How to Protect Yourself from Drama Queens and Positivist Narcissism

Before we delve into the topic, let’s jog our memory. In the first article on female friendship, we reviewed the silent competition that can arise between friends and proposed seven questions to detect whether a bond elevates or exhausts us. Today we’re honing in and looking at two patterns that, although seemingly opposite, end up at the same point: emotional exhaustion. We’re talking about drama addiction and positivist narcissism.

When friendship resembles a telenovela

The term Drama Queen became fashionable years ago and still circulates in social media, memes, and quick jokes. The label is used so much that it seems harmless, but behind it is more than just a liking for intense stories. A friendship permeated by drama addiction functions, without exaggeration, like a weekly TV series script: if there’s no conflict, one is invented or exaggerated.

The mechanism feeds on attention. While the group revolves around the latest breakup, a confusing message from an ex, or an unclear phrase dropped by a co-worker, the person leading the drama is in their comfort zone. The problem is the emotional toll we pay as their companions: every conversation ends with the feeling of having run a marathon without moving from our chair.

Noticing this pattern isn’t about attacking the friend in question. Usually, chronic drama goes hand in hand with insecurity: feeling that one only has a place at the peak of intensity. However, understanding the origin doesn’t oblige us to stay in the performance. If every encounter leaves us exhausted and unwilling to move forward with our own lives, the price is high.

The bright (and toxic) side of the coin

Outwardly, positivist narcissism is much kinder. No long complaints, no easy tears. Everything is an opportunity, everything is learning, everything is “high vibe.” The problem? Positivity becomes a filter that discards any uncomfortable emotion. Sadness, anger, or frustration are read as character flaws, not as normal parts of the human experience.

When you share something difficult—a family illness, a lost job, a breakup—the response may seem optimistic, but it feels hollow: “Everything happens for a reason, think positive,” “This will make you stronger,” “Don’t give sadness power.” These are phrases that, without apparent ill intent, leave you alone with what you feel. It’s paradoxical: in front of the “all good” friend, your emotions seem too loud, so you decide to silence them.

Just as perpetual drama stems from insecurity, narcissistic positivism is also a shield. Admitting anguish or fear would call into question the self-image of perfect resilience that the person needs to uphold. Again, understanding it doesn’t mean enduring it. A friendship where only feigned joy fits ends up pushing you into silence or self-doubt.

How to distinguish them in practice?

Dramatic behaviors and toxic positivity can mix with affectionate traits or authentic gestures, which is why they pass the filter for years. It’s worth pausing on concrete sensations:

  • After a long talk, is my head clear or muddled?
  • Do I feel there’s space for my news, even if it’s good?
  • Can I talk about something sad without it being minimized or turned into a spectacle?

Answering these questions with some frequency helps detect if the balance of the bond is beginning to tilt towards an unsustainable place.

What to do when the dynamic splashes us?

The automatic way out would be to distance yourself, but it’s not always necessary to break the relationship. There’s an intermediate route: setting boundaries and observing the reaction.

  1. Name the pattern with concrete examples. “I realize that when we tell something, we end up re-sending ex’s audios and analyzing every comma. It leaves me exhausted.” Or: “When I tell you I’m sad, you tell me not to be negative. I just need you to listen for a while.”
  2. Propose an achievable change. “Next time we talk, shall we try dedicating ten minutes to what makes us happy?” If the response comes with reproaches or ridicule, you have a clear sign there.
  3. Take care of your own mental space. If the boundary is not respected, it’s time to reduce exposure. This can mean seeing each other less, choosing plans where the conversation doesn’t devolve into sentimental autopsies, or simply sharing fewer personal details.
  4. Seek variety of support. Entrusting one person with all topics—catharsis, joy, and deep listening—usually overwhelms the relationship. Expanding your circle of trust or going to therapy when the topic warrants it prevents the friendship from becoming your only lifeline.
Honesty as a compass

Neither drama nor cardboard optimism are incurable ills, but they require willingness from both sides. If the other person listens and adjusts, the friendship can come out stronger: fewer peaks, more real contact. If, on the other hand, the reaction is to retreat, deny, or attack, there isn’t much room left. Self-care is non-negotiable.

Let’s remember, however, that the first step is to review our own role. Do we add tension when we recount something? Do we jump too quickly to motivational phrases because other people’s pain makes us uncomfortable? Observing ourselves with the same magnifying glass helps avoid falling into the game of easy labeling.

Looking at friendship as a long-term project

Bonds are sustained when there is space for the full emotional spectrum: triumph and stumble, laughter and brief tears. It’s not about equalizing characters—some of us are more expressive, others more reserved—but about keeping the door open to complexity. Trust grows at the pace of shared honesty.

In the next article, we’ll see how to translate that honesty into difficult conversations that repair, rather than break, closeness. We’ll close the series with ideas for forming support circles where collaboration is worth more than spectacle or feigned brilliance.

In the meantime, if you want to delve deeper into the examples and listen to the full talk that inspired this text, you can watch it here:

Bring something to write with. It’s likely that, as you listen, concrete scenes from your own story will appear. Naming them is the first step to choosing whether you adjust the plot or change the channel.

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