Talismans: The Jewelry That Chooses You Back

I’ve been thinking a lot about the difference between jewelry and a talisman.

Jewelry is beautiful. It’s decorative. It finishes an outfit. 

But a talisman is different. A talisman steadies you. It reminds you who you are. It carries something “heavier.”

When we look across history, it’s easy to see that women haven’t just worn jewelry to look pretty. They’ve worn it to feel protected, to mark transitions, to hold grief, and to gather courage. Ancient Egyptians carved scarabs for protection. In the Middle Ages, women wore pendants that held tiny relics close to their hearts. Victorian lockets carried woven hair so love would never be completely gone.

In these ways, jewelry/talismans were used as emotional tools.

A talisman marks a moment. Maybe it’s the ring you buy after a divorce - or the necklace you wear to every important meeting. Maybe it’s the bracelet you put on before walking into a room that you just know will try to make you feel small.

It’s not superstition. It’s symbolism you can touch.

Right now, we’re closing out the final Virgo–Pisces eclipses - a cycle that began in 2024 and has quietly asked many of us to release what no longer supports who we are becoming. Virgo asks for discernment. Pisces dissolves illusion. Together, they clear space.

Over this cycle, I’ve released more than I expected to. A few important relationships - ones I never imagined I would ever truly walk away from. 

I left behind several roles that I was really good at playing but were never supportive of my highest good. 

And, probably bigger than anything, I released a version of myself who believed I was most valuable when I was helping someone else. When I was fixing. When I was holding everything together for another person. The version who quietly thought love was earned through giving - but it was never really just giving. It was self sacrificing. 

It took me time to see it clearly. I thought I was being generous. I was actually being afraid.

Afraid that if I stopped overextending, something would leave. Afraid that if I drew a boundary, I would lose connection. Afraid that if I wasn’t indispensable, I wouldn’t be needed.

And in some cases, when I did step back, things changed. Some dynamics and relationships ended.

But what I learned is this: if something only survives because you are over-giving, it was never sustainable to begin with.

And so I let go.

I trust that what is meant for me will remain — and what isn’t, won’t. And that’s ok.