In Finland, we have a word for resilience — sisu. It means the kind of grit that carries you through when willpower alone isn’t enough. I like to think I have a fair bit of it, but yesterday morning, as I woke to the sound of rain tapping against the windows, I began to wonder. I may have spoken a little too soon. It’s easy to be positive when the sun is shining and the birds are singing. But when you pull back the curtains and see nothing but grey skies and endless rain… well, that’s a whole different story.

My Finnish sisu hadn’t truly been tested yet.

So, naturally, I did what any sensible person would do on a rainy day — I messaged my friend in Florida, hoping she’d show a little sympathy and agree I should skip my daily walk. Instead, she replied with her familiar heavy Southern accent and pure, unapologetic tough love: “Pull on your purty peachy pink raincoat, glab your fancy pink Marimekko umbrella, and get out there!”

No sympathy. None whatsoever. Just a nudge — or maybe a push — toward the door.

So out I went.

The rain came down harder than I expected, and soon my shoes were making that unmistakable squelch with every step. Within minutes I was soaked through — or as we Finns say, I was like an uitettu rotta — a drowned rat. My raincoat clung to me like a second skin, the water trickling down my sleeves in tiny cold rivers, but somehow it washed away the last bits of hesitation.

Something shifted in my thinking.

I was actually enjoying this. It was… refreshing.

The air smelled clean and alive, our neighbourhood seemed softer somehow, and it looked like I was the only one foolish — or brave — enough to be walking out there. So peaceful. Well, almost.

Because just ahead of me was the baby magpie I’d seen the other day, marching behind its poor mother, squawking relentlessly for food. She looked utterly exhausted, darting about to find worms while her little one kept up its noisy demands. I couldn’t help but laugh. Some mums never get a break — not even in the rain.

Somewhere between puddles and laughter, I found myself asking: When was the last time I chose to walk in the rain? Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. It had been far too long.

For the month of October, I’m taking part in the Cancer Council’s Walk for Breast Cancer Challenge, walking every day to raise awareness and support for breast cancer research. My pink walk in the rain turned out to be one of the most memorable ones so far — soaked, smiling, and reminded that sisu doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it just quietly puts one soggy foot in front of the other.

Later that day, my heart was warmed again — this time by kindness. Another donation came in, this time from one of my brothers. I’m not sure which meant more: the donation itself, or the message that came with it — “I’m so proud of you, Jaana!”

With tears in my eyes, I celebrated not just the growing total, but the love and encouragement that keeps me moving forward.

Because sometimes, all we need is a friend to tell us to grab our pink raincoat — and a reminder that even on the rainiest days, we’re never really walking alone.

https://www.doitforcancer.com.au/fundraisers/jaanajokinen/walk-for-breast-cancer