I’ve been called “too dramatic” my whole life

Emotions are bad. You’re overreacting. You’re so dramatic. Crying isn’t going to change anything. Suck it up. Crying means you’re weak.

This is what I grew up hearing.

I was raised in an environment where emotions weren’t validated. At best my emotions were dismissed, and at worst, they were ridiculed and mocked. From a very young age, I learned having feelings was a problem. And showing them was even worse.

My family’s proud Italian culture played a role in this. My great-grandparents were immigrants, and survival required grit, hard work, and resilience. That mindset carried down through generations, but so did the belief that emotions were pointless. A weakness. Something to suppress, not express.

The elders in my family never talked about how they felt. Mental health wasn’t acknowledged. Seeking help was out of the question. If you were struggling, it was your fault. And therefore, your responsibility to figure it out.

When we got hurt as kids, my grandfather would smack our cuts and bruises to “toughen us up.” Crying wasn’t tolerated.

I had a favorite blanket I carried everywhere as a young child, as many 3 or 4-year-olds typically do. I vividly remember my grandfather telling me if I brought it to his house again, he would burn it in their fireplace.

The message was clear: comfort, vulnerability, and emotion was not afforded in this family, even for a young child.

We were taught to keep everything in. To conceal our emotions and put on a brave face. To never share struggles with outsiders. Family business stayed in the family, no matter the cost. This was a point of pride for them.

That mindset carried into my home, influencing how my mom handled our feelings.

Anytime I expressed emotions, I was told I was being dramatic or overreacting. My mom even gave me a nickname from a young age: “Gloria Swanson,” an old Hollywood actress she described as overly dramatic.

I didn’t understand the reference then, but I understood the message.

I was too much. And that label followed me into adulthood.

I held back ideas. I stayed silent in rooms where I deserved to take up space. Because I had been taught my voice didn’t matter.

It didn’t stop with me, either. She’s double-downed with this narrative when it comes to my children. I’ve heard her say “He’s got his mother’s dramatics,” in reference to my son’s tantrum. Or calling my daughter “the next Gloria Swanson” when she expresses big feelings.

The first time I heard it directed at my daughter, something in me snapped. I have been working through this in therapy, and that name is 100% a trigger for me. I shut it down immediately.

Because I know what that label does.

Growing up as the youngest of three, and the only girl, there were plenty of times my brothers would gang up on me. As to be expected, I went to my mom when I was upset with them. But I was dismissed. Told to get over it. Or my favorite—that I probably did something to provoke them.

So I adapted.

I learned to bottle things up.
To stay quiet.
To be agreeable.
To keep the peace at my own expense.

I became the “good girl.” The people pleaser. The one who didn’t make waves.

I have only begun to realize the damaging effect this has had on my confidence over the years.

I stayed quiet in relationships where I should have spoken up.
I tolerated things I shouldn’t have tolerated.
I abandoned my own needs to avoid conflict.

In my career, I’ve second-guessed myself constantly. I held back ideas. I stayed silent in rooms where I deserved to take up space. Because I had been taught my voice didn’t matter.

For a long time, I believed it.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to writing. When I write I can freely express my thoughts and feelings, without interruption, without dismissal, or without being told I was “too dramatic.”

It wasn’t until I started dating my husband that I experienced something different: validation.

He didn’t dismiss my feelings. He didn’t minimize them. He didn’t make me feel dramatic or irrational. He simply listened, respected how I felt, and has always treated me with unconditional love.

Slowly, that changed everything. And I started to see the dysfunction in my familial relationships.

For most of my life, I thought I was too much. Too emotional. Too dramatic. Too sensitive.

Now I know the truth: I was never too much.

I was just surrounded by people who didn’t know how to hold emotions.

And that’s something I refuse to pass down to my kids. In my home, we express our feelings.