Have you ever decided how you felt about something before you even gave it a chance?
We often say, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
Ironically, that’s exactly what I did.
Not because of the cover.
Because of the title:
I’m Glad My Mom Died.
Even typing those words makes me uncomfortable.
As someone who lost my own mother when I was a little girl, it’s hard to imagine ever saying, or even thinking, those words.
So I avoided the book for years, even as it sat on the NY Times bestseller list for almost two years.
But my Audible app kept “recommending” it. So I finally gave in and listened.
The memoir, written by actress Jennette McCurdy, isn’t cruel, vindictive, or shocking for the sake of being shocking.
It’s heartbreaking.
It’s funny.
It’s honest.
And perhaps most surprisingly, it’s filled with love.
McCurdy tells the story of growing up with a controlling, narcissistic stage mother.
What struck me wasn’t simply what happened to her.
It was how beautifully she captures the confusion that so many people experience in complicated family relationships.
Love and fear.
Gratitude and resentment.
Loyalty and pain.
Those emotions can exist at the same time.
As a coach, I see this more often than people realize.
Many of my clients carry wounds that didn’t come from one catastrophic event.
Instead, they grew up adapting to environments where they learned to become people pleasers, perfectionists, caretakers, high achievers, or chronic overthinkers.
Those coping mechanisms once served a purpose. They protected them.
The problem is that coping mechanisms don’t always retire when the danger is over.
They quietly become our personality.
Our relationships.
Our careers.
Our self-worth.
Even the stories we tell ourselves.
Sometimes they even become our identity.
Eventually, the strategies that once helped us survive begin getting in the way of actually living.
One of the things I appreciated most about this memoir is that it never asks the reader to choose between blame and compassion.
It reminds us that two things can be true at the same time.
Someone can love you deeply and still hurt you.
You can appreciate what someone gave you while grieving what they couldn’t.
You can honor your past without allowing it to define your future.
That isn’t just true of families.
It’s true of all of us.
Whether your childhood was marked by profound trauma or by the quieter experiences that slowly shaped who you became, those stories continue to shape how we see ourselves and the world.
Until we decide to examine them.
Healing doesn’t erase the past.
It helps us understand why we became who we became.
And once we understand that, we have something we didn’t have before.
Choice.
Maybe that’s why this memoir has stayed with me long after I finished it.
It isn’t really a story about childhood.
It’s a story about becoming free.
It reminded me that self-examination isn’t about living in the past.
It’s about making sure the past isn’t quietly running the present.
Whether that journey begins with a conversation, a book, therapy, coaching, or simply asking yourself a few honest questions, it is never too late to untangle old patterns and write a new chapter.
The best books don’t just tell us a story.
They help us better understand our own.
Happy Wednesday!
-Jackie
