What Jantelagen and the Evil Eye Never Taught Me

Growing up in Sweden, you learn early not to take up too much space.

There’s even a cultural code for it. It’s called Jantelagen. A mindset that says:

“Don’t think you’re special. Don’t think you’re smarter. Don’t think you’re better than anyone else.”

It’s not written down anywhere, but you feel it. At school, in conversations, in the way people respond when you share a win. It’s a quiet rulebook that punishes pride and rewards shrinking.

But I didn’t just grow up in Sweden. I was also raised by West African immigrant parents, which came with a different kind of conditioning, one that’s deeply familiar to many Black and Brown women across the world.

The Evil Eye.

Not just a symbol, but a fear. A fear of envy, of speaking too soon, of sharing your plans before they’re fully realized. A fear that if you shine too bright, you’ll attract negative attention, or worse, spiritual consequences. So you learn to downplay, to withhold, to wait until it’s “safe.” And when you combine Jantelagen with the fear of the Evil Eye, you get a blueprint for invisibility. A recipe for brilliance, boxed in.

Even now, as a grown woman, a creative multi-passionate entrepreneur, I still feel the ripple effects.

I honestly still catch myself apologizing for taking up space, editing my captions to sound ‘humble enough.’ Just the other day, I caught myself starting a post with ‘Not to sound obnoxious, but…’ before I even shared something I was proud of. 

Just the other day, I was rewatching a video of myself performing at Women in Tech Sweden, a keynote moment that was part speech, part spoken word, part rap. It was a milestone.

And even then, while recording my reaction video, I caught myself pointing out the small mistakes, brushing off the big magic.

My sister, Sariba, saw it and said, “You’re the only one who noticed that. Why would you minimize what you did and share it?”

And she was right. That voice in my head? It wasn’t truth. It was conditioning.

That moment brought me back to my college years in the U.S., when I was still so tangled in this invisible web. One memory in particular stands out.

I’d been invited to a casual get-together hosted by Laura, and her family. I'll always remember them as warm, welcoming, and open. Her then-boyfriend, now-husband, Robin  a fellow swede, was there too, along with a bunch of other international students.

After chatting with her mom for a bit, she started hyping me up for being brave enough to relocate to my second country outside of Sweden, and on top of that, for landing an internship at CNBC in San Jose. I tried to downplay it, I think I said something like, “It’s not that big of a deal,” but her mom wouldn’t let it slide. She lit up and said something in the lines of, “That’s incredible, go you!” She was hyping me up more than I had hyped myself.

I remember standing there in their backyard, feeling so seen… and also weirdly uncomfortable. Not because they were doing anything wrong, they were being warm and generous. I just didn’t know how to receive it. I wasn’t used to being celebrated by strangers for my choices. I was used to minimizing them.

That moment cracked something open in me, but it took years for it to fully land.

Because shrinking isn’t just something I did out of modesty. It was survival. It was culture. It was habit.

Now, as a multi-passionate woman who writes, coaches, performs, teaches, consults, paints, makes music, and much more...

I look back and realize how many years I spent trying to pick one path, just to be taken seriously. Trying to sound focused enough to be respected. Trying to look “niched enough” to be hireable. Trying to be palatable,  instead of whole. But I try my best to not carry myself like that anymore. And thankfully I have people that call me out if I do. 

Whether you're multi-passionate or not. I don't believe that we as humans were ever meant to shrink. 

Not in school.

Not in business.

Not in our brands.

Not in our lives.

If you’ve ever felt like your story is “too much,” your resume “too messy,” or your dreams “too many,” this is your reminder. You don’t have to pick one thing to be valid. You don’t have to shrink to be seen.