My sister, Sarah, dropped out of high school because of drama queens.

Just before Sarah’s junior year, a tragic car accident killed one of the popular girls. Sarah didn’t know what to say as a condolence, so she just fumbled, “I don’t know what I’d do if it had been my best friend who died.”

In a cruel game of gossip telephone, a teen on the fringes of the cool group began telling the other girls Sarah had said, “I’m just glad it wasn’t my friend who died.”

You can imagine how that went over.

In their grief, the popular girls united against Sarah until school was a living hell for her.

The thing is, I get it. The instigator in that situation was an immature sixteen-year-old who wanted to be accepted by the in-crowd, so she twisted a story. We do that when we’re teenagers. But sadly, some mean girls never grow up.

And they’re everywhere.

They’re in our PTAs, our workplaces, our churches, and even our families.

They exaggerate what we say and blab secrets we’ve told them in confidence.

They turn both parenthood and womanhood into a competitive sport.

They offer backhanded compliments of the, “Oh, you look pretty with a little extra weight on” variety.

While we can’t necessarily run from them, we can be done giving them emotional space in our lives, because ain’t nobody got time for that.

After meeting someone new, I used to ask myself, “Does that person like me?”

Now I ask, without hesitation or guilt, “Do I like her?”

If the answer is “no,” I smile politely and steer the f**k clear. Because no one is going to look after my emotional wellbeing but me, and Lord knows, as a grown-ass woman, I have enough going on.

I have a full-time job which, as the breadwinner, I must keep in order to provide food and shelter for my family.

I have two young children who consume 99% of my non-work hours.

I have a marriage that needs my attention.

I have a dad who is dying a premature, undignified death of Alzheimer’s Disease.

I have the heavy burden of alcoholism and sobriety that I bear alone.

I am the poster-child of a woman who “has it all”–and by that I mean all of the responsibilities and none of the free time.

I have hopes and dreams and goals I intend to reach despite all of the above.

Here’s what it boils down to: I am done with drama queens because there is simply not enough of me to go around–I am already consumed.

Be honest: you are, too. Do yourself a favor and cut the drama queens loose.