From Nothing to Everything Life journey

This blog is my story—a raw and honest account of growing up in a world of broken homes, toxic relationships, and relentless adversity. From the chaos of my early years in Finland to the sanctuary I found in a children’s home, I share how I turned pain into purpose and learned to thrive against all odds. Through tales of survival, resilience, and the power of kindness, I explore how my chaotic childhood shaped me into the person I am today: a man dedicated to helping businesses grow, empowering children to dream, and creating a ripple effect of positive change in the world. Join me as I reflect on the lessons I’ve learned, the challenges I’ve overcome, and the hope that keeps me moving forward. This is more than just my story—it’s a testament to the strength we all carry within us and the power of choosing to rise above our circumstances.

BEYOND THE BACKPACK

Niko

1/20/202510 min read

The Life That Made Me Stronger: A Journey from Chaos to Purpose

Lessons from a Chaotic Childhood
Broken Arms and Broken Homes: A Child’s Resilience

From the very beginning, my life has been filled with more harmful memories than joyful ones. One of my earliest recollections takes me back to when I was just two years old, sitting in a stroller in Järvenpää, Finland, observing the world around me. That simple moment of peace was a fleeting glimpse of what life could have been—but reality soon had other plans. Not long after, my family moved to Lohja, where I lived until the age of five. This was when the first major storm hit: my parents’ divorce. My parents separated not long after we moved to Lohja, and their constant arguments filled the house. I would sit there playing Nintendo, hoping they would stop. My father’s late nights at bars left my mother to raise me and my younger sister alone. Our home in western Finland was far from stable, but it was the beginning of my story.

Despite the tension, my adventurous spirit emerged early. Around the age of three or four, I decided to speed down a steep hill on my bike. I ended up crashing into a lamp post, breaking my arm in the process. But being the stubborn little boy I was, I just walked home and told my mom, “I’m tired, I need to sleep.” Sleeping until she noticed my broken arm injury and I ended up in the hospital with a cast. As I grew older, life’s turbulence only intensified. By the age of five, we had moved again, and I began school in Savonlinna eastern Finland.

So here we moved again from the western part of Finland, to where my mom met the man who would become my stepfather—and my tormentor. This was when my life became a test of endurance. My stepfather’s use of steroids and alcohol fueled his violent tendencies. The first morning he stayed in our home, I innocently made a mistake, and he lashed out with his belt. That was just the beginning.

A New Chapter, a New Tormentor: Life with My Stepfather

One summer, during a family gathering at my grandmother’s lake house, I came face-to-face with the kind of danger no child should experience. My mom had been barbecuing, and my stepfather, hungover, complained about the food. His irritation escalated quickly. He grabbed logs from the firewood pile and started hurling them at me. I ran into the lake, barely able to swim, hoping the water would save me. That moment was the first of many where survival felt like an achievement.

Moving frequently disrupted my ability to form lasting friendships. By six, I was starting school in Savonlinna, and by eleven, I had to leave my mom’s house. All my schools suffered, my social life suffered, and I didn’t really know how to trust anyone. Lying became a daily norm for me—a survival tactic my mother had taught me. “Lying is survival,” she would say. Looking back now at 31, it’s clear I didn’t have the easiest start to adulthood. Living with her and my stepfather was no longer safe. I was exhausted from protecting my sister and struggling to take care of myself. At one point, social workers and psychologists came together and gave my father two options: either I move in with him, or I’d be placed in a children’s home. Honestly, I’m not sure how much better the children’s home would have been at that stage, but I can’t help but wonder—would I have grown as strong as I am today if I hadn’t moved in with my father?

Psychological Torture: Enduring a Narcissist’s Control

Living with my father was far from the sanctuary I had hoped for. My stepmother, a narcissist, treated me as less than a prisoner. I was confined to a tiny nine-square-meter room for months at a time, allowed out only for school. One incident stands out vividly: I made a sandwich for myself and offered one to a friend. My “crime” of kindness earned me two months of solitary confinement in my room.

I wasn’t allowed to enter the shared spaces of the house. If I needed to use the bathroom, I had to prove that I genuinely had a reason to be there. I only lived with my father for less than a year. At that point in my life, I was still lying constantly—it was how I had been raised to cope. But the biggest reason for this behavior was the environment I found myself in, with my narcissistic stepmother and the unbearable conditions I endured. Countless times, my stepmother and father would laugh as they enjoyed better meals than what I was given. Meals became a privilege rather than a right, and even the smallest slip-up—like forgetting what I ate at school—led to punishments.

These often included standing motionless in front of a mirror for hours, a form of psychological torture I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Living there as a child was nothing short of a complete nightmare—a form of psychological torture disguised as a home. Every aspect of daily life was controlled, and the smallest misstep could lead to severe punishment. It wasn’t just about following rules; it was about enduring constant fear and humiliation. For a child, it was an existence devoid of warmth, safety, or normalcy.

A Child’s Courage: Taking Control of My Own Future

At the age of 12, I moved to a children’s home—a decision I made on my own, and thankfully so. For the first time in my life, I was in a safe environment. The staff at the children’s home must have been deeply concerned about what my future would look like, given everything I had been through. The first two months there was a time for reflection. I was given space to consider my options, including the possibility of returning home. When the time for the meeting came, they asked me directly: “Do you want to go back home, or do you want to stay here?”

Before the meeting, I sought advice from the staff, asking, “What happens if I don’t want to go back?” They gave me a wise and thoughtful answer: “This is one of the most important decisions you’ll make, and you need to be sure of it.” The only thing that scared me about staying at the children’s home was the thought of facing my father’s anger and disappointment over my choice. I knew he would be furious, and the weight of his reaction loomed over me.

At just 12 years old, I was faced with a life-altering choice. Despite the weight of the decision, I already knew my answer. Returning to the chaos of my previous home was not an option. For the first time, I was choosing my own path, one that prioritized my safety and well-being. It was a moment of clarity and empowerment in the midst of an otherwise turbulent childhood.

Despite staying at home, I was still required to visit my parents on weekends, something I dreaded deeply. I hated going back to that house, knowing exactly what awaited me. My father was always drunk, and their behavior was completely unpredictable. Each visit filled me with anxiety, as I never felt safe or welcome. It was a constant reminder of the chaos I had escaped, and I counted down the hours until I could return to the stability of the children’s home.

I clearly remember one Friday when I was supposed to visit my father and stepmother. Outside, a fierce snowstorm was raging, and the children’s home was about 5 kilometers away. The thought of spending the weekend at my father’s house, where I always felt miserable and unsafe, was unbearable. That same midnight, I packed my things and bicycled back to the children’s home through the storm.

When I arrived, the staff asked me why I had come back so soon. I explained what had happened and told them I never wanted to go there again. From that moment on, my visits to my father’s house became less frequent until they eventually stopped altogether. By the time I turned 18, I had completely cut ties with him. The only times he ever called me before that were when he was drunk—never sober. That in itself spoke volumes about the kind of relationship we had.

Rebuilding Myself: From Chaos to Peace

Living in the children’s home was, without a doubt, the best period of my childhood. It provided me with something I had never truly known before: safety and stability. For the first time, I didn’t have to live in constant fear or uncertainty. I could simply exist without walking on eggshells. At 16, I made a pivotal decision that shaped the rest of my life: I would stop lying. Until that point, lying had been a survival tactic—a skill I had taught up to navigate the chaos of my earlier years. But it had only ever brought me trouble, and I was ready to leave that part of myself behind.

Before moving to the children’s home, my life had been chaotic, filled with moments of rebellion like shoplifting and skipping school. However, the structure and guidance I found in the "home" gave me a fresh start. For the most part, I followed the rules, and life became peaceful. The environment allowed me to reflect, grow, and begin to rebuild myself. The children’s home wasn’t just a place to live; it was a turning point that gave me the foundation I needed to move forward.

The only classes I really skipped while living in the children’s home were Swedish lessons. During those times, my school friend and I would sneak off to the bingo hall to play with the grandmothers. That’s where all my weekly allowance went—gambling at age 13 with a room full of elderly women.

Oddly enough, those grandmothers were some of the kindest adults I had ever encountered in my life. They didn’t judge me or treat me like I was different. In a way, the bingo hall became a kind of refuge for me—a safe space outside of the children’s home where I felt welcome and accepted. Those afternoons, surrounded by laughter and chatter, gave me a brief escape from the heavier realities of my life.

Across the Miles: Holding On to Hope for a Friend

In every city I’ve lived, I’ve really only ever had one close friend. In Lohja, it was Miika; in Savonlinna, Joona; and in Hämeenlinna, Panu.

I’ve completely lost touch with Miika, and I don’t know where life has taken him. Joona still lives in Finland, in Kuopio, where he studied to become an engineer. Then there’s Panu, my best friend from childhood and my child’s godfather. Panu had an incredibly difficult childhood as well, and he told me later in life that he probably would have taken his own life if I hadn’t been there for him. Knowing that I was able to be a source of strength for him during those dark times means the world to me.

Today, Panu is struggling with many challenges, and life hasn’t been kind to him in recent years. Despite his difficult childhood and everything he endured growing up, it seems that the weight of those experiences has followed him into adulthood. He’s had his share of setbacks and hardships, and it’s clear that things aren’t going as well as I would hope for him.

Even though we now live on opposite sides of the world, I’m always here for him. Our conversations, while rare, are often heavy and emotionally draining, but I never shy away from them. I know he needs that support, just as he once leaned on me during his darkest times as a child. I don’t always know where he is or what he’s facing, but I wish with all my heart that things will turn around for him. No matter how difficult life becomes, that’s what true friendship is about—being there, even when the moments are hard, and holding on to hope for the people we care about most.

Building a Better Future:

To some of you reading this, it might come across as venting. To others, perhaps it feels like an attempt to offer solidarity or a shared experience. And for some, it might evoke sadness or even anger. But for me, as I reflect on everything that has happened, I can honestly say I’m grateful.

All these experiences, no matter how painful or challenging, have shaped me into the strong man I am today—someone who can face any obstacle head-on and turn even the worst situations into something positive. When life throws its messiest challenges my way—when the proverbial fan gets hit—I’ve learned to adapt, to find solutions, and to move forward with resilience and determination. That’s a strength I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Over the years, I’ve adopted a personal philosophy: There are no problems, only solutions. This mindset has helped me reshape my life entirely. For instance, I completely gave up lying—a habit I had used as a survival tool during my early years—and instead focused on helping others whenever and however I could.

When I still lived in Finland, before taking that final leap to leave and start traveling, my efforts to help others gained recognition. I was featured in newspapers, on the radio, and in various media outlets for tackling one of Finland’s most significant social issues: Loneliness.

Helping Businesses And My Mission To Make a Difference

Today, my desire to help others remains as strong as ever, and it’s reflected in my career choices. I now help businesses grow and improve their success through my company, which I’m working hard to elevate to new heights. My focus in 2025 is on expanding my business and assisting new clients. Alongside this, depending on my profits and revenue, I plan to dedicate a portion to helping children, particularly those just starting school or currently pursuing their education. My goal is to help them achieve their dreams and build a future aligned with their passions and interests.

I firmly believe that every child deserves the chance to pursue their dreams, regardless of their family background. There are so many children in this world whose parents cannot provide them with the education or opportunities needed to nurture their talents and potential careers. I want to be part of changing that.

So, this is where my story begins—a story of how my own experiences shaped my deep desire to help others. In my next blog, I’ll share more about my own child and how I long to be more involved in my son’s life, despite the challenges that keep us apart. While my love for him is unwavering, the presence of a toxic woman in his life has made it impossible for us to rebuild the connection we twice had. It’s a painful reality, but one I’ve had to accept for the sake of my own well-being. I believe this story will resonate with many of you who have faced similar struggles—where the love for a child is met with barriers beyond your control.

If my start journey has touched or inspired you, please follow this blog and share it with someone who might need a little light in their life—just like I found mine.

Niko, January 24'