The Thorn I Didn’t Know Was There
Sometimes you don’t know there’s still a thorn until something brushes it.
That’s what happened to me recently. It wasn’t meant to hurt, just a quick joke, the kind of moment you’d normally laugh off. But suddenly, I felt a sting in my chest, the kind that takes you by surprise.
It wasn’t really about the comment itself. It was about a role I’ve carried for so long.
The role of the steady one, The giver, The one who absorbs, anticipates, holds the emotional weight, and keeps things running smoothly, The one who stays strong when others need room to fall apart.
And while we take on these roles out of love, service, or survival, it’s easy to lose sight of where we begin and end.
I’ve been working hard to come back to myself, to feel strong again, vibrant, whole. But this one moment reminded me, even in healing, there are still places that ache. Still thorns I didn’t know were there.
The old story, that we’re only as good as what we give, runs deeper than I realized. But here’s the beautiful part: I didn’t spiral (well, only momentarily ;-). I didn’t lash out. I didn’t stay stuck in the ache.
Instead, I breathed. I named it. I reminded myself; I can be generous without being erased. I can hold space for others and still make space for myself.
“The wound is the place where the light enters you.” - Rumi
That quote has echoed in my soul for years, but this time, I felt it in a new way.
Maybe the thorn isn’t just something to pull out and be done with.
Yes, the thorn may need to be released. But until it’s ready, it can also be a teacher. A tender place where the light reminds us what still needs care.
So when I feel that ache again, I don’t resist it. I meet it with breath.
Mantra for the thorn moments: I am allowed to tend to my own heart, even while caring for others.
Try this breath: • Inhale through the nose: “I soften the story.” • Exhale through the mouth: “I return to myself.” Repeat 3–5 times, or as many times as you need.
This is what healing looks like, sometimes. Not big breakthroughs, but quiet, steady reclamation. One breath. One truth. One thorn tended to at a time.
This isn’t just a “mom” thing. It’s a human thing.
The roles we play: parent, partner, leader, employee, healer, helper, can be beautiful. But if we’re not careful, we start to disappear into them.
So if you ever find yourself unexpectedly stung by a comment, a moment, a memory, It may be brushing against a thorn you didn’t know was there.
Let that moment be a mirror, not a punishment. A soft invitation to notice where you’ve over-identified, overextended, or overgiven, and to gently come home to yourself again.
You don’t have to fix it. Just breathe. Acknowledge it. Soften the edges. Reclaim your own rhythm.
We’re all walking this edge, balancing who we are with the roles we carry.
And if today you noticed a thorn…
May it remind you that maybe healing isn’t about perfect closure, Maybe it’s about becoming more permeable to the light.
Be Well, friends, Tara
*Thorn Analogy Shout-Out: I first stumbled across the idea of the inner thorn in The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer. If you haven’t read it, I highly recommend it, it’s a powerful and accessible book about how we hold on to emotional pain and how to let go without closing ourselves off. Singer describes how we shape our lives around avoiding our wounds instead of releasing them, and that insight continues to shift how I relate to discomfort and healing.
