'When my divorced parents gave me their list of demands for my wedding day, I enforced one rule.'

I was seven years old when I first found myself playing referee to my parents' endless squabbling. They'd split up unamicably — an understatement of epic proportions — and while the divorce decree might have said they shared custody of me, what they really shared was a battlefield.

Every holiday, every birthday, every milestone was a lesson in dodging landmines, and I was always in the middle, trying to keep the peace.

Fast-forward two decades, and I'm done. Therapy? Been there. Self-help books? Read 'em all. I've parented my parents long enough. Now, as I plan my wedding with *Phil, the emotionally mature rock of a man I met at a point in my life when I finally had my own emotional act together, I've got one rule: get along or stay away.

It didn't take long for the drama to start.

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My dad kicked things off with a classic: "If your stepdad's going to be there, I'm not coming." Oh, okay, Dad. Let me just cross out my vows and rewrite them to say, "I, Emma, promise to let my father's fragile ego ruin my day."

Meanwhile, Mum chimed in with a list of demands: a better table than Dad's, separate family photos where she wouldn't have to "breathe the same air as him," and "He absolutely cannot walk you down the aisle. Or if he does, then your stepdad has to walk on the other side."

For a moment, I wondered if someone was going to pop out with a camera and tell me I was being punked. But no, this is just my parents in their natural habitat.

Here's the thing: I've spent my life contorting myself to make them happy. I've bent over backwards, forwards, and sideways trying to keep the peace, and all it's ever done is leave me exhausted and a little broken. Those unhealthy habits followed me into friendships, work relationships and everywhere. But not anymore. These days, I've got boundaries, baby, and they're non-negotiable.

Phil and I decided early on that this wedding would be a no-bullshit zone. Anything other than "We're so happy for you!" or "How can we help?" is met with a raised palm and a simple, "Nope." It's been our mantra, and let me tell you, it's liberating.

When Dad called to tell me he didn't want to be seated near Mum's family, I calmly replied, "Okay, Dad. Then don't come." When Mum texted me a 10-point manifesto on why she should have the seat closest to the dance floor, I sent back a single thumbs-up emoji and kept planning my table arrangements without her input.

The cherry on top? We've hired extra security for the day. A team of professionals whose sole job is to spot drama and shut it down before Phil and I even hear about it. They're on high alert to escort any tantrum-throwers off the premises faster than you can say, "No cake for you."

No negotiating, no hearing sides. A zero bullshit policy. Our wedding planner is on board, too, and our closest friends have promised to act as our unofficial peacekeeping squad. If you so much as roll your eyes there's a chance someone will be showing you the door!

We've made it clear to everyone: this is our day, and we're not interested in being referees. If something goes down, it might get addressed when we're back from our honeymoon. Might. But honestly? Probably not.

It hasn't been smooth sailing. Mum's furious, of course. She's called me "selfish" and accused me of prioritising everyone but her. Dad's not far behind, claiming I'm being unreasonable and "making things difficult." But Phil and I just keep repeating our mantra: "Nope." No engaging. No justifying. No entertaining the insanity.

I won't lie; it's been hard. There's still a part of me that wants to fix things, to smooth everything over and make everyone happy. But I've learned the hard way that it's not my job. My parents are grown adults, and it's time they acted like it.

This wedding is about celebrating love, joy, and the incredible partnership Phil and I have built. It's about us, not their petty drama. And honestly? I think they'll come around. Maybe not today, maybe not even by the wedding, but eventually. And if they don't? Well, that's on them.

As for the big day itself, I'm not worried. I've done everything I can to set the tone and protect my peace. The rest is out of my hands, and I'm okay with that. Phil and I will be surrounded by people who love us and are genuinely excited to celebrate with us. We'll say our vows, eat cake, and dance the night away. And if a few tears are shed, they'll be the happy kind — because that's the only drama I'm willing to entertain.

So here's my advice to anyone caught in the crossfire of family drama: set your boundaries and stick to them. Don't let anyone guilt you into sacrificing your joy. And if all else fails, hire a security team and enjoy the satisfaction of knowing your parents' antics won't make it past the door.

Feature Image: Getty.