I told myself I’d only come here if it were forever. As I’d never lived in a city for more than eight years, forever meant ten. It’s been five now, halfway to forever.

So far, life in Finland has been both a gift and an ordeal. My move coincided with a career burnout that had been years in the making, and this city inspired me to embark on a journey around my own curiosity.

Not only did my body go naked in the sauna.
My soul had to undress, too.

My first five years in Finland weren’t only for creating a new life in a new land. Besides learning the language, the culture, the city, and the people, I dove into a deep self-discovery well. People say you learn a lot when you move to a new country, but no one mentions what you need to unlearn if your role doesn’t come with clear instructions.

I came to a tiny country where the extreme weather can literally freeze you to death. Luckily, they have services to guarantee it will never happen. It’s incredibly safe. People trust each other (!). It’s the happiest in the world, but also has the highest unemployment rate in Europe. Finland’s water is the best on the planet. Spring is always late—but so marvelous when it blooms. Summer isn’t warm enough, but divine: so bright it obfuscates my eyes. Autumn is rich and colorful, then melancholic gray. And the winter is bright white, calm and silent. Helsinki is small, creative, and overpriced like any other Nordic country. The relationship I have with public transportation is probably the most reliable I’ve ever had. There are forests all over the city, and lakes reachable by public transportation. And, again, it’s safe to walk around.

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July 10, 2021—the summer sun wrapped around me with the certainty that any dream was possible. I credit Punavuori, Eiranranta, and Ullanlinna—the design district area—for the impression that I could become whatever I want. It felt possible to choose a creative life unapologetically. Being surrounded by artists, designers, small independent businesses, and learning how supportive the Finnish government is gave me a more hopeful view of the future. Earning a living didn't seem like a struggle, and a distant dream hit me: living from writing suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched.

who knows, maybe one day

I have to admit it was easier to feel optimistic back then. The market was booming, recruiters kept reaching out with well-paid remote jobs, and I had everything: experience, qualifications, and a strong network. Only problem: the career itself didn’t seem interesting anymore. As much as I loved the paycheck, I wasn’t interested in what I was doing eight hours a day.

so I quit

I decided to give myself a six-month sabbatical to see what Helsinki and Finland had to show me. I explored the city as a tourist, and traveled a bit by myself: to Rovaniemi, then to Tallinn. For the very first time in my life, I was just being, experimenting, going to museums, writing, reading, trying new restaurants. What a life.

When those six months were over, reality caught up with me, and I took another remote role. This time, the excitement wore off even faster. Before I’d been there a year, a friend offered me a freelance project, and it gave me the push I needed to quit. My brain felt completely fried, so on a Wednesday I booked a cabin by a lake in Muurame and resigned with the most ridiculous excuse I could think of.

How would I afford my Pinterest life when the career I'd sacrificed so much to build was falling apart? Meanwhile, Secret Club had already become a thriving little community, but it wasn't a business yet.

Afraid to lose everything I knew as safe, I grabbed the freelance gig excitement and convinced myself I had found the answer. That’s how I joined my first entrepreneurship program to learn how to handle it in Finland.

I’m so grateful for all the Helsinki City help. They offer excellent quality consulting and programs for free.

Unfortunately, instead of focusing on freelancing, my old self, or my Virgo South Node, stumbled into the wrong wormhole: startups. It feels stupid to admit, but I honestly think my brain only trusted tech companies and startups to make enough for a living—and that’s how I went from burning out from working at startups to wasting my time in programs that lead people to build one.

I didn’t work, of course. I crashed 🙃

Public healthcare got me. They were the first to notice how many times I'd gone to the hospital convinced something was wrong with my heart. My heart was fine. My brain was panicking. As I shed my shattered old shell, it settled into my bones: earning a living is hard in a life none of us asked for. Shouldn't living come included with being born?

At least the Finnish welfare system comes closer than anything I've experienced. Things are changing, I know, but that’s another story.

I spent so much time surviving that I barely noticed Helsinki. That’s what mostly excites me for the next five years. I want to enjoy things I only tried a couple of times. Picking strawberries and mushrooms as a resident, not as a stranger. Biking around the city. Exploring all the beaches before they're covered in snow again.

For now, I already have my favorite lake in the city.

Next time, I won't leap farther than my emotional joints can support. Until then, I'm building the emotional strength to hold the life I'm writing toward.

11 confessions I almost didn't publish

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a tiny back story

Before becoming the Creative Witch I claim to be, I was a corporate woman running as fast as I could to make money (?). Not sure if it was actually money I was looking for. Maybe status, maybe I was running away from myself, or something else. I didn’t have it clear. And although I love money, I see it just as an important tool that gives us choices and affords comfort and other delicious things. It’s never a destiny.

I know my past self would highly cringe at my whimsical silliness. Creative Witch? C’mon. She unfortunately had to go through hell to understand it. I’ll definitely share about the burning hell I’ve been through. Just not today. It might be cringey, but sometimes a silly label is all you need to let yourself do what you’re craving. It’s a permission slip we shouldn’t need. To me, it helps. In fact, I met the witch that inspired me in Chile: la bruja que dibuja.

I remembered this because, the other day, my sister said, “You became so much more spiritual and creative after that trip to Chile”. She’s right, and that’s a good place to start.

first things first

This story begins in São Paulo, though.

I had tickets to New York with my ex-boyfriend. It was our last attempt to save the relationship, but a month before the trip, I told him I didn’t love him anymore. It happened on a Monday evening, casually, brutally honest, and unplanned. Irrefutably over. Nothing to be saved anymore.

I canceled my NY flights (which I still dream of visiting one day), and looked for a new place on the world map. My first option was Machu Picchu, but the weather wasn’t the best for that trip, so to Chile I went. All by myself, afraid of nothing, making friends on the way, having fun in portunhol.

I was so curious and open that the desert magic couldn’t just pass by me. I let the Salar de Atacama clean my energy, and the starry sky replenished it. In a couple of days, I even fell in love again, and I think of him to this day: Licancabur—my volcano lover.

What a handsome wizard he is! I let him hypnotize me with his power. He slowly simmered a spell within me, and after two years of slow brewing, I felt so much more like myself.

he changed something in me

Everything that inspired me since then eventually led me here: to this issue of Bubble and the new Secret Club.

I noticed it in the old portraits below. It’s like I’m a child again—no idea what’s happening, just being playful, not afraid to look silly.

I was testing new colors, shapes, and materials to figure out what I wanted to feel, what I liked. It was an exploration expedition inside my thoughts and feelings to understand what I wanted to express and who I was.

I was creating to feel, and it made me realize that our creations also create things in us.

I loved this eye jar! I think I should recreate it. The eyeball is made of felt, and I still have many of them!

An eye out of the orbit automatically pulls me out of the box. I enjoy the discomfort it causes me. It’s like a gross thing you can’t stop looking at. Whether the neon colors transport me to a fantastic, glowy world where butterflies gossip, people have colored hair, and you can find blue cherries. I feel at home in there.

Years passed… I had forgotten about my pink acid trip—creatively speaking, you flowerhead. One day, walking by the canals in Amsterdam, I saw this sign saying “ring the bell” by the door of an intriguing messy art studio with neon vulva earrings on display. I rang it immediately, and a blond woman opened the door. I was a bit shy to get into her studio because it was actually where she lived. I was so excited to see what was inside of those narrow Amsterdam houses but also to get to know an artist.

Meeting Denise Rosenboom's studio sparked something in me. It inspired me to get back to the creative path I'd started but never fully explored.

Are you sure? I think you lost momentum.—the voice asked.

I nearly talked myself out of it, but I remembered something:

When I started my Journalism degree after spending a year and a half in art school, I didn't have the same excitement I'd had when I first started university. But I was still eager and much more prepared to do it. I feel the same now—I’m finally able to live my Creative Witch journey in my acid pink world where I write freely, practice tarot, and create just because.

It’s like realigning my timeline to live something I skipped in 2022. Or, maybe timelines are just not linear, and we flow with it anyway. I’m reclaiming the creativity and boldness I had. My Aquarius Sun is desperate for me to become more like myself.

intuition with a bad wifi

My connection with Secret Club (and with myself) was weakening each day, and it scared me to the bones. To recover, I retreated into my bubble until I got the crystal clear vision of how to turn into something I actually love. In case it might sound a bit selfish, have to say it didn’t come from my mouth:

I had saved the image of an eye door handle that sparkled a weirdo kind of fun my soul was looking for. The keyhole linked well with “Secret”. I knew something was coming, although I wasn’t liking it yet.

The large eyelashes eventually became petals.

That’s when I realized she was there all the time.

What about the seashell?

Letting go of the seashell logo was a difficult step. I still love the meaning of gathering because of the ebbs that brought us together, but it’s time for something else. We outgrew that need to gather we had before. We have so many people around us. It’s time to deepen the connections we made.

More inspo

It was such a joy to share the very first issue of Bubble with you. Thank you so much for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below!

Leave a comment

SECRET PROTOCOL

I still have a new editorial session to release, and it’s coming on August 4!

I’m calling it Secret Protocol, and this is my most magical and feminist project until now. Expect a cauldron of tarot insights, journaling prompts, pop culture, memes, and other unexpected stories to help us make sense of not giving up on being ourselves despite patriarchy's ridiculous lies.

Secret Protocol will wash over the guilt deep-rooted in our daily lives and help us to hack this system little by little. After all, if it was created, it can also be destroyed as long as we don’t give up.

The countdown to Secret Club’s new era starts now.

On Friday, you’ll get the very first Bubble Issue: my personal zine, filled with the references, quotes, and little obsessions that fuel my writing, tarot practice, and creative world.

I’ll also be unveiling Secret Club’s new visual identity! New logo, new pink, new vibes, and the creative direction that will define this next chapter. More tarot. More writing. More creativity. More of me.

In many ways, this is my own new era, too: finally stepping out of the closet as a writer and tarot reader, and letting those parts of myself take up space instead of living behind the scenes.

After that, we’ll meet every Tuesday. But first, we’re launching on Friday because the Crescent Moon in Sagittarius said, go for it. And who am I to argue with the Moon (or my astrologer)?

The Tower

My teen riot grrrl was fooled into ditching her feminine parts and got exhausted trying to fit the man’s world to prove she could make money. She thought it meant freedom, and what a feminist was supposed to do.

The busy schedule numbed the anger. I thought I was free, but I was dressing in patriarchal patterns masked as empowerment. I turned myself into a productivity machine —no expression, no creativity. I obediently (and proudly) followed the norm. An expensive MBA and certificates before having babies, even though I never considered being a mom.

I was happily working my as off to climb a tech ladder. But every check-in, a little bird sang that something was off, and I turned up the podcast volume not to hear it. I forced myself to a six-hour sleep box, up at 5 AM, and filled my schedule with tech programs.

I spent years in this cauldron of self-sabotage and self-preservation. I always knew it would boil over. Eventually, it did.

Finally.

Harsh, yes. But it was the beginning of anything I ever wanted.

It became crystal clear what I should do with my life. Even though the “how” was a puzzle which pieces were messed up in the air.

It’s worth checking the conversation I had with last week. I shared everything about my career blowing up and what I’m doing next. Of course, there’s a group tarot reading at the end of the video.

If you like career shifts, inspiring real stories, and a twist of magic, dive in.

Regenerative Women

She Left Tech for Community: What Tassia Rebelo Learned Building The Secret Club

You can catch the full replay above. If you’d rather read first and watch later (or just want the highlights to come back to), here’s what we covered…

Listen now

24 days ago · 5 likes · 1 comment · Pukhraj Ranjan and tass

Every time I read another story about millennial women’s latest identity crisis, I end up learning something about our generation—and myself. Apparently, the girl bosses just want to chill and get creative.

Megan Schnarr

Why millennial women are quietly walking away from the careers they worked a decade to build

There’s a collective shift happening. Millennial women — the high-achieving, type A, career-driven, get-it-done women — are burnt out. And it’s not the kind of burn out where you just need a vacation. It’s the kind of burn out where you look at the life you’ve spent the last decade building and think…

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3 months ago · 734 likes · 181 comments

5-minute read of real-deal diary-entry kind and more 👁️🌸

I reviewed my plans for this year and realized I haven’t been dreaming big or wanting things the way I used to. It felt unexpectedly sad. I’ve always thought of myself as a dreamer—someone who goes after what she wants and makes it happen. But instead of dreaming about a delicious life in a beautiful setting, I found myself praying for money.

As they always do, my tarot cards showed me the uncomfortable truth and cut through the bullshit. They never let me play the victim for too long. I’m in the driver’s seat of my life and, within the playpen of my small privileges, I get to choose how I move through the world. I’m not trying to tear down the fence and start a revolution today, but I can keep hacking patriarchal rules here and there to live my best life.

When I was around eight years old, I believed I had magical powers. Whatever I said, the opposite would happen. If I wanted to go to the pool that weekend, I’d repeat to myself over and over: We’re not going to the pool this weekend. We’re not going to the pool this weekend. We’re not going to the pool this weekend. We’re not going to the pool this weekend.

God was funny, I thought. Because it always worked. I remember manifesting a tamagotchi, candies, sunny days, my mom arriving earlier, pizza and giggling at being secretly a witch.

New moon, new intentions

Not sure when I stopped doing my magic, but this new moon, I’m calling it back. I already cleared the path for my next steps as a writer and a tarot reader. I made space on my desk, my mind, my calendar and I learned it’s my duty to prioritize what makes me feel in the mood to do what satisfies me.

If my creativity had a home, what would it look and feel like?

I’m taking this Cancer new moon as an invitation to plant the seeds for a new creative home where it’s safe to express myself fully. A sacred space where I can unapologetically welcome my weirdness and whimsy without fear of judgment.

In this space, my writing and my tarot are free to be exactly what they want to be. New ideas greet old ones—and other people’s ideas, too. They laugh, transform, and collaborate. This new home is bold and inspiring. I love its scent: sea salt in the morning, sweet vanilla in the afternoon.

It’s cozy, but it also reminds me to step outside, rest, and have fun. It’s open to other people, yet private enough for me to concentrate, dream, and sit quietly with my ideas. Everything I make here feels alive and moves people because it’s rooted in love and curiosity.

In my creative home, magic becomes real.

12:43—New Moon in Cancer 🌑 Tarot & Journal Prompts

A card for this new moon

Eight of Cups — Your emotions need solitude before they can renew themselves. Notice what you notice. Whether you’re shedding old layers or simply pruning your garden, create a quiet space to make sure you’re leaving the right things behind before stepping into a new chapter.

The Cancer New Moon invites us to reflect on what home truly means and what genuinely nourishes us.

What kind of feeling I want to bring home? It can be your political home, creative home, social home, family home. Describe how you feel, remember moments that you felt similar and think of what you could invite into your life to create more of that feeling.

What part of myself is asking to be welcomed home? Is there a version of you you’ve been hiding, silencing, or trying to outgrow? Write a letter inviting her backwith curiosity instead of judgment.

If my creativity had a home, what would it look and feel like? Imagine a space where your ideas, dreams, and weirdness are fully accepted. What would exist there? What would no longer be allowed inside?

Want an exclusive Secret Club cap? Recruit your next club member using your referral link below. 💖 Female world domination looks better in pink.

Refer a friend

The past few months have been spent dreaming up a new chapter for Secret Club, and it’s almost ready. Before I open the doors, I want to share a few updates.

a new editorial era

Secret Club is becoming a little more magical with tarot, journaling, and creative essays. I’m over the moon to finally share it with you.

The work I’m creating lives at the intersection of feminist thought, tarot, and creative writing.

I’m delving into the delicious chaos of womanhood to bring stories through the lens of tarot, along with feminist takeaways and journaling prompts for women who want to reinvent themselves beyond the patriarchal system.

What I’m creating is for you if you've ever wondered why this system feels off, or if you're tired of feeling like you're never enough. I feel that too—and I need a rebel protocol to remove what the patriarchy wired in my brain.

However, this has to be exciting—we know how hard this time we live in is for women. So I claim the whimsical to soften the process because I refuse to give up. 🫧

Being a woman is delicious, but a bit chaotic, too. And we are allowed to be contradictory and change our minds. Not because we’re weak, or evil. It’s just that the massive force out there profits when we despise ourselves—body and soul. Secret Club is the space for these conversations.

I’ll embrace the chaos and enrich the conversation with tarot cards, women’s experiences, and books that help us see beyond, from Baba Yaga to Silvia Federici.

You can count on me to bring ideas so we can question them together and move, little by little, towards lives that feel more satisfying on our own terms.

Collectively.

👁️🌸

Is Secret Club becoming your bubble more than ever before? I have something special for you.

Get 50% off for 3 months

some housekeeping

new schedule

Our publication day will be on Tuesdays, starting next week.

whatsapp community

Secret Club’s WhatsApp chat is now free!

If you’ve been following along, this change probably won’t surprise you. Community has always been at the heart of Secret Club, and I want it to be easier for more women to find their way in.

If you’re already inside, you can invite the women you think would love our little creative-witchy bubble—the ones who are curious, kind, and looking for meaningful connections. Every new member who joins through you helps this community grow.

Refer a friend

And if you’re not in yet, leave a 🫧 in the comments (or simply say hi!) so people know you’re looking for an invite.

The bubble is getting bigger, and I’d love to see you in it.

Unfiltered Founders Live — Wednesday, July 15, 17:00

invited me to talk about how following my curiosity led me to create Secret Club and redefine my career. You can join us for free here on Substack.

She’s the creator behind , a dear friend, and an inspiring woman who always teaches me something or sparks a fresh insight. It'll be a relaxed, inspiring conversation—I hope you'll join us. 🫧

Save the Date

WhatsApp

Our WhatsApp chat is surprisingly active despite Helsinki’s stubborn weather.

Right now, there are weekly swimming + sauna sessions, a bowling night in the works, and my personal favorite: Witch Watch, created by one of my favorite witches in Helsinki, Kai—an incredibly talented artist and massage therapist.

Seeing you take ownership of the space and create gatherings of your own has been one of the most rewarding parts of Secret Club. That’s exactly the kind of community I always hoped we’d build.

Subscribe now

On Sundays, after setting up my calendar, I pull a tarot card to be my guide for the week and my luck beam. I use its energy to get me through the week in case I need extra power to do hard things.

This time, I got the fire delivery driver, the knight of wands. She’s a messenger just like me. To tune into her lucky track, I have to do my homework. She won’t grant me just because.

She’s the Finnish sisu, an inner strength that pushes you to do what’s needed to get in the mood. She fuels you to do whatever you want. She’s a courageous boost who doesn’t procrastinate. She listens to her intuition and, if needed, she removes herself from a situation before melting down. She calls the health care before things get worse.

She does the right thing and doesn’t yap about it—just like Finnish sisu, the Knight of Wands lets her actions do the talking.

Her secret to getting shit done is honouring the rituals that pull her into the right mood—never waiting for it. Instead, she brings it in. She knows what her essential fuels are, and she doesn’t drive on empty.

I went for a walk on a Monday morning, and a cheering fairy podcast started playing on my Spotify. She reinforced the Knight’s message by saying something like this: if it makes you feel good, then it’s your duty. She wasn’t referring to a fun activity—it was about the ones that make a person feel unstoppable, like a knight of wands with a magic sword.

“but I have no idea” was my first thought,

then, suddenly, things started popping up: hot yoga, making my bed beautifully each morning, swimming, wearing my favorite clothes, early walks, cold plunges, and sauna sessions. Drawing in my sketchbook, buying fresh flowers, and writing from cozy wine bars with a glass of rosé by my side. Reading tarot cards for strangers, reading outdoors with a beautiful view.

What makes you feel unstoppable?

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These activities energize and inspire me to create what I’m supposed to. To craft my words and fulfil my purpose, express myself, and also make a living. They should be non-negotiable and highly prioritized.

Life is not perfect, tough.

I have to admit that many times I end up getting trapped by bad habits that make me feel like shit. With a bitter taste in my throat, here it goes: endless scrolling, using my phone in bed and on the toilet, staying glued to a screen until my shoulder starts to ache. Skipping meals. Saying yes to plans with people I don't want to be around. Postponing doctor’s appointments and neglecting my health. Going to bed after midnight, not exercising, letting a day pass without writing. Ignoring the dishes, the dust, my bank account, and my water bottle. Shaming my body and saying bad things about myself.

These bad habits are slippery and easily slide into my routine. I pick up my phone to check the weather, and there it goes, 15 minutes scrolling through content that leaves me with nothing but anxiety.

But not this week.

The Knight of Wands is keeping me on the right track, pulling me by the ears whenever I get distracted. She limited my screen time, woke me up early, and organized my clothes the night before so I could go for a walk in the morning, no questioning. She set an alarm on my watch so I wouldn’t miss lunchtime. She refilled my water bottle and added snacks to my bag.

It’s okay to go for a swim in the afternoon, as long as I continue writing when I’m back home. She’s so smart, doesn’t overthink, and knows what my goals are and what to prioritize.

She’s not from this timeline—she’s a witch from the future where patriarchy is just something we read about in history books, and is mildly annoyed I’m still procrastinating.

Read more

Hey you!

I’m still in a hermit mode cooking what’s next. I have changed, Secret Club is changing, and I bet you’re changing too.

This edition is a wrap up and a preparation for what’s coming. Feel free to comment any questions. This is not a farewell, but I’m saying goodbye to some parts of myself.

Love You, Secret Club

I was journaling in the morning with a Secret Club pen, and it almost made me cry. What a journey it has been.

Secret Club was my boldest move when I was struggling with loneliness. Before our first meet-up—almost four years ago!—, I was desperate to make friends and had put myself into situations that defied all my social limits. Nothing worked, but thank Goddess you came to that first cafe meeting. Since 2022, it has been so much easier to make friends—not only for me, but for hundreds of women in Helsinki who joined us.

My only goal was to meet like-minded women, and Secret Club gave me so much more than that. From being recognized in the media and invited to talk at different events, to meeting great people and having over a hundred paid members who trusted me and wanted to become part of what I created. And I did this in my second language, in a country where I didn’t know the rules. My mom is proud.

Helsingin Sanomat 🗞️ Yle

you have to trust

I was lucky enough to meet the most incredible people—you included, don’t get shy now. Besides that, somewhere between the workshops, coffee dates, tarot readings, and existential conversations, I fell back in love with writing.

Writing is one of the few things that gives me energy instead of taking it away. It heals where it hurts. Every essay leaves me feeling more like myself. The more I write, the more I want to improve my craft and create things I'm genuinely excited to share with you.

And I am not the only one. I have seen many of you becoming artists, healers, mothers, friends, more independent, happier, bolder, badass women I admire.

this is very important

The Secret to Belong

I had a good cry, and now it’s time to turn the page. But first, it’s my duty to share what I learned about community and belonging.

I have been to over a hundred meet-ups—I met dozens of women, we chit-chatted, added each other on Instagram, had long conversations. They came to the Secret Club to meet new people and make friends. Some found their ride-or-dies, others show up and never made friends or felt they belong. Why is that?

Community became a buzz word, and we started using it as a synonym for group or audience. Influencers started calling their followers their community. Companies are creating communities too. It’s not that simple, though. When people are gathered, it’s a group, but not every group is a community. Yes, I said it.

A community has three non-negotiable ingredients: a shared identity, an emotional bond, and collaboration.

Shared identity—When I say we’re like-minded women, it’s because you’re reading our newsletter and connecting the womanhood vs. anti-patriarchal ideas I share. That’s our culture, and it gives us a sense of cohesion. Our identity is always being co-created, evolving with each member that voice over. It gives us a sense of ownership—you’ll call it “my community”.

Emotional bond—That’s why your classmates or colleagues don’t necessarily feel like a group you want to belong to. In a community, people are not only open minded, but also have their hearts open to connect in an emotional level. For me, I love Secret Club.

Collaboration—This is the trickiest part. Community requires active engagement and co-creation from its members. If you’re always making plans, and your friends just have to show up, you’re convenient, like a service. To make a group of friends a community, you need mutual effort to seal the bond. This is valid for all kinds of relationships.

This is also how people find their ride-or-dies. Members who organized a meet-up, hosted a picnic, or started a gathering are the ones feeling the most connected. By contributing something of their own, they become part of the fabric of the community.

And that’s the realization that changed how I think about Secret Club.

i finally found the missing part I was looking for

I was looking for community and accidentally built a hobbies-and-events service. We had the most fun and creative events, though.

What I didn’t realize is that community isn’t something a single person can manufacture. I can set the table, send the invitations, and start the conversation. But community only emerges when everyone starts bringing something of their own.

This is the most precious thing we have within Secret Club 🫧

Community is a consequence of having our brains interested in the same things and curious about each other. After all, connection is about sharing energy, thoughts, time, emotions, secrets, and all things that matter to us. It’s a gift we give and take.

That’s why our community hub—the WhatsApp chat—isn’t going anywhere. It’s yours as much as it is mine, and I’d love for you to use it. Start a conversation. Invite people for coffee. Organize a picnic. Ask a weird question.

And if nobody replies right away, don’t panic. I’ve sent plenty of messages into the void over the years and somehow survived every single one of them.

Sending you so much love!

okay darling, but where are we heading to?

Chapter Two

I hope you’re enjoying the vacation season and the good whether 💖

Meanwhile, I’m in my creative bubble redesigning Secret Club’s paid subscription. We have been evolving together and are ready for something bolder, feminist, magical and highly creative.

Just to give you an idea of what I’m planning:

❤️‍🔥 womenhood vs. patriarchy
🍦 living deliciously
✍️ journaling
🔮 tarot readings
🛋️ online lives
🫧 magical bubble dispatch
☎️ interviews
👁️ illustrations

I’m in a highly creative mode and social media almost hurts me, that’s why my Instagram is silent.

Next week, I’ll be in Stockholm for a System of a Down concert and my inner teenager is jumping up and down. Besides, I’ll take the chance to gather inspiration and delicious inspiring ideas for our brains.

Mini spoiler: I already have a new logo 🤩 editorial guidelines for what’s coming next and, omg!, can’t wait to share it all with you!

Leave a comment

9 PM—the sun was still up. Dinner always feels like lunch during this time of the year, in this part of the world. As the sun was up, nine pm seemed like a perfect time to have a Coca-Cola and orange juice popsicle. Two-color popsicles are instant joy.

The sky was bright blue. The seagulls were doing their Summer errands on the top of the buildings. The swallows just danced their free jazz. A soft summer jazz warming up for the peak of the season. My body can’t fly, but it grooves, just as the seagulls, stolen ice creams, the swallows that fish and vibe. But not as those annoying ducks that poop everywhere.

The Sun—in tarot and in the sky—is about the body. Our molecules get it: time to grow, spread, tan, sweat, swim. It’s fertile, alive. The liquids in my body are bubbling, and it blows a big bubble around me. Everything looks holographic from here. I thought Summer was meant to pop this bubble and spread my body parts all around. But it’s not the right thing to do. For now, I’ll stay here.

I’ll be in, enjoying the magical colors and recharging my creativity with its magical hue. It feels delicious in here. Bubbly, comfy, and fun. I can roll, and sometimes it flies, but not too high—my weight gets it back to the ground.

🫧 to claim your bubble, don’t ask for permission—you can always get inspired by the hermit.

Journal & Tarot

I'm cooking up something around journaling + tarot. This is something I have been doing every week for myself, and I would love to share.

Think of tarot talk, prompts, and journal together. Then, a Q&A to wrap up and go ahead with our day.

This is still living in my ideas box, and I would love to hear your thoughts! I made a video to help you understand what I have in mind for now.

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❋ Book Club Picnic — Sunday, June 28

We’re taking our book club outdoors! Join us at Töölö Bay for an afternoon of The Age of Innocence, delicious snacks, literary gossip, book bingo (with two books to win), and the kind of conversations that linger long after the picnic ends. The discussion will be guided by Carol Bonatto, writer, reader, and enthusiastic instigator of good book talks.

Book Club

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The universe punished me for being a coward. Thankfully, it only cost money, but I can’t afford the same mistake.

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When I was 13, we took the candles from the school’s chapel for our Halloween party. We grabbed the matches, too, and that’s how the Catholic Church sponsored our gathering.

Life is still a bit chaotic (or maybe I am); still, nothing compares to the adrenaline of smoking in my bedroom and hearing my dad’s car. I smoked mostly normal cigarettes and always had a pack of Negresco (Brazilian Oreo).

To this day, my mom still has no idea how many times I went to a skate park in another city with my skater friends. A five-star night out always had someone puking, and it was considered fun. I remember when a friend puked neon yellow, and we were so impressed! She was really an alien! Now I think it was not okay, but never mind, because on that same day, we lost her at the club and found her sleeping by a tree! We thought it was a backpack!

I don’t miss getting drunk and especially don’t miss getting sick. I miss being so easily excited about small things, having secrets or something to enthusiastically rage against. I miss being a riot grrrl, and I sadly and finally understand adults with adrenaline hobbies, or the ones going to every protest. Maybe I should find a team to root for or join a fan club.

Life can be very boring as a put-together-adult: Gym from Monday to Friday, skincare, eat our veggies, have a good day job, and behave well so we don’t lose it. We smile at people we don’t like; we mute group chats we don’t want to read instead of simply leaving; we don’t have any fights and make up with our friends. We don’t borrow each other's clothes—at least within the Secret Club, we have our annual Clothing Swap.

It’s weird and sad that our adrenaline has to be calculated. Did we build a Truman’s Show kind of existence? I refuse to get nihilistic, though. I know I’m alive to enjoy this lifetime. Sometimes I fail that, but I keep reminding myself that the purpose of it all is to have fun. The purpose isn’t to pay the bills. I know it’s confusing because every bill has a clear due date, and our expiring time is unknown.

However, the gap between a boring adult and a fun teenager isn’t just social expectations, age, and hormones. I think it’s also what happens when life teaches us to calculate consequences.

We lose something when we become experts at anticipating damage. Our joints stiffen, our jaws clench, and our minds grow less willing to leap. We start mistaking playfulness for irresponsibility, as though the two were in the same box.

I’ve been trying to call my younger self to ask for advice, but she’s too busy living to pick up. When I finally reach her, I’ll ask what I would do today—and follow her lead without blinking.

❋ Clothing Swap Picnic — Sunday, June 7, we’ll gather at Töölö Bay once again for something that already feels like a tradition. Our fourth edition already — I can’t wait. You’ll find the event details in our WhatsApp group.

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A new tarot deck has been slapping truths on my face. It doesn’t sugarcoat anything. It told me I’m a there-there person—a coward softly editing herself to be digestible.

When I was a teen, my mom told me not to kiss all the boys in town, or I’d get a bad reputation. Nowadays, I only want to kiss that one guy (whom I’m married to), yet I still worry about my reputation and try my best to make myself palatable for social and professional survival. This has gone so far that I can’t recognise myself anymore. I’m sick of my clothes, my photos, my social media, and my neighbourhood. I want to find a new place to live with a larger wardrobe, but the one with a walk-in closet had too many red flags.

You have to pay attention, because red flags in this town are dyed baby pink. No one dares to tell you that you suck. They know — or fear — they’re being watched, so they keep up appearances. Everyone is sweet, always smiling, and never criticises you. It’s a small city, and everyone knows everybody.

I know someone who’s supposedly burning bridges, and I wonder: is she? Or is she just refusing to people-please for the sake of her reputation? I would need to dig deeper into the gossip to get the details. But, you know, not good for my rep.

A friend once told me about a French guy she was dating, not seriously yet, though. As she described him, I realised it was the same guy another friend had kissed at a party a week before. Should I have said, “Hey, a friend of mine just kissed the same guy”? I didn’t think it was relevant. It just confirmed we live in a tiny little egg of a city.

Not saying this to justify my new bland self, still, my inner teenager is shaking her head at me. She was proudly one of the weirdos in my hometown — a place even smaller than Helsinki. She confused people with unconventional makeup, pink-and-purple hair, and outfits curated for the artsy gaze. She wore black Converse high-tops to a debutante ball. One friend’s mother forbade us from hanging out because of my eyebrow piercing she considered “lesbian.” Guess who turned out to be a lesbian after all? Mothers really do know their kids, and in the late 90s, it was still taboo.

I don’t want my inner teen to see I’m not bold anymore. I’m disappointed with this tame version of myself. That girl I used to be can’t stand it, and I hope she can help me to come up with a plan.

Please?

Can we take a break from everything? Just for a while. We’ll go through some sort of detox or spring inner cleaning. We can think of a short solo trip, with a silent retreat, no mirrors, no internet. A place where no one knows our name, and we can choose whatever we want. Maybe Chlöe or Mathilda. We can shop for vintage and dress however we want, just to feel something different. I’ll start with black jeans and a cowboy hat. Pink roller skates, no purse, a pocket knife, and cash in my bra.

This is not just about the outfit. On my way back, I promise I’ll be brave enough to be disliked. We’re not on a diet, but I’m leaving the sugar behind. No rudeness—just honesty, assertiveness, and the refusal to shrink myself to meet imagined expectations. Maybe they’re just waiting for someone to stop performing for them.

❋ Secret Book Club — Saturday, May 23, our book club returns. This time, we’re reading I Who Have Never Known Men and gathering at the coziest market in town for a delicious brunch. Expect brunch, coffee, gossip, bingo with surprises, and great conversations—guided by Carol Bonatto, a voracious reader and writer.

Join the book club

Oh, hi. It’s Tass. This is our private corner for the conversations that begin over brunch, stretch across long voice notes, and somehow turn into a recommendation, an invitation, or a fit of laughter.

I write weekly, and there’s always something waiting at the bottom.

the past two weeks have been filled with physical pain, ibuprofen pills, and “I know what’s happening to my body, no need to see a doctor”. My body mirrors whatever stress I feel, and recently, things are just weird.

I can’t find a position that doesn’t hurt my hips or my shoulder. I know the stiffness isn’t only physical, and a sound massage made that painfully clear. I went to a studio to let the vibrations massage my energy — because why not? The experience felt so strangely magical that I left completely mesmerized, already thinking about when I could go back again.

Behind an ordinary door on Eerikinkatu in Kamppi, Vibing Hel, created by Hélène, holds a pink, ethereal space for deep relaxation that is like an oracle for the body. She begins with a short conversation to tune the experience to what you’re carrying. I told her I’d been thinking about my tendency to become deeply entangled in every project I join, how this constant immersion has been slowly consuming my creative energy like vanilla cream folded into coffee: impossible to separate once dissolved. I don’t want that.

I closed my eyes, and my body easily swam with the bowls’ soundings. Then, my right shoulder started to bother me in pain. I moved and got off the flow. The chimes invited me to play, but my heavy shoulders didn’t allow me to enjoy it. It became crystal clear in my body: I’m still skipping fun, pressuring to perform, searching for money through production, not value. At some point, the vibrations won: I surrendered with my arms over my head, and enjoyed the rest of the session.

When the bowls were silent and I re-downloaded my soul back, Hèléne served me some water and asked how I was feeling—she always has this after moment with clients to help us get the most out of it. I explained my shoulder issue, and she said something I’d never expect.

During the session, she placed three bowls along my body, each aligned with a different chakra. The bowls near my head and chest opened into clear, resonant vibrations, but the one resting close to my sacral chakra behaved differently: instead of echoing outward, it held the sound inside itself. It reminded me of something my husband once explained about drums. When he wants a cymbal to stop expanding its sound, he tightens it. A relaxed cymbal vibrates freely. It breathes, carries, sustains. Tension contains the resonance instead of letting it travel.

I paused to digest that information.

My tense pelvis was holding the vibration right where the creativity, emotions, sexuality, and pleasure should flow. It can be only my stiff hips, or it can be the sacral chakra. To solve the mystery, I picked a tarot card.

The Four of Wands showed a turtle curled into the same position my body instinctively chose when my shoulders began to ache. A card about celebration, pleasure, lightness. Not just rest — intentional fun. Four is a stable number, feet firmly on the ground, so joy has something solid to stand on.

But goldfish grow to the size of their bowl, and lately mine has been feeling a little too tight for the shape of my expression. I feel like one of those plants that forces itself through a crack in concrete, quietly pushing against its boundaries to make room to exist. Except I’m not growing through pavement, and the limitation is probably the shape I keep insisting on fitting into.

I would never have guessed that a sound massage could give language to the feelings stored in my body.

Something else:

• The sacral chakra

• Yoga for creativity and passion

• The Inner Architecture of Energy: A Journey Through the 7 Chakras

• Sacral chakra healing playlist

• I felt the urge to make a joke about “hips don’t lie,” but I controlled myself so as not to kill the vibe.

❋ Join a Sound Massage with a special discount — If you want to try the same experience, Hélène offered us a 25% OFF! To book your session, click here, choose payment at the store (Maksa Liikkeessä), and tell her you’re a Secret Club member. We would love to hear how it goes for you!

❋ Clothing Swap Picnic — Sunday, June 7, we’ll gather at Töölö Bay once again for something that already feels like a tradition. Our fourth edition already — I can’t wait. You’ll find the event in our WhatsApp group.

❋ Secret Vibe Lab — Our first edition was absolutely perfect, and the next session is coming soon. Stay tuned because I’ll probably make a poll on WhatsApp.

❋ Secret Book Club (this is your sign, because a last-minute cancellation just opened a spot!) — Saturday, May 23, our book club returns. This time, we’re reading I Who Have Never Known Men and gathering at the coziest market in town for a delicious brunch. Expect brunch, coffee, gossip, bingo with surprises, and great conversations—guided by Carol Bonatto, a voracious reader and writer.

Join the book club

I thought Secret Club would automatically bring me a perfect Sex and the City girl gang—a group of four to six amazing women who adore and support each other. We would brunch almost every Sunday, plot against patriarchy, blame capitalism, and go on a trip to Tokyo, or Italy, or the French Riviera. I would serve the creative, bubbly, crazy rich aunt vibe.

Bringing people together doesn’t mean helping them make meaningful connections (ouch!). I have been doing this for at least three years, believing that my writing would solve the small talk gap. Although it’s been really helpful, I can squeeze my brain juice and take us to the next level, even though I’m not a friendship specialist nor a psychologist. As a writer and a curious tester, I can read, overthink this topic, and ask you questions.

That’s actually how I learned two things: values & vibes. These two are the most important things to help people click. However, the match-making is suffering due to our lack of awareness, clarity, and reliance on casualness. We know we want friends and connections, right? But what kind are we looking for right now? After running the Vibe Lab with myself, I realized I’m not looking for besties, I’m looking for creative buddies. It’s my immediate need at the moment. Also important: it changes time after time.

So, how do we assess this information and shape moments with intention? I have an idea, and the name our community chose is Vibe Lab.

I remember feeling awful at a dinner with my husband’s colleagues. I sat there hoping no one would ask what I did for work, because I had quit my job due to burnout. In my mind, everyone else had a dream career, made great money, and had their life together.

I had no real intention of connecting with anyone, mostly because I didn’t even know what kind of connection I was looking for. What I probably needed was care, warmth, and closeness — the kind of comfort that’s hard to find in a room full of strangers where you feel expected to seem cool, accomplished, and put together.

The most embarrassing part, looking back, is that people were actually kind to me. No one judged me. I had no real reason to feel so ashamed, and yet I carried that feeling the entire evening.

Yes, intentions, babe.

Our intentions are the first thing we need to understand.
What kind of connection am I looking for today?

People can tune into many different channels and levels, but connection only happens when both sides are open to meeting on the same frequency. We don’t always need new people. Sometimes, we simply need to notice the ones who are ready to meet us where we are right now. This is the front door.

After that, we still need to notice how at ease we feel around people. Tuning into our body can save us a lot of time and frustration. Whenever I ignored the feeling that something was off and tried to rationalize why I dislike a person never paid off.

Beyond that instinct, we can also notice whether we feel safe enough to be open and vulnerable, or whether we feel triggered to perform, impress, or prove ourselves. The more self-conscious we are around someone, the more drained we’ll likely feel afterwards.

After vibes, come the values.

Again, we need to know what our values are so we can recognize our crew when we meet them. And values change, too. If you’re looking to build a network, you might value ambition or excellence most. If you’re simply looking for people to spend time with, spontaneity or ease may matter more.

Can you already see how powerful this awareness can be? Instead of forcing ourselves into spaces that drain us, we can intentionally choose the ones where our social needs are more likely to be met.

The cherry on top! 🍒

In our Vibe Lab, we’ll assess our vibes & values:

• vibes: ease in the body, emotional atmosphere, depth, social rhythm, and the kind of connection we’re craving.

  values: the qualities and behaviors that support and match our vibe.

Then, together, we’ll co-create rituals, sessions, prompts, and activities designed to bring out the kind of connection we actually want — and share the results with the community.

Learn more Vibe Lab 🫧

❋ Secret Vibe Lab — Saturday, May 9 🫧 A session where we’ll co-create an experience for real connection using tarot, journaling, and our creativity as the starting point. Let’s cook some magic!

Secret Vibe Lab

❋ Secret Book Club — Saturday, May 23, our book club returns. This time, we’re reading I Who Have Never Known Men and gathering at the coziest market in town for a delicious brunch. Expect brunch, coffee, gossip, bingo with surprises, and great conversations—guided by Carol Bonatto, a voracious reader and writer.

Join the book club

❋ Secret Retreat — Saturday, August 21—23 🌲 Our very first retreat is a playful, slow-living weekend designed for women who crave real connection, creativity, and a touch of magic. We’ll spend a weekend moving between quiet moments and shared experiences, morning rituals, lakeside swims, baking, firelight, sauna, laughter, and the kind of conversations that flow easily when you feel truly at ease.

Secret Retreat

❋ Community gatherings coming up: We are going to Linnanmäki on May 16th! Click below to join our WhatsApp group chat.

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Monday started intensely: phone calls from real estate brokers, messages that can’t wait too long, even my dog was up before eight. The cozy smell of coffee kept everything sane. When the egg boiler beeped, I put my phone away, sat at the table for breakfast, journaling and planning the week. My dog barked because she wanted another bite from my jammy eggs. I got up to pull the blinds down so the sun wouldn’t glare in my eyes, and that’s when I saw the notification that made me instantly nervous. I rushed to the computer with a million what-ifs running in circles around my brain. I had to breathe deeply four times and adultly tell myself to calm down because, regardless, I would write my book.

Decision: Not awarded.

I dropped a few tears. Just a few. I messaged my besties—they felt sorry, and so did I. I savoured the rejection a bit, to know what it tastes like. It's bitter, but it doesn’t linger. Or at least this one didn’t. After ten minutes, I shifted from sorry to excited again.

to grant: a big verb —

it means agreeing to a request instead of refusing it. It also means acknowledging that it was true. And, of course, it refers to officially giving money, rights, or access for a specific purpose.

Now I realize. I wanted all of it.

I want to grant myself the chance to write my book as a priority, and money would definitely help with that. I want to acknowledge that it’s possible, and money really helps with that. I want the money so I don’t have to spend my creativity figuring out how to monetize other things.

I felt the bitterness in my mouth again, but it vanished—my body knows the subtle difference between “not awarded” and “rejected”. Rejections hit harder. Nevertheless, if someone breaks your heart, they are blocking the access to love through them, but not refusing you love.

Hello, this is Tass calling to recover my agency.

I wasn’t awarded the grant, but I can still write my book. I wasn’t invited to an interview, but I can still share my writing on LinkedIn. I wasn’t selected for a masterclass, but I can find the exercises and gather friends to workshop together. I wasn’t invited to the party, but I can host something at my place. My reel flopped, but I can simply post again.

As a woman, my body knows resilience is ridiculously tiring, and I can’t keep excusing the default frustrations of a patriarchal structure. We were taught to swallow being passed over for promotions, earning less, not being heard. Many times it’s not fair. Other times, it simply is what it is. Regardless, I claim my agency. I do it anyway, stubborn consistency as a lifestyle.

They won’t give me money, but I’m granting myself in other ways.
For me, and for every woman who’s tired of waiting to be chosen.

I’ll be mostly talking about my book-writing journey on Instagram and Substack Notes.

❋ Secret Vibe Lab — Saturday, May 9 🫧 So many of you said you want to get closer to people with the same vibe and have more meaningful conversations—and that you’re open to co-creating something. So, we are building something together! A session where we’ll co-create an experience for real connection using tarot, journaling, and our creativity as the starting point. Let’s cook some magic!

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Oh, hi. It’s me, Tass. This newsletter is an invitation for an unhinged conversation, the kind we could have over brunch or a glass of wine with friends who actually care. We don’t just talk, we meet in real life — scroll all the way to the bottom, I have a few invitations for you.

I was 29 when I sold my car so I could get my MBA degree before having kids. I did this with an IUD in my uterus, despite never seriously considering getting pregnant. This contradiction perfectly reflects the message we received in the early 2000’s: don’t ever get pregnant versus be an independent woman with a great job and a beautiful family.

I have a clear memory of a hormonal wave that hit me four years ago and made me truly consider having kids. I remember messaging a friend about how much I was dreaming of a little girl. I had tears of joy in my eyes just imagining that cute, tiny human. But I’m a classic millennial, and it didn’t last. Imagining motherhood triggered my issues: I can’t afford to have her. I’m too emotionally unstable to keep a regular job. I felt 16 again, and pregnancy was a punishment for naughty girls, something to avoid at all costs. Motherhood was still divine, though. It would level me up to “mommy”, a Goddess who can do everything on her own, multiply food and love out of nothing, and be sustained by grace. When I woke up from this dream, what scared me the most was how lonely I pictured myself in it. Loneliness—number one among my top three fears. Second is having no money.

The contradictions go on and on. A year after the hormonal wave had passed, I had a meltdown because I had given up on motherhood to pursue career, money, my curiosity, my writing, an interesting life, and end up with nothing. When I hit rock bottom, I wished I had a daughter so I could say I had achieved something meaningful in my life. I also thought that having someone depend on me would boost my motivation to keep going. Afterwards, I felt the most selfish person in the world.

It led to a sincere discussion with my therapist. I asked her whether the desire to be a mom is real or something patriarchy has brainwashed us into believing. She asked me why I wanted to be a mom. My answer was easy: I don’t want to be a mom—I’m just curious about being pregnant, giving birth, and watching a child grow into a teenager, then an adult.

Curiosity might be enough if I were a rich woman willing to pass property down within the family. That’s not the case, unfortunately. The desire to be a mother may not be a requirement for having kids, but without it, chances are you’ll regret it or find it much harder. If I had a baby, would I prefer paying to outsource the work or having a village to help me? Does anyone have a village-friendly lifestyle nowadays? Isn’t having a safe way to care for your baby and raise them enough? Does it have to be so complicated? It probably shouldn’t.

I’ll always savor the strange taste of missing something I never truly wanted, living as a kind of teenage adult. I know that never having held a sick baby has left my view of life softer, more naive. And I wonder about that unique kind of love and fear—the kind that only exists when you create a person from your own cells. I’ll stay curious. The last time I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see a mother looking back at me.

P.S. I seem to have forgotten there’s usually a father in the picture. I didn’t, but in my notes on not being a mother, I realize I can’t fully account for the father as an equal part of the equation. This is not a belief or a value I hold—it’s simply my honest perspective in this reflection. I loved my dad deeply, and I’m forever grateful that he provided for us financially. My mom took care of me, my sister, and everything else, so he could focus on work and have more freedom.

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Oh, hi. It’s me, Tass.

This newsletter is an invitation for an unhinged conversation, the kind we could have over brunch or a glass of wine with friends who actually care.

We don’t just talk, we meet in real life too.

Join our next Book Club

Next week, I’ll release a new concept of meetings! Stay tuned.

I tell everyone I’ll be a tarot reader when I retire, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop working. Not only for money reasons, but mainly because I don’t want to, for now at least.

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Oh, hi. It’s me, Tass. This newsletter is an invitation for an unhinged conversation, the kind we could have over brunch or a glass of wine. I’m serious, we meet in real life, too:

Join our book club

I tell my friends that living in Helsinki matches my personality. As it’s a cool thing. Deep inside, I’m trying to convince myself that the weirdest decision I ever made for love was a good one. I came to this country entirely for love—accidentally(?), my career and finances melted away. I can’t blame Helsinki, though. There’s no guarantee I wouldn’t have gone through a similar burnout journey if I had stayed in São Paulo. Maybe it'd been worse. You never know, babe.

I was no queen in the tropics, but I had (until 2019) a pretty charming life, not only on paper, but I actually enjoyed most of it. Maybe working too much, but also seeing my career moving forward; spending a lot of money, yes, but having a lot of fun. Broke up with a toxic ex and was enjoying my sisterhood like never before. It created a clear level bar for my Finnish chapter, and I wouldn’t accept anything less.

After staying in Brazil for over a month, an odd feeling got me:

I feel like restarting my journey in Finland and doing things differently.

Sometimes I list what I would do differently if I started over. Now, I gave myself a restarting voucher, and this is my reboot manifesto —

After five years, I’m restarting from the very beginning. Or from the very beginning, possible. Or maybe I just came back from Brazil, craving a glow up to recreate that delicious Brazilian version of me.

Send help (!) — because getting help, and learning how to let people help me, is urgent. I thought moving countries would be a life upgrade, and that asking for help would mean admitting I wasn’t thriving, a flaw in the biggest decision I ever made. The one I could never question or regret. Admitting I need help felt almost like an insult. I’d feel defeated. I came from São Paulo. C’mon! Helsinki is a piece of cake.

I was arrogant enough to blame my capabilities, and foolish enough to believe I could handle it. Little did I know I was facing an unfamiliar system with different rules and paths. I couldn’t simply hack my way through it. Culture came across as rudeness many times, and I gave up learning Finnish because these people don’t deserve my effort. Not asking for help and not admitting I needed help left me confused, sad, and cynical, which eventually triggered dormant mental issues.

From now on, I will be the kid in the room: broken language and all the questions. If someone says I should know something by now, I’ll simply tell them I didn’t learn because I pretended I knew it already. It’s true. We’ll laugh, because it’s kind of funny, and I love replacing embarrassment with good laughter. For the next weird interaction, I promise myself I will speak out about my feelings. This type of awkwardness avoids overthinking later. Totally worth it.

The hardest part

Instead of holding onto my previous life expectations, I’ll jump headfirst and delight in the new. My restarting voucher doesn’t take regrets, and requires reinventing skills. I won’t go fully auditing my life, but I can list topics in which I’m settling for fine instead of aiming for what I want.

This is hard to admit. Damn. It all loops back to the help thing. Okay, no sugarcoating: I’m not satisfied with my bank account. My social life feels scattered. And I hate how long I sit on decisions when I’m afraid they’ll hurt people or make them leave. How can I get help for these things?

My first thought is: I’ll wait until Wednesday, my next therapy session. But she cannot fix my entire life, unfortunately. I need other resources. Maybe a friend of a friend, if I ever gather the courage to ask someone, “Hey, I’m trying to understand how to actually make money as an independent writer. Could I talk this through with you?“. An expensive coach would be easier because it cuts down the shame. I know there’s no shame in asking for help, but it squeezes my stomach, a wrong feeling I need to unpack to glow up.

I probably need to evaluate the energy I invest in my social life and focus more intentionally — bringing closer the people whose vibes align with mine, rather than just spending time with everyone for fun. I need to stop spreading myself too thin across many groups and create space for friendships where I feel grounded, supported, and comfortable asking for help.

Maybe living in Helsinki does match my personality after all.

Inspired by I’m also listing

What kind of help I’m calling into my life

At the beginning of this year, I went all-in on my dream of becoming an independent writer. A decision that scared the shit out of me, but also made me feel over the moon. I was encouraged by the support from Secret Club members, but also nervous about what people would think, knowing many expect me to constantly produce one event after another.

That’s why, as a writer for Secret Club, I’m ready to connect with readers who will engage with my essays, share them, and help shape this space into a creative sisterhood for women outgrowing their lives and plotting against patriarchy. Writing alone is powerful, but conversations make it richer.

As an independent writer, I’m calling in help to deepen my practice, explore stories that matter, blast my words into the world, and claim every space they deserve. One day soon, you’ll see me in The Cut, Vogue, Glamour, and every major outlet that matters. Just watch me.

And as a human, I’m opening myself to friendships with people with multiple interests and hobbies who love to build meaningful things. I’m inviting help to find more reasons to expand into a slow, intentional creative life on my own terms.

Let me know what kind of help you’re welcoming too. Maybe I could be useful.

Wow. It feels good, to be honest.

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Oh, hi. It’s me, Tass. This newsletter is an invitation for an unhinged conversation, the kind we could have over brunch or a glass of wine with friends who actually care.

We don’t just talk, we meet in real life too:

Join our book club

If you make it all the way to the bottom, there’s a second invitation for a free tarot reading night—and some very cute pictures of me as a wedding officiant. Can you believe it?

the year was 2018, and I was broken inside due to a toxic relationship with a toxic boyfriend. I had no idea I could just leave. In that same year, I met Jéssica at work. She was younger than me, but knew things I didn’t.

Her self-love overflowed, and I was lucky to be by her side with my empty cup and the humbleness to listen. My old friends had already tried to heal my broken wings, but I became good at dodging their advice and faking my feelings. I admit I tend to ignore advice, especially from my sister. Later, I ask her, “Why didn’t you tell me?” — of course, she did.

In the spring of 2025, Jéssica invited me to officiate at her wedding, and I immediately said yes. I would not only be honoured, but would also have the chance to share with many people what we had elaborated about love over the years of friendship and shared experiences.

Our conversations were the way out of the situation I was trapped in. She showed me I wasn’t crazy or ungrateful. Or asking too much, and most importantly, she made it crystal clear that it wasn’t supposed to be sour and uncomfortable. Not now and then, not ever.

Our 60-minute lunchtimes at work were not only for eating, but for long chats about what a healthy relationship is, what is unacceptable, how we should communicate, how to develop intimacy, and what intimacy boundaries are. We compared, we talked about movies, and of course, we gossiped. She proved to me that romantic relationships were meant to be easy.

Jéssica became my life saviour, a great friend, and a woman whom I look after and care deeply for. Last Sunday, I put all I learned from her and her now husband into words and officiated their wedding in the most lovable, fun, and light ceremony I have ever witnessed. The vibe was pure love and joy.

The marriage I live today is, in many ways, inspired by hers—and I hope I can influence others in that direction too. I know there are different ways to love, different agreements to be made. But the basics, I believe, are universal.

To write the wedding ceremony, I interviewed a few of the bride and groom’s closest friends and decoded their Secret of Love. I think everyone should hear it.

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Oh, hi. It’s me, Tass.

This newsletter is an invitation for an unhinged conversation, the kind we could have over brunch or a glass of wine with friends who actually care. So pour yourself something to drink and sit with me for five minutes — let’s talk about sleep and snoring husbands.

We don’t just talk, we meet in real life too. This Sunday: ceramics workshop.
And save the date — Thursday, April 9, dinner time (details down below).

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I always thought sleeping well was a superpower—until I realized it’s a mix of superpower, luck, and life setup.

I turned on the local TV the other day, and they were comparing how many people don’t sleep well across different states in Brazil. I’m in the worst place (Distrito Federal), and it caught my attention because my sister is a bad sleeper, while my mom and I are on the other side of the sleeping spectrum.

I fall asleep fast, sleep well, and snore a bit, but I’m a light sleeper. If I’m not using my earplugs, I might wake up in the middle of the night because of my husband’s snoring. It must be funny to watch us sleep. Years ago, my earplugs became my secret weapon: they really changed the game for me. Nowadays, they are with me everywhere, and I don’t even risk sleeping without them. I might wake up miserable now and then, never for reasons I can avoid, though.

The TV report didn’t go into why women top the rankings for poor sleep, so I have a few theories: maybe her husband snores and falls asleep before she does. Maybe her husband snores and falls asleep before she does. Maybe she’s the one getting up at night to check on the kids. Maybe a terrible public transport system stretches her commute, and as you might remember, the world out there is less safe for women — so the safest route, not the smartest, is the one we take.

For now, let’s focus on snoring men because it turns out that it’s not a sexist stereotype: men snore almost twice as much as women do. The gap will only narrow after menopause or pregnancy. That’s what Ryan Chin Taw Cheong, an ear, nose, and throat consultant and sleep surgeon at University College London hospitals, told The Guardian.

💤

I was staying at a friend’s place when her boyfriend slept over. In the morning, I saw him on the couch and immediately thought: Oh… did they have a fight? I asked her, quietly, if everything was okay. She said yes—all good. He just snores, and she’s a light sleeper. No drama.

Later on, I listened to a podcast in which a couple explains why they sleep in separate rooms. He breathes loudly, she likes to wake up in the middle of the night to write, and it also gives them the chance to decorate their own spaces however they want. It all made me remember the idea of having a sofa bed in our studies as an alternative to having separate rooms.

I brought this idea to bed, during those quick conversations we have before falling asleep. We laughed and hugged when we realized we both love sleeping together and having a couple’s suite. We don’t have one yet, let us dream. Despite that, I don’t wake him up to come to bed when he sleeps on the couch. I take the chance to read until late, with a fireplace and some instrumental jazz looping on YouTube.

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No one tells us that intimacy also sounds like snoring. I remember my father breathing like a truck engine while my mother slept in the guest room. He didn’t like it, but she did it anyway. Sleep deprivation is hell; we should take it seriously.

Although I’m not a fan of sleeping in separate bedrooms, I do think it’s wise to have another bed to retreat to, in case you or your partner snores too loudly. Or maybe you have the flu and are coughing all night. Sleeping is sacred, and building a life setup that protects it is a way to claim our power.

Maybe sleeping well isn’t just a superpower. Maybe it’s something we have to build, protect, and negotiate. In a world where male gaze already made (make) us starve, we can’t stay up all night. Things like sleeping in separate bedrooms and encouraging men to check their ear, nose, and throat health can be a form of protest, a way of claiming ourselves. We could add vasectomies to the list, why not?

After all, we need to be strong to respond whenever we feel oppressed, diminished, or simply not appreciated. We need to be up for it — energized to respond, to resist, and to take care of each other.

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