — gently and safely.

5. A moment of peace with a cup of tea: slowness counters urgency.

When I learned about how trauma can cause both an active or frozen response as a default pattern, it gave me so much clarity of certain moments in my everyday life. When the trigger of hustle or freeze arises — we go fast, or stay tense, and we don't feel. Yet I was amazed at how easily a simple tea ritual invites you into slowness. And slowness says:

there’s no emergency. we’re safe now.

So yes — a tea ritual may look tiny on the outside. But for a woman post-trauma, it’s often a sacred doorway:

from fear into presence.

from chaos into calm.

from survival into trust.

Now, if you’d like, go make a steaming warm cup of tea, dear.

Love,

Pia

pearl diver

someone says

it can’t be worth much

so small and round like that

hardly any size at all

barely visible to the eye

another holds it in their palm

examines

and estimates its value

feels its surface and weight

drops their monocle

a couple thousand

but there is one

whose shadow lingers in the room

where it rests in its box

even after the sun

has sunk into the sea

he is the only one

who understands its true worth

to him

it is the only one in the world

because

he is the only one

who remembers its journey

through murky waters

and pitch-black darkness

the journey

to that place

that has been forgotten

that painful

dangerous path

lonely

and persistent

through dead waters

he is

the pearl diver

what if your fear wasn’t the enemy?

There’s a strange moment that happens when fear walks into the room.

You feel it, don’t you?

That deep discomfort.

That sudden smallness.

Like your body wants to run — fast.

Like your heart says, “Let’s get out of here.”

But what if… you didn’t run?

What if instead of rushing out,

you stayed?

Even when it’s uncomfortable.

Even when it feels like too much.

Even when everything in you says, “Please, just fix this or make it go away.”

This is the secret:

If you want to name your fear clearly,

you have to sit with it.

Yes, really.

You have to stay in the same room as your fear — and not leave right away.

Because this is the place where something beautiful starts.

Here’s the truth:

Fear is not here to hurt you.

Fear is trying to protect you.

It’s showing up because something feels unsafe — or unfamiliar — or too big.

But that fear?

It comes from a story.

Your story.

And when you stay — when you choose to breathe and stay —

you give yourself a chance to see what’s really going on.

So what can you do in that scary, messy, “I-want-to-run” moment?

Try this:

Set a small timer. Stay for just a few minutes.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Hold something warm — like a cup of tea.

Tell yourself: “I am safe. This is just a feeling. It will pass.”

Let the wave of fear come.

Let it rise.

Let it crash.

Let it go.

Then, something powerful happens:

You get curious.

You begin to ask, “What is this really about?”

Where do I feel this in my body?

What does it feel like?

What is my face doing right now?

What are the names of the feelings I feel?

When you start to wonder instead of run,

fear loses its grip.

It stops shouting.

And something inside you starts whispering instead.

That whisper?

That’s your truth.

That’s your power.

That’s your healing.

That’s when fear becomes not your enemy — but your guide.

So the next time fear shows up,

don’t panic.

Pause.

Welcome it.

And say,

“Okay, I see you. Let’s sit for a minute.

Show me what you’re here to teach me.”

You are safe.

You are strong.

You are already enough.

You are being held.

Love,

Pia