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.

5 ways to feel safe when trauma triggers hit

When trauma triggers hit, they can feel like a tidal wave crashing over you—pulling you out of the present and into the past. I've been there too, grappling with memories I didn’t invite and emotions that feel too big to hold. But through this messy process, I’ve found small ways to feel safe again, even in the chaos. These are not quick fixes, but gentle reminders that healing is about showing up for yourself, moment by moment.

Here are five ways to find safety when the storm rises:

1. Remind yourself with a grounding thought you’ve picked beforehand

When I’m triggered, my mind spirals into what-ifs and should-haves, but I’ve learned to interrupt the chaos with a grounding thought. It’s like a lifeline I prepared in calmer times.

For me, it’s: “I’m so loved, and I am safe in this moment.” Repeating it brings me back to where I am, reminding me that my past can’t reach me here.

Think of a phrase that feels safe to you—something simple, something true. Practice saying it when life is calm, so it’s ready when you need it.

2. Anchor yourself in your body

Trauma often pulls us out of our bodies, leaving us disconnected and adrift. One way to feel safe is to gently guide yourself back. Start small—notice your breath, wiggle your fingers, or plant your feet firmly on the ground.

I’ve found comfort in wrapping myself in a soft blanket, letting the weight remind me that I’m still here. Even a warm cup of tea can become an anchor, its heat grounding me in the now. And when the triggers hit hard, a peaceful walk in the woods works for me well.

3. Find a safe place in your imagination

When the world feels unsafe, I close my eyes and retreat to a safe space I’ve built in my mind. For me, it’s a beach by the ocean—a rhythmic, tranquil place where the waves and the sand soothe me and I can breathe freely.

This place doesn’t have to be realistic; it just has to feel like home. Picture every detail—what you see, hear, feel—and let it cradle you when triggers feel overwhelming.

4. Speak to yourself with compassion

Trauma triggers are often accompanied by harsh self-talk: Why can’t I get over this? Why am I so weak? But what if you could rewrite the script?

When I feel small and vulnerable, I imagine speaking to myself the way I would a scared child—with warmth, patience, and love. Phrases like, “It’s okay to feel this way” or “You’re doing your best, and that’s enough,” can be powerful.

Compassion doesn’t erase the pain, but it softens the edges, making it bearable.

5. Connect to something that feels bigger than the pain

Sometimes, the best way to feel safe is to remember we’re part of something larger—whether it’s nature, faith, or community.

When I’m overwhelmed, I step outside and feel the wind on my face or watch the stars above. It’s humbling and comforting to realize the vastness of life. If spirituality resonates with you, a quiet prayer or meditation can help you feel held by something greater.

Your story matters

Healing isn’t about fixing yourself—it’s about learning to hold space for your pain while nurturing your safety. I’ve had days when I thought I’d never feel safe again, but small steps like these have helped me rebuild that sense of belonging to myself.

Remember, you are allowed to seek comfort. You are allowed to take up space, even when it feels hard. And when triggers hit, you have tools to weather the storm. You’ve survived before, and you will again.

What helps you feel safe in difficult moments?

Love, 

Pia

The Day I Almost Derailed My Own Life and What It Taught Me About Self-Forgiveness

 

While I was planning my wedding with my soon-to-be husband there was a lot going on. I was just to be graduating. The pressure was high on my levels to get everything ready on time, my studies, like my thesis and some unfinished courses, the arrangement of our brand new unfurnished home and the wedding reception.

While all that was going on I made a mistake. A big one. And this time, it was financial.

The details aren’t glamorous, but it was one of those moments where the consequences could have been devastating. I had taken a financial risk I shouldn’t have, and it had backfired. When I realized the mess I had created, panic set in. I was overwhelmed with guilt, ashamed of my actions, and terrified of what my fiancé would think.

He already knew, as he was there with the me, receiving the devastating news.

I expected disappointment. I expected frustration. Instead, I got understanding. He didn’t brush off my mistake or minimize it—he acknowledged how serious it was—but he also didn’t let it define me. "We’ll fix this together," he said.

That support was everything.

The days leading up to our wedding were a whirlwind of not just planning, but cleaning up the aftermath of my mistake. I worked hard to make things right, and he stood by me through every frustrating moment. By some miracle—truly, I still don’t know how everything fell into place—we got it all sorted out on time before the wedding day.

When we stood together at the altar, it felt like the past was behind us. It wasn’t just a wedding for me—it was a clean slate. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t carrying the weight of guilt and shame. It was just me and him, standing together, ready to start something new.

Looking back, I’ve realized there were four key steps in forgiving myself and moving forward:

Acknowledgment: I had to recognize my mistake without piling on judgment. I needed to see it for what it was—just one chapter in my story, not the whole book.

Understanding: I had to reflect on the reasons behind my actions. Why had I made that financial choice? I wasn’t reckless; I had acted out of too much confidence where there was not enough trust in place though and a desire to do more than I was capable of at the time.

Compassion: This was the hardest part. I had to treat myself with the same kindness I would offer a friend in my shoes. If someone I loved had come to me with this mistake, I wouldn’t have condemned them. I’d remind them that everyone messes up. I had to extend that same grace to myself.

Release: This is where the healing began. I couldn’t carry the guilt with me into my marriage. I chose to let go of the weight, to see the experience as something I could learn from rather than something that defined me.

Starting our marriage from that place of honesty and grace made all the difference. It wasn’t a perfect start, but it was real. And in that realness, I found a deeper connection with my husband and, more importantly, with myself.

It was actually a defining, healing moment for me, now that I look backwards. It released me from some past unhealthy ways to cope and set me up for success to start a new way of leading my life with my husband. Old ties were broken. In that humble moment of beginnings I had a new way ahead of me, a new identity to step in.

When I think about those days now, I feel gratitude. Gratitude that my mistake didn’t derail our life, gratitude for my fiance's support, and gratitude for the lesson I learned about self-forgiveness.

If you’re carrying guilt over something you’ve done, remember this: You can own your mistake without letting it own you. You are not the sum of your missteps. With effort, honesty, and a willingness to forgive yourself, you can move forward with freedom.

The start of a new chapter doesn’t require perfection. It only requires the courage to acknowledge, understand, show compassion, and release.

For me, that future started the day I said, "I do." And it’s been stronger and more beautiful because I learned to forgive myself first.

Love, 

Pia

What do Hope and Peace say about my fear?

 

Fear often feels like a wildfire—uncontrolled, consuming, and overwhelming. Yet, when you introduce hope and inner peace with your fear, they act as a fireplace, providing structure and containment to the flames of fear. This perspective doesn't extinguish fear but frames it, allowing its warmth to illuminate rather than destroy. To guide like a strong force put to it's rightful place.

Understanding Fear Through Hope and Peace

I'm no brain expert but what I’ve learned from my coach, fear is a natural response your primitive brain turns to when facing the unknown. It's a signal that you're stepping beyond your comfort zone. 

However, without the balancing forces of hope and inner peace, fear can paralyze us. Hope offers a vision beyond the immediate anxiety, a belief in the multiple positive outcomes that are available for us. It motivates us to move forward. 

Inner peace provides the calm assurance that, regardless of external circumstances, you possess the resilience to face challenges. But what does this look like in real life?

The Whisper of Hope

Hope speaks gently to fear. It says, “I see you, but you don’t get the final say.” When fear flares up, hope leans in, not to deny its presence but to remind you of what lies beyond it. It offers a glimpse of possibility, of something good on the other side of this moment.

Hope is a flicker, sometimes small but never insignificant. It’s what keeps us walking forward when fear says, “Turn back.”

The Stillness of Peace

Peace, on the other hand, is quiet and steady. It doesn’t rush to fix fear or make it disappear. Instead, it sits with it, saying, “You can be here, but you don’t get to run the show.” Peace softens fear’s edges, reminding us that even in chaos, there is stillness to be found.

While hope looks ahead, peace anchors you to now. It tells you that you’re okay—right here, right now, no matter what tomorrow holds.

What do Hope and Peace say about your fear?

When fear shows up in your life (and it will), pause for a moment. Instead of trying to push it away, ask: What do hope and peace say about this fear?

Hope might say, “This fear means you’re stepping into something that matters.”

Peace might say, “Even if it’s hard, you’ve handled hard things before.”

Together, they frame fear, turning it from a destructive force into something that warms and guides us.

Finding the Frame

You don’t have to frame fear perfectly every time. Start small. Acknowledge the fire. Whisper, “What is this teaching me?” Let hope and peace answer. Sometimes their voices are soft—barely there—but they are always present, waiting for you to listen.

And slowly, you’ll find that fear, instead of consuming you, begins to glow softly like a fire on a winter’s night, casting light and warmth guiding you forward.

Love,

Pia