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?

For me, there is a grief when you lose part of yourself, the loss of my ability to project my voice. Using my voice to bring healing to others through speech therapy and the tightrope walk when my voice is silenced. I am more than the diagnosis and greater than silence. Vocal loss is a level of grief that leaves you in the shadow. The loss is grave and when you lose a part of yourself or someone the pain is indescribable.
This is my song in the grieving.
I’ve walked through shadows, searching for light,
Lost in the echoes, in the quiet of night.
Once I could speak, help others stand tall,
Now I’m here learning to rise from the fall.
But there’s strength in the silence, beauty in pain,
A voice that whispers like soft summer rain.
I’m finding my way, one breath at a time,
And I’ll sing again, in my own rhyme.
The dreams I once held, they’re still by my side,
In every heartbeat, where memories hide.
Though words might be gone, my heart’s still the same, With courage enough to carry my name.
In the stillness, I hear a melody clear,
Of hope and healing drawing me near.
I am more than this silence, more than I knew,
And I’m finding my voice, calling out true.
There’s strength in the silence, beauty in pain,
Yes, I’ll sing again, in my own rhyme.
And one day, I’ll be just fine learning to live alongside of the balance between silence and rhyme.
Although the grief is hard, the comeback is greater and my voice will resonate like a trumpet.

The year is almost over,
And another will soon start.
This year, however,
I’ll begin with a broken heart.

I’m missing my loved ones,
My friends who’ve recently passed.
I miss their sweet voices,
Their smiles and their laughs.

It was supposed to be a Merry Christmas!
Another photo in the album!
Then suddenly that changed,
to the first Christmas without ’em…

I screamed up at God,
“CAN YOU JUST TELL ME WHY?”
“ARE YOU EVEN UP THERE?!”
“AM I JUST YELLING AT THE SKY?!?!”

I fell to my knees,
and started punching at the ground.
When suddenly I realized…
My loved one’s are all around…

They’re right here with me,
Feeling all this pain.
Does that mean they feel the sunshine?
Does it mean they feel the rain?

Maybe they’re not as gone,
As the world seems to say.
Maybe they’re right beside me…
Every night and every day!

If they’re here with me,
Guiding my every move…
Then I know that I can make it!
Because there’s nothing they can’t do!

This poem is dedicated in loving memory to my friends Alex Wisniewski, Joe Ewer, and Tammy Pouliot, but it goes out to anyone who has lost a loved one.

You are not alone. ❤️❤️❤️

Dear Jamie Kern Lima:

You and I are new friends. I met you this year when a peer brought your book, “Worthy” in to work. She placed it on her desk near mine and I grabbed it asking, “What is this!”. I was drawn by the title (great choice) and curious immediately. My peer explained she heard about the book and had just started reading it.

I downloaded it through my Audible app and couldn’t wait to start listening. Audible is my best friend. I’ve struggled with reading my entire life. Dyslexia does not have a formal diagnosis, but when I had my youngest son tested for a learning disability it became clear that both he and I have dyslexia. We’re in good company, though. Some of the smartest people in history were known to have dyslexia, and they made it through just fine.

I started listening to your book on my way home from work that day. I was instantly hooked. In your book you described what I, and many other women feel in this crazy world we live in. I loved listening to you tell the story of never feeling that the next promotion was where we needed to go, and all the other areas of life and love left us feeling unworthy.

Your book changed my life. Your words began to make me understand that I was worthy. Worthy of all I wanted in life. That word is in my vocabulary daily. As I work with young women to help them believe they can do whatever they want, professionally and personally. That the next promotion is as much theirs as their counterparts, that they deserve love and being in a toxic relationship is not where they could soar.

When I finished the book, it felt like I was letting go of a friend. But we continued our newfound friendship with your book “Believe It”. Here you brought me through your journey of starting a company from the ground up. When others turned you away, you did not give up. You continued to grow your business organically to become an extremely important cosmetic company. When you sold the company in 2016 for $1.2 billion, all I could think was, “How do you like me now.”

You were told no many times. But you never gave up on your dream. I am inclined to give up too soon. I tend to think I am not worthy of the next big promotion, or I don’t speak my mind for fear of making others mad. Your books have changed that for me. I’m less afraid of ruffling feathers or asking for what I need.

I follow you on Instagram. It’s my way of staying in touch. I love watching you as you continue your journey to help others believe they are worthy of whatever they want. You have a special gift.

Thanks, Jamie. We’ll stay in touch.

When a human dies, the world stands still for a quiet moment and no one on earth can breathe. Then each individual except for you takes their next inhale and I realize that the world was never still at all.

People say that they would die for you, but do people ever say that they would live for you?
I would live for you; I will live the life that you never got to experience fully and I will take you with me.

The sorts of things that people live for; I will chase exhilaration as a hungry ghost praying for its bones and flesh.
I will collect my insides begging to love them. I will watch fireflies and wonder what they mean.

I will curse the day that you had to leave this blip of mine.
I will dance until I cry, then I will cry until I laugh. I will throw myself into the depths of an ice bath just to miss the heat.

I will find joy in the little things because it’s what you would have wanted. And I will stop smoking cigarettes out of spite. I will celebrate the person that you were and the people that you healed and forgive you for letting yourself be so out of reach.

Since you disappeared, I’ve seen you everywhere! At the sight of tea, the sound of a sad guitar, in the eyes of those who loved you.
Those who knew the gift of knowing you and wanted you so badly to stay.

When a human dies, the soul searches the universe for a body to be held; what I would do to feel your warm tears wet my goose-bumped shoulder and squeeze your hand saying that we’re not that different from each other instead of this.

When a human dies, their friends and blood carry their body across the fields of a lonesome cemetery and place flowers to keep them company.
And for some people the world keeps spinning. But for some of us, the world is just as still.

Dear Julia Roberts:

You and I met in 1988 when I saw you as an up-and-coming actress in a film called Mystic Pizza. I didn’t really know you, but I was intrigued by the film’s name; I grew up less than fifty miles from that little pizza place in Mystic, Connecticut. My husband used to ride his bike past the real Mystic Pizza all the time. His grandmother lived near there.
I remember watching that film, seeing a young actress with a certain twinkle in her eye thinking, boy she’s going to go far. And you did.

Pretty Woman is one of my all-time favorite movies. I used to binge watch it repeatedly, watching that Cinderella story end like every young girl thought it should; with the guy getting the girl and the girl getting the guy. Of course, having Richard Gere be the guy didn’t hurt, but that’s another letter.

After that, there was no stopping you. Every film you made, to me, was a hit. Watching you play different women, some strong, some not so strong, helped me believe I could do whatever I wanted with my life. And I did.

I lived vicariously through your characters. Notting Hill and Runaway Bride were two more of my favorites. But when you portrayed Erin Brockovich in 2000, I think that was one of your best films. It allowed me to see a more serious side of you as a strong woman with a passion for the underdog. Talk about perfection; you played it well.

As time went on you continued to impress. Taking time to have and raise a family, immersing yourself in philanthropic ventures, and speaking out about causes that are near and dear to your heart. I’ve really enjoyed watching blossom into a beautiful, passionate and talented woman that I’ve come to admire.

I know we’ve never met, and likely never will. But I wanted to know that you’ve made an impact on my life. And for that I’ll be grateful forever.

Dear Betty Crocker: (My mother’s name is Betty)

I met you at an early age. You were in my mother’s kitchen long before I was born, but you were not there alone. Another woman, Fannie Farmer, graced my mother’s kitchen in her small cookbook collection.

Fannie was much older than you. Her original cookbook was published before 1896 for the Boston Cooking School. The book I inherited from my mother was last copyrighted by Wilma Lord Perkins in 1959. The binding is compromised, the cover torn, but the pages are intact, although stained from years of use.

I remember my mother using both cookbooks often. By nature, she was not a good cook. She stayed in a lane of soups and stews that left a lot of room for error without being inedible. Although, there were times when she concocted creations that left much to be desired. Like the time she “emptied the refrigerator” and decided to put shrimp cocktail sauce into my father’s homemade Sicilian gravy. Horseradish, an ingredient in cocktail sauce, gets hotter when cooked. This made the gravy so spicy it was not fit to eat for young children with delicate palates. Epic fail.

You and Fannie spent years trying to teach my mother to cook. While there were glimmers of success throughout the years, ultimately she would not master the craft.

A tradition in our family, as in many families, was that my mother would cook our favorite meal for our birthday. One of my last birthdays before she died, my mother made one of my favorite meals: galumpkis (polish cabbage rolls). She made them in the crockpot (stew-like meal) and served them over egg noodles. It was one of those comfort foods from my childhood.

The last time she made them something went terribly wrong. They were dry and burnt and not at all what I remembered from my childhood. Turns out she had forgotten to add the liquid ingredients to the crock pot. I think that was the last time she cooked for me. From there I would bring ingredients to my parent’s home on my day off and cook for them. It worked out better that way.

Betty, I gave you a bad wrap for a while. Pictures of a perfectly coiffed woman in a red dress with a white collar was what I remembered. Back in the day, there wasn’t all the information there is today, so I drew my own conclusion of who Betty Crocker was. For me, the stigma of being a stay-at-home mom cooking cobblers and pies was not what I was in for.

When I received my own copy of your cookbook for a bridal gift, I smiled the obligatory smile, feeling like I was pigeonholed into being the perfect wife. But as time went on, I learned that I needed you. My mother was not a great example and taught me little about cooking with fresh ingredients from scratch. Now I’ll admit I’ve had my fair share of mistakes, none of which I can blame on you or Fannie. Like the time I left chicken quarters on the grill unattended on low for over 30 minutes. By the time I got back to them, they were so dry that they were more like chicken dust than chicken quarters.

Or the time I made nacho pasta out of a can of nacho dip I bought to get us through a storm. Those who know me know I don’t eat much canned anything, but I don’t like to waste food either. This was my way of using something instead of throwing it away (boy, wonder where that came from).
My husband and son, who tasted it and refused to eat it, still kid me to this day. When I ask what they want for dinner, their response is anything but nacho pasta.

Betty, I am honored to call you friend, and Fannie too, but now you sit at the table with the likes of Ina Garten, Giada DeLaurentis, Joanna Gaines, and Paula Deen, just to name a few. These ladies are included in my collection of over fifty cookbooks written by various chefs, both men and women. I believe you paved the way for their success.

In closing, I’d like to thank you and Fannie for laying the foundation for woman, and men, to create an entire industry around feeding people delicious food to fill our bodies and our souls. Bon appetite (let us not forget Julia Child).

When I woke up this morning
I didn’t know
What I would come home to.
Where did you go?
There wasn’t a warning
Now we’re all in mourning
Wond’ring if our time was well spent.

Oh brother dearly departed of mine
Why did you leave
Without saying good night?
I was sleeping soundly
When I woke up to a scream
That I swear was you saying goodbye.

As the time passes
We all start to heal.
Except for one brother
Who just couldn’t deal.
Several years later
All that reckless behavior
Just got him a grave next to yours.

Oh brothers dearly departed of mine
Why did you leave
Without saying good night?
I was sleeping soundly
When I woke up to a scream
That I swear was you saying goodbye.

Now there’s only one brother
Left standing with me.
I thought things were fine
Until he tried to leave.
In sharing this truth,
Though closer in youth,
I thought that our time was well spent

Oh brother nearly departed of mine,
Why would you leave
Without saying goodbye?
I thought that only you
Could understand what I’ve been through,
So at least it would be you
To say goodbye.

Author’s Note:
I debated whether or not I wanted to share this with the world. It’s been a part of me for 20 years. It’s one of the most vulnerable parts of me and putting that on the internet for the world to see is intimidating, even as someone who sees vulnerability as strength rather than weakness.

I wrote that second verse when I was 15 trying to make a song out of it, but more words never came no matter how hard I tried. As the inspiration came though me to write the rest this month, I realize now that I had more life to live before it could truly come to life. It needed to be on the back burner all this time to find the full depth of this feeling I will always carry with me.

I don’t know if I’ll ever try to turn this into a song like the original intent. Just writing that last verse, saying it all out loud, and writing this post have brought me to tears more than once. But it felt right to at least bring it to life as is because Jeremiah would be turning 40 tomorrow and that’s the kind of celebration you do big gestures for, right?

25 years without him, 9 years without Adam, 3 years since other things. This kind of healing doesn’t happen without scars. I am the happiest and healthiest I’ve ever been in my life. These feelings still creep in now and again. It doesn’t make me any less happy and healthy, it’s just a small price tag to pay for the love I still carry.

Dear Wynonna Judd:

You and I could be sisters, I would be the older one. I’ve listened to you and your mom for years. Your angelic voices heard on the airwaves of country music. With hits like Why Not Me (1984), Grandpa (1985) and Love Can Build A Bridge (1990), you were always on my radio.

Then when your mom died in 2022, I felt I’d lost something too. But my loss of hearing your mom’s beautiful voice was nothing compared to your loss of a mother and a life long singing partner. I’m sure the whole is deep, and still healing. I lost my mom in 2016 and there are still raw spots in my heart.

In 1993 you released Only Love, your second single. Your voice is so pure and vulnerable. That song moved me. That time in my life with a bit of a fog. My kids were both born and I realized that my marriage was simply my unrealistic fairy tale.

Only Love allowed me sail away from my reality to an island of green and be free. I could feel my feet on solid ground even with the waves coming crashing down. That song was my source of strength during a turbulent time. I hung on your every word.

I must go for now, knowing I can put my trust in just one thing, for me it’s God and his love. I hope you have a blessed day; one filled with only love.

Dear Sara Evans:

In 2005 I went through a nasty divorce after 20+ years of marriage. The man I married, had two children with, turned in a monster, turning my kids against me, lying to close friends causing a wedge that would never be released.

The scars of that marriage ran deep. To naively love someone for over two decades, left raw emotions; some of which may never heal.

Fast forward to 2010, when I heard your song A Little Bit Stronger, the true healing began. God sent you to me through my radio. As I listened for the first time, I sobbed uncontrollably. You wrote my anthem song.

Since that time, you have been by my side like a best friend. Since I first heard it, that song has been part of my music library. When I need a little boost, there you are to remind me that each day I am a little bit stronger.

Last weekend my husband attended your concert in Hiawassee GA. I worked early that day, so I was tired, but I had to stay. I loved listening to your new songs are well as your past hits. But your last song was the one I’d come to here.

Sara, I can tell you that, although I am in a good marriage now, and at a good place in my life. That song brought me to tears, and I could feel your words infusing me with strength.

I’ve got to close for now, I’m busy today, getting stronger. Thank you for being a source of strength even on my weakest days.

My grandfather Dr.Leroy Pike taught me Many things and one was too NEVER GIVE UP, If I ever needed help with a project, he didn’t care he was there, and I ALWAYS WON, with his help,I was in highschool and my grandfather saw my classes I was taking for the following year and he KNEW I was better than that, so he went and challenged me and I was in highschool only 3 years, My senior semester, we got word he had Cancer, WOW, I remember hearing him cry and I knew Real Superheroes cried, he got to see me graduate Highschool and was at my wedding, but sadly 3 years later on that very day, he would pass away, ITS BEEN 16 years and there’s NOT A DAY goes by I don’t think of him.God knew I only needed 1 Grandfather and HE WAS and still is My Superhero

A symbol of love , a reminder of warring bloodshed,
Such is the dichotomy
That lies in the power of the color red.

Red is willpower, the mind of “She”

She who is openly strong
She who is secretly kind.
Cheering from the front
But lingering 2 steps behind.

Red is bold, the exclusivity of “She”
She who is reclusive
A rare treasure to find.

Red is danger, the strength of “She”
Red is this fiery woman
The little girl has dared one day to be.

Red is desire, the passion of “She”
A shade depicting her struggles,
A sign of her unwavering, rebellious thought.
Color of the scars from all the battles she fought.

When she needed to stand out, it was her color of choice,
The color of celebration,
Color of her freedom, her will, her voice.

My shadow looked at me and said:

“Live.
I am gone and there is nothing you can do about that.

No matter how many tears you shed
lingering on pages bleeding in forbidden ink,
you cannot bring me back.

My time here is done and I have ascended
into the graceful arms of the great goddess above

but you…
you are still human,
so act like it.

allow yourself to feel the full spectrum of human emotions
without letting shame and guilt beat the humanity out of you.

you are allowed to be broken
you are allowed to be sad
you are allowed to be happy
you are allowed to feel it all.

you are allowed to be confused
and wonder why the same
patterns keep showing up in
a different hue
(until you’re ready to do something about it.)

You are human.

Abandon your fear of fear
and accept that abandonment
fucking sucks.
But please understand,
that I am so sorry for abandoning you.
it was the last thing I ever wanted
but you know that we are not the ones in control

Accept that more lies in between
the lines than your eyes can see
and that’s okay.

Chase after your dreams of being
a wanderlust,
and getting drunk on a flight
every time your soul attends its own funeral.
Because unlike me,
you are still human.
and you still have so much life to live.

I’ll always be with you.
I’ll always love you.
I’ll always be present in your poetry
cheering you on along the way.
patiently waiting for you
to wake up to everything I’ve
dreamed and set in place
for you to achieve for b o t h of us.

Our string may be invisible,
But it is still intact & attached to the cloud I float upon.
the one you only see in your dreams
where the moon is playing tricks
with the shadows.

Death is nothing but the entity needed to bring us closer.
so place, do not carry sorrow with my name.

Instead let genuine kindness
blossom in my likeness.
Show them that the whims
of performative niceness
are shallow because
kindness has no malice
or hidden intent
it exists because it is.

And I existed until I didn’t.

But guess what,
you still do!!!
So please
continue on
because
I love you.
and you deserve to be truly,
genuinely,
unapologetically
happy, too 🙂

Jae,
Two years came too soon and on this day, I choose to honor you.

I started as a Seed just as those did in the Field before me;
During my time in the Womb of THE GREAT MOTHER-our MOTHER,MOTHER EARTH-I’ve witnessed The Beauty of Spring;

The Field in Bloom with many shades of gold;
Soon I would be a part of The Ballet the Sunflowers did as they danced in The Breeze of The Spring;

And then I came along;
My Roots were well Grounded and yet I struggled to grow;
I thought it would be easy being a Sunflower, but Oh, did it require so much;
But I wanted to Dance, and so I Bloomed;
And I Bloomed;
And I Bloomed some more;
And I Bloomed some more until I finally reached The Sun, it’s Rays shimmering across my Petals;

Wrapped in its embrace, I smiled;
The Sun smiled back at me and said,”We’ve Danced many Dances, and we shall continue to Dance many more. Now, my love, its time that you return to The Fields for the remaining Seasons”;

I returned and continued to Dance during the Summer, my Petals still full of The Essence of Spring;

I began to lose some of my Petals and their golden hue during The Fall, but still I continued to Dance with The Essence of Spring in my heart;

Winter came and I saw less of The Sun;
It felt too cold to Dance, and yet I mustered the strength within me to bring Winter the Essence Of Spring;

With my brownish, withered body, I Danced until my Petals were no more;
I collapsed to the ground;
Mother caught me and said,”You’ve Danced beautifully My Child. Now, you must rest until The Next Spring”;

As I began to close my eyes, a Ray from The sun shone upon my Petals;
I looked to The Sky to see The Sun smiling at Me;
My last breath drawing near, I smiled back at The Sun and said,”I look forward to us Dancing again”