February 26, 2026, Dreamland Book Review by Shandra Conley

“I’m Glad My Mom Died” by Jennette McCurdy

When you are growing up, you are taught to love the people who raised you unconditionally, an unwavering love regardless of circumstances. Love is a unique thing that we learn to navigate in life. There are many types of love that we can experience in life: parental, romantic, platonic, or self-love. Many people are unable to experience some of these loves or have a skewed idea of what each is supposed to be. 

In a perfect world, the people who raise you are intended to be positive examples of what love is. They are the ones teaching you how to walk, talk, learn, and survive. You grow up learning who you will become through their eyes. Having a better life than the one they had, is what many parents strive to do for their children. In Jennette McCurdy’s case, that meant she would be the actor that her mom never got to be, whether Jennette wanted it or not. 

“I’m Glad My Mom Died” is an eye-opening memoir by the former child actor Jennette McCurdy. The title alone may pique anyone’s interest to read why someone was glad their mom died, but for me, it was the author who drew me in. As someone who grew up watching Jennette on the show iCarly, I immediately was intrigued when I heard about this book. 

For those who do not know, iCarly was a well-liked children’s show on Nickelodeon that came out in 2007. When the original show aired, I did watch most, if not every, episode. During that time, I even got the idea to name my first pet rat Karly (changing the C to a K to be more unique, of course). 

Diving into this book, I had no actual prior knowledge of the personal aspects of Jennette’s life. I am aware that a quick Google could bring up a lot of information pertaining to things that happened with Jennette, yet I am glad I did not do this. Honestly, I believe it helped by allowing Jennette’s own words to speak for themselves in this memoir. She does an extraordinary job at describing memories of her life from a very young age with such great detail. It brings me back to what I spoke about in my other book review of having certain memories be very clear, while other information is blurry. Overall, the details in “I’m Glad My Mom Died” made it feel like I was watching a movie, which might make sense that growing up performing, Jennette may see her life as if it were a movie. 

Knowing that Jennette was a child actor, I had the idea that this book would hold some heavy topics. Something I did not expect was to relate to some of the things Jennette went through. From people pleasing, to struggling with body image, to food noise, and even being made fun of for having hair on our legs at a young age. This memoir encompassed the struggle to navigate who she was and is as a person, leading up into her late 20s. 

As someone currently in their late 20s, I think this memoir began to kick up some memories of my own past. Specifically, childhood memories of how my sister and I began acting on stage around the same age Jennette started in the industry. Unlike Jennette, my sister and I did like acting, and I believe we even wanted to be actors on the big screen. We thought stardom was the dream, like some children often do, but thankfully, my mom did not want the industry life for us. Although little me might have been saddened by this, I am so thankful my mom decided not to put us through a life that could have negatively changed us forever. 

Unconditional love was something Jennette gave her mom until the day she died. It took Jennette a long time to face the truth of the abuse, lies, and hatefulness she endured from her mom. At the end of her memoir, Jennette questions why we romanticize the dead. She herself did it with wishful thinking that her mom, if still alive, would change and be someone truly kind and loving more often than not. 

Death has a funny way of wiping away the negative aspects of a person and instead labels them as “brave, kind, loyal, sweet, loving, graceful, strong, thoughtful, funny, genuine, hopeful, playful, insightful…” as Jennette’s mom’s headstone did. Jennette knows who her mom was beyond the adjectives on her headstone, and we, as the readers, got to see a glimpse of the kind of mother she was. This does raise the question that Jennette asks toward the end of her memoir: why can’t we be honest about who we were in the end?