UNDER THE EVIL EYE

My special connection to the evil eye

Have you ever felt like someone was wishing bad things upon you? Or felt a looming negative presence during a certain period of your life, but couldn't explain why? I used to brush off those feelings as anxiety, bad luck, or just a rough season of life. But there was a time when the heaviness felt different, like something unseen was clinging to me and following me from moment to moment. It was during the last few months of my senior year in high school, and things kept going wrong in small but persistent ways, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was carrying an energy that didn’t belong to me.

Over spring break that year, my family went on a week-long trip to the West Coast. It was definitely one of my favorite vacations I’ve been on, and probably the most spiritual. Something about the California air, the winding cliffs, and the quiet stretches of road felt grounding. It was as if the world was gently reminding me that I was still held, even if life had felt heavy before.

One afternoon, while we were walking through a small shopping area in Monterrey, I wandered into a little Turkish boutique filled with jewelry, crystals, and handmade charms. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just slowly browsing, letting my fingers trail over cool stones and delicate chains. That’s when I saw it—a tiny blue and white evil eye bracelet hanging on a display near the counter. I’d always heard about the power of the evil eye, but I questioned whether I believed in it.

I was never overly religious. I grew up in the Episcopal church and was very involved in my younger years. I did youth group, volunteer retreats, Sunday school, church choir, all of it. But I never felt a strong connection with practicing religion. Going to church was a reason to see my grandparents, which was the only thing I looked forward to on Sundays. Like many other people during the pandemic, I tried turning to any spiritual connection I could find, but nothing resonated deeply. I came across videos talking about the evil eye and became curious. There are many religious symbols that people feel connected to, but the evil eye was a new symbol I’d discovered and decided to look more into. 

I remember picking up the bracelet I saw in the store without really thinking. I knew it was supposed to ward off negative energy. It felt simple, but intentional. After the season I had been experiencing, that idea felt less like superstition and more like something I quietly hoped could be true. The lady at the checkout table saw me holding the bracelet and asked me, “Are you seeking spiritual protection?” I could hear her smooth Turkish accent when she spoke to me, and knew that she could see what I was going through. I told her what I knew about the evil eye and that I was going through some personal turmoil at the time and was looking for something that could ease the stress. She smiled and told me about the full meaning and history of the symbol.

She told me that the belief in the evil eye goes back thousands of years, appearing in cultures across the Mediterranean, the Middle East, Latin America, and parts of Asia. The idea is simple but powerful: that envy or ill will—even when unspoken—can carry negative energy that affects the person it’s directed toward. The symbol of the eye is meant to “watch back,” reflecting that negativity away and shielding the wearer. When the evil eye becomes cracked, shattered, or falls apart unexpectedly, it’s often interpreted as a sign that the charm has taken in more negativity than it can hold, essentially sacrificing itself to protect you. 

Whether you see it as spiritual truth, cultural tradition, or symbolic comfort, the meaning resonated with me more than I expected. After a period of my life that felt clouded by heaviness I couldn’t explain, the idea of carrying something meant to protect my energy felt deeply personal. That tiny blue bracelet became a reminder that I could be intentional about what I allowed to touch my spirit.

So I bought the bracelet and a little resin evil eye ring to match—not only as a souvenir, but as a small promise to myself that I deserved peace, protection, and a fresh start. However, when we went back to the hotel that evening, I took the bracelet out of the bag to put it on, then all of a sudden it shattered. That could have just been a coincidence of me being too excited to wear the bracelet, but thinking back to what the lady at the store told me about the evil eye absorbing more negativity than it could hold, causing it to break, I became a little superstitious. Luckily, though, I still had the ring to protect me. I wore the ring the rest of the trip and for months after that. Unfortunately, it didn’t last more than a few months either—and by then, I had started to wonder if it had been carrying more than I ever realized.

That summer, I went to a concert with an old boyfriend of mine. I wore the ring to the concert and had the best time singing my favorite songs and dancing to the music. When we got in the car to go home after the show, I felt a sharp indentation in the ring. I turned my phone flashlight on to take a look, only to see that the eye of the ring had been totally cut out. The bracelet breaking was one thing. A coincidence that can be easily explained. But this ring was made of thick resin, a material that takes a lot of strength to break. On the car ride home, I sat there wondering what I could have possibly done to break it. I never hit my hand on anything, it never fell off my finger to the ground, and I couldn’t think of any coincidences to combat my suspicions. I couldn’t explain how it happened—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it hadn’t been random. For the first time, I felt like I was actually being watched by the evil eye.

A few months later, I had a rough start to my first year at UNC. I was having issues with my suitemates in my dorm, and my relationship with my boyfriend at the time unraveled in a way I never could’ve predicted—and for the first time in a while, I wasn’t wearing an evil eye. Looking back, I don’t think the charm was meant to stop pain from happening altogether. Maybe it was there to carry me through the parts I wasn’t strong enough to hold on my own. When the ring broke, maybe that chapter of protection had already done what it needed to do. 

During the months after the end of freshman year, I kept going back to the thought of getting a new evil eye bracelet to take back with me for my sophomore year. I went to a summer festival with a couple of my girlfriends and came across a stand selling bracelets. I rushed over and looked around to find a bracelet that stood out to me. I came across a gorgeous light blue bracelet with every bead being an evil eye. I bought the bracelet and immediately felt a sense of relief. 

I wore the bracelet that whole summer. I was working my first real internship position with an amazing boss, I was spending quality time with my friends, I traveled to Utah and Colorado with my family, life was great! That was until my car crash happened at the end of the summer (if you haven’t read my blog about my crash, you can read it here). 

I remember after being hit, I was put in an ambulance to head to Wake Forest Hospital, when I looked at my hand and saw that my bracelet was gone. In the middle of all the chaos—the sirens, the questions, the shock—that tiny absence felt enormous. I had worn it every day, twisting it around my wrist when I was anxious, glancing at it when I needed reassurance. And now, when everything felt fragile and uncertain, it had vanished. At that moment, all of my hope was gone. But life has a funny way of turning things around.

After the car crash, my dad and I went to the junkyard where my car was sitting to see if we could find anything salvageable from the remains of the car. When we got there, the first thing I saw was my evil eye bracelet sitting on top of the car, completely untouched, covered in dirt and glass. For a second, I just stood there staring at it. The windshield had shattered. Metal was bent in ways that didn’t look possible. The inside of the car was chaos—papers scattered, pieces broken, everything out of place. But the bracelet was just sitting there, like it had been gently placed instead of thrown from impact. I picked it up with shaky hands, brushing off the dirt and tiny shards of glass. Not a single bead was cracked. The string hadn’t snapped. It looked exactly the way it had the day I bought it, as if the crash had simply missed it. 

In a moment where so much could have gone worse, this tiny symbol of protection was the one thing left completely whole. And standing there beside the wreckage of my car, I didn’t feel scared. I felt that same feeling of being watched over and protected. At that moment, I knew everything was going to be alright. Once I got back to school, I found an evil eye key chain that I decided to get to put on my keys, so that I could carry that same protection with me wherever I go, especially when driving. Trusting that whatever watches over me would continue to do so.

I wore that bracelet for two more years, until this most recent summer, when the strings had finally frayed and snapped apart. It was as if it had carried me exactly as far as I needed to go. Thankfully, I still have my keychain that I take with me everywhere.

After everything that happened, I’ve become more of a believer than I ever expected to be. Not just in the evil eye itself, but in the idea that we are always being guided and protected in ways we don’t fully understand. Maybe the protection isn’t about stopping hard things from happening, but about carrying us safely through them.

I don’t think you have to believe in the evil eye for this story to mean something. We all have different symbols, different faiths, different ways of making sense of the unexplainable. But I do believe that we are never as alone as we feel in our hardest moments. Life will always throw curveballs. Some small, some life-changing. But there is a quiet strength that rises to meet us when it does. We all have our ways of feeling safe and protected by something or someone.

For me, the evil eye became a reminder of that. A reminder that protection can look like survival. That endings can make space for new beginnings. 

The things I learned while growing up in the church still live quietly in my heart, but my understanding of protection and guidance has grown into something more personal over time. Through everything I’ve experienced, I’ve come to believe in a higher power that watches over us in ways we don’t always recognize—not always preventing hardship, but walking beside us through it. Whether it be God, guardian angels, a family member who has passed, whatever you want it to be.

For me, the evil eye became a physical reminder of that presence. A small, tangible symbol of the same comfort and safety that others might find in prayer, scripture, or ritual. It helped me see that faith doesn’t have to look the same for everyone. Sometimes it’s found in tradition. Sometimes it’s found in symbols. And sometimes it’s found in the quiet, unexplainable moments that make you feel protected when you should have been afraid.

I don’t claim to know exactly how it all works. I just know that I have felt guided, carried, and watched over in the moments I needed it most. And whether that protection comes through religion, spirituality, symbols, or something else entirely, I believe we are all held by something greater than ourselves—even when we can’t see it.