I'm Glad My Mom Died - Jennette McCurdy

**Trigger warning: ED and childhood abuse

I remember when I first heard the title I'm Glad My Mom Died. I went through every stage of grief??? At first I was like oh, word—which quickly changed into this shift of uncomfortably having lost my own mother, to then disliking the idea of someone saying this to fully making it back to this title is iconic.

I think a lot of us forget that our parents were not everyone else's parents.

My mom had her own problems and faults, but not enough for me to feel like I could finally exhale once she was gone. In fact, I felt quite the opposite. I was left trying to understand who I even was without her.

It didn't take too long into the book to understand why Jennette came to feel the way she did. She experienced multiple forms of abuse from a mother who seemed deeply controlling, narcissistic, and emotionally volatile. For much of her childhood, those behaviors were normalized. Over time, they became embedded in her sense of self.

There is something deeply unsettling about realizing that the love you feel for your parent has to coexist with the harm they caused—or, at some point, be redefined entirely. It took a lot for Jennette to finally reach that understanding. But once she did—we got this incredible piece of work from her.

What seemed so insane to me was learning that she never actually wanted to act. It was something forced on her—something her mother demanded of her. Any attempt to resist was met with emotional manipulation, making her feel like she was ungrateful or unloving. So, as a child, she adapted the only way she knew how: by complying. By becoming what was expected of her.

That control extended even further, eventually contributing to a severe, long-term eating disorder. You watch her slowly lose herself, disconnecting from her own body and identity. It was sad to come to the realization that a character so many people loved like Sam in iCarly—was something she came to resent deeply. She didn't just dislike the role; she hated what it represented in her life.

It wasn't until her mother passed away that she could finally pause and think: I don't have to do this anymore. From there, the book becomes a journey of figuring out who she is without that control—without acting, without the pressure.

It was very cute to read about how thankful she was to have Miranda Cosgrove. Those glimpses of genuine connection feel grounding in the middle of so much chaos.

People have complicated relationships with their parents all the time, but most of us have never experience this level of manipulation and abuse. It's honestly incredible that Jennette survived it—and even more incredible that she was able to articulate it so clearly.

The title ultimately proves something important: not everyone experiences love, safety, or freedom in the same way within their family. Jennette—of course—loved her mother but she also found freedom in her absence and both things can be possible at once.

Now I wonder...how many people feel forced to convince themselves that they would never feel this way, judged this title and would relate to this memoir more than they realize? Are we just following the typical rules of life when we do this or are we trying to change the narrative to protect our own minds?