How I Learned That My Family’s “No Drama” Rule Was Its Own Kind of Drama
Growing up in La Jolla, my family had one unshakable mantra: “We don’t do drama.” This declaration floated through our cozy beach bungalow like the salty marine layer. Whenever my brother and I bickered over who got the last organic popsicle or my mom’s book group turned heated over the ethics of freeganism, we’d hear it: “No drama. That’s not how we roll.”
It sounded great, idyllic even. The proverbial beach breeze of family values—no unnecessary storms, just calm, jade waters. But here’s the kicker: like most family myths, our “No Drama” rule was quietly undermining us in ways I didn’t fully understand until adulthood. Spoiler alert: saying “no drama” is often the fastest way to create it.
The Drama in “No Drama”
On the surface, “no drama” sounds like a virtue. Who wouldn’t want less senseless squabbling and emotional overreacting in their life? It’s basically the tagline of every classic rom-com when the sweet, sensible protagonist takes a hard left turn away from their messy ex.
But here’s the thing about families: drama still happens whether it’s welcome or not. Someone feels unheard. Someone doesn’t love the comment about how their new haircut makes them look “free-spirited” (always a suspect compliment). Someone’s leftover fish tacos were not supposed to be eaten.
What “We don’t do drama” actually translated to in our house was “We don’t know how to sit with drama.” Whenever tensions bubbled up, we didn’t discuss them honestly. We avoided conflict altogether or smoothed over issues so quickly you’d think we were trying to win some kind of Emotional Olympics speed record.
“Your feelings are valid” was, apparently, not part of the family gabfest. Conflict wasn’t resolved; it was tidied up like the sand we swept off the porch, still clinging stubbornly underfoot.
Plot Twist: Life Isn’t a Beach
When I went away to college, I discovered two things that threw me for a loop: 1) the tide pools in Northern California have way less personality than San Diego’s, and 2) conflict, when left unexamined, has a way of sneaking into all your relationships—like seaweed in your bikini.
Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my first college relationship’s car. Glass jars of cold brew and indie playlists are involved, naturally. My boyfriend—sensitive, sometime-ukulele-playing—wanted to have The Talk. He felt like I was pulling away. “You’re so chill,” he said, “but I never know what’s going on with you.”
Reader, I wanted to vanish into the Baja Blanket on the seat behind me. He wasn’t wrong. I had a tough time articulating my emotions. And when conflict cropped up between us—anything more intense than, say, “You forgot to text me back”—I clammed up. My default was the family way: Sweep. It. Up.
Most times, I didn’t even know I was upset until the frustration snuck out in sideways passive-aggression: a sharper tone here, an offhand remark there. (Fun fact: nothing confuses a partner more than saying you’re “fine” but cutting your avocado toast with unnecessary gusto at breakfast.)
Turning Tide (Yes, There’s a Fish Metaphor Coming)
That first breakup drove home something I wish I’d learned sooner: suppressing drama isn’t the same as avoiding it. In a way, it was like my family’s beloved tide pools. Pretty stable on the surface most of the time, but when big waves rolled in? They shifted. Cracks in the rocks revealed new nooks, crannies—and creatures—I didn’t even know existed.
So I had to start sorting through the muck, Aquaman-style. I realized my lack of conflict skills wasn’t just a quirk—it was a pattern. I wasn’t “easygoing;” I was avoiding emotional depth. I wasn’t “non-dramatic;” I just didn’t know how to name and process feelings, whether they were mine or somebody else’s.
Lessons for the Other “No Drama” Disciples
Here’s the part where I tell you how I pulled myself out of emotional quicksand and learned to embrace healthy conflict (spoiler: drama sometimes involves getting your feet wet).
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Sit With It
Here’s the deal: drama is part of life. Rather than running from it, learning to pause, identify, and experience your emotions can be oddly... free. Stuck in a tense conversation? Ask yourself: “What am I feeling right now?” Get comfortable with discomfort. Turns out, it doesn’t bite. -
Express Without Exploding
My family felt like emotions were either a tsunami or nothing at all. The truth lies in the middle—talking through issues doesn’t have to mean escalating them. Example: Instead of snapping “You always make decisions without me,” try “I feel left out when decisions are made without my input.” Magic. -
Play the Long Game
Tough conversations = short-term discomfort but long-term peace. Trust me, it’s worth weathering the storm. Skipping out on emotions, on the other hand? Some very un-chill baggage for future you to unpack. -
Ditch the Judgment
Here’s a reality check: calling someone dramatic? Kind of dramatic in itself. If feelings seem “over the top” to you, remember that we all process emotions differently. Be curious, not condescending. (“Tell me more” works wonders.)
Goodbye, Emotional Switzerland
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve replaced “We don’t do drama” with a simpler truth: Everyone does drama. Families. Friends. Romance. Even tide pools are dynamic little ecosystems, and we humans? Not so different. We build better connections when we stop pretending drama doesn’t exist.
These days, I’m more equipped to handle emotional tension without retreating behind a metaphorical boogie board. Sure, old habits are hard to break—I still spring-clean conflict faster than most—but now, if feelings flare, I make an effort to ride the wave instead of fighting it.
After all, the people who matter most aren’t looking for a perfectly even tide—they just want to know that when things get rough, you’ll stay anchored. Turns out that’s the calmest thing of all.
