There’s no handbook for dealing with people who feel like thorns in your side—those who cut deep when you least expect it, prick at your insecurities, and seem determined to make life harder. We all meet them, and if we’re honest, some of them are planted right in our daily lives, rooted in relationships we can’t always avoid.

For me, the thorns came wrapped in familiar faces. Some were colleagues, others were friends, and, hardest of all, a few were family. They didn’t wear their sharp edges openly. No, these were subtle thorns—the kind that poked at my boundaries and quietly undermined my worth. The sly comments, the dismissive tones, the constant undercurrent of comparison. At first, I told myself I was overreacting. “Maybe they didn’t mean it that way,” I’d think. But the more I brushed it off, the deeper the thorns sank.

I remember one particular moment like it happened yesterday. A family gathering. I was sharing a small victory—something I’d worked so hard for—when someone cut me off mid-sentence with a sarcastic, “Well, that’s not that impressive. Some people do that every day.” Everyone laughed. Except me. I sat there, my cheeks burning, my heart shrinking. It wasn’t just about the comment; it was the weight of years of similar moments piling up, crushing any joy I had in my accomplishments.

The hardest part of dealing with thorny people is the self-doubt they plant. I started to wonder if I was being too sensitive, too needy, or maybe just not good enough. I replayed their words over and over, trying to figure out what I did to deserve their barbs. The truth is, you don’t have to do anything. Some people operate from their own pain, insecurity, or inability to see past themselves—and that has nothing to do with you.

But knowing that doesn’t make it easier. I tried everything. I fought back, trying to “prune” their thorns by calling them out, only to end up exhausted and frustrated. I tried being overly kind, hoping my softness would dull their edges. It didn’t. It felt like no matter what I did, their thorns kept finding their mark.

And then one day, I stopped trying to fix them. I realized I’d spent so much time trying to change them that I was losing myself in the process. It wasn’t my job to soften their edges or avoid their pricks. My job was to protect my peace and heal the wounds they’d left behind.

So, I started setting boundaries—real boundaries, not just the ones I whispered to myself in moments of hurt. When a thorny comment came my way, I responded with calmness and clarity: “That’s not okay to say to me.” When their presence drained me, I gave myself permission to step away, to leave early, or to say no altogether. And when their voices echoed in my mind, I replaced them with my own—louder, kinder, and full of the truth of who I really am.

Dealing with thorns taught me something about myself, too. They taught me where my wounds were and where I needed to grow stronger. They forced me to find my voice, to stand firm in my worth, and to stop looking to others for validation. But they also taught me grace—not for the thorns themselves, but for the reality that everyone carries some pain. Some people just don’t know how to carry theirs without hurting others.

I still face thorny people. They’re unavoidable. But now I see them for what they are—not obstacles to fix, but reminders to protect what’s precious. To let the thorns stay where they are, while I grow and bloom despite them.

What if the most challenging person or experience in your life that was actually your greatest teacher—what do you think they’ve been sent to teach you?