Olivia: Okay, Jackson. Jennette McCurdy's memoir. Five words. Go. Jackson: Oh, wow, putting me on the spot. Okay. Heartbreaking. Hilarious. Horrifying. Wait, that's three... Um... Finally, painfully, brutally honest. Olivia: Close enough. I'll allow it. Mine: Childhood stardom is a nightmare. Jackson: That’s a good one. It really cuts to the chase. And honestly, after reading this, it feels like an understatement. Olivia: It really does. Today we are diving headfirst into one of the most talked-about books of the last few years, I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy. Jackson: And for anyone who might not immediately place the name, she was Sam Puckett on iCarly. A huge Nickelodeon show that defined a generation of kids' television. Olivia: Exactly. And this memoir just exploded. It wasn't just a bestseller; it stayed on the New York Times list for over a year and won the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Memoir. It completely transcended the typical celebrity tell-all. Jackson: Which it had to, with a title like that. I'm Glad My Mom Died. That is such a provocative, gut-punch of a statement. We have to start there. What was this relationship that could lead someone to feel relief, not just grief, at their mother’s passing?

Olivia: That title is the thesis of the entire book. It’s a declaration of freedom. To understand it, you have to understand that for Jennette, her mother’s love was never a given. It was a wage she had to earn, every single day. Jackson: A wage? That’s a chilling way to put it. What do you mean? Olivia: Her mother, Debra, had a dream of being an actress that never materialized. So, she transferred that ambition entirely onto Jennette, starting when Jennette was just six years old. Her entire childhood became a performance, not for the camera, but for her mom. Jackson: Okay, so this is the classic "stage mom" trope, but it sounds like it went much, much darker. Olivia: Infinitely darker. It wasn't just about running lines or going to auditions. Debra controlled every single aspect of Jennette’s existence. The most visceral example is what she called "calorie restriction." From the age of eleven, her mother put her on a strict diet. Jackson: Wait, her mom was counting her calories for her? At eleven? Olivia: Yes. And weighing her five times a day. The stated reason was to delay puberty and keep her looking small and childlike for roles. But the underlying function was pure control. Jennette learned a devastating equation early on: being small, being compliant, being what her mother wanted her to be, was the only way to receive affection. Her body wasn't her own. Jackson: That’s not love, that’s puppeteering. It’s like her own body became part of the performance. If she gained a pound, she wasn't just disappointing her mom; she was a bad employee, failing at her one job. Olivia: Precisely. And it was coupled with extreme emotional enmeshment. Debra would bathe her until she was seventeen, performed invasive "health checks" on her breasts and genitals, and read her diaries. There were no boundaries. Jennette’s mind, body, and soul were all extensions of her mother. Jackson: Wow. That is so deeply disturbing. It reframes everything. The love she was getting wasn't nurturing; it was transactional. It was contingent on her complete and total submission. Olivia: Exactly. Jennette writes about how she had to constantly monitor her mother’s moods. If her mom was sad, Jennette had to be the one to cheer her up. If her mom was angry, Jennette had to absorb it. Her mother’s happiness, as she puts it, came at the cost of her own. She was essentially trained from birth to be an emotional support animal for a deeply narcissistic parent. Jackson: And the mom used her own history with cancer as a tool for manipulation, right? Olivia: Constantly. Any time Jennette would push back, even slightly, Debra would bring up her cancer battles. It was the ultimate trump card. It created a situation where Jennette felt immense guilt for having any needs or desires of her own. How could she complain about an audition when her mother was a "survivor"? It was a psychological cage. Jackson: So the "performance" wasn't just acting on a set. It was performing the role of the perfect, compliant, successful daughter 24/7, because the consequence of failing was the withdrawal of the only "love" she knew. Olivia: And the terrifying part is, for a child in that situation, that conditional love feels like everything. It’s oxygen. You don't know that there's another way to breathe. You just learn to do whatever it takes to get that next breath.

Jackson: It’s just so isolating. You’d hope that her professional life, the thing she was sacrificing everything for, would at least be a safe haven. An escape. Olivia: That’s the most tragic part of the story. The patterns of abuse she learned to navigate at home were just replicated and amplified in the workplace. Specifically by a powerful figure at Nickelodeon she only refers to as "The Creator." Jackson: And it's been widely speculated that this is a reference to a very well-known producer from that era, Dan Schneider. Olivia: Correct. While she never uses his name, the descriptions align with many other public allegations. What Jennette describes is a secondary layer of grooming and exploitation. The Creator would give her unsolicited shoulder massages that made her deeply uncomfortable. He encouraged her to drink alcohol when she was underage, even giving her her first taste of it in his office. Jackson: Hold on. The head of a children's television network is allegedly plying one of his teenage stars with alcohol? How does that even happen? Olivia: It’s about power dynamics. He was the kingmaker. He held her career, her dream—or rather, her mother’s dream—in his hands. She describes a culture of fear and appeasement around him. Everyone knew you didn't cross The Creator. Jackson: So it’s the same pattern as with her mother. An all-powerful figure whose approval you desperately need, who violates your boundaries, and who you feel you can't say "no" to. Olivia: It's a chilling parallel. The abuse at home primed her to accept the abuse at work. She was already an expert at placating volatile, controlling adults. And The Creator, like her mother, blurred the lines between professional and personal in deeply inappropriate ways. Jackson: What’s the most shocking example of that? Olivia: Towards the end of her time at the network, after her spin-off show Sam & Cat was ending, she describes being offered what she calls a "gift" from the network. It was a sum of three hundred thousand dollars. Jackson: A gift? For what? A thank you for her years of service? Olivia: That was the framing. But the condition was that she could never speak publicly about her experiences at Nickelodeon, specifically her experiences with The Creator. Jackson: That’s not a gift. That’s hush money. Olivia: It’s exactly what it was. And she turned it down. It was one of her first major acts of defiance, of choosing her own integrity over financial security and silence. It was a pivotal moment where she started to reclaim her own voice. Jackson: Wow. To have the strength to do that after a lifetime of being trained to do the opposite… that’s incredible. But it just makes you wonder, where were the other adults? The agents, the tutors, the studio executives? Did no one see what was happening, both at home and on set? Olivia: The book paints a picture of a system where everyone is incentivized to look the other way. As long as the show is a hit and the money is flowing, the well-being of the child actor becomes a secondary concern. Her mother was her guardian, her "protector," but she was also the one pushing her into the lion's den. It’s a complete breakdown of the systems meant to keep children safe.

Olivia: So after finally escaping the industry's control by quitting acting and turning down that money, and then her mother passing away from cancer, you'd think it would be this moment of pure, unadulterated relief. Jackson: Right. The two primary sources of her trauma were gone. But the title, and the whole book really, implies it was so much more complicated than that. Olivia: It was an earthquake. The "After" section of the book is, in many ways, even more harrowing than the "Before." Because with her mother gone, all the coping mechanisms she had developed—the eating disorders, the people-pleasing—they didn't just disappear. They went into overdrive. Jackson: Why? I would think with the controller gone, the behaviors would subside. Olivia: Because those behaviors were all she knew. Her entire identity was built around anticipating her mother’s needs. Without that central organizing principle, she was completely lost. Her anorexia morphed into bulimia and binge eating. She developed a drinking problem. She was free, but she had no idea who she was or how to live in that freedom. Jackson: It’s like being a prisoner who’s been in a tiny cell your whole life. Suddenly the door opens, and the vastness of the outside world is more terrifying than the confinement you knew. Olivia: That’s a perfect analogy. Healing wasn't a straight line. It was a messy, painful, non-linear process that she only truly began when she started therapy. And even that was a battle. Her first therapist told her that her mother’s abuse wasn't that bad and that she should just eat more. Jackson: Oh, come on. That’s malpractice. Olivia: It’s horrifying. It took her years to find the right help. The real breakthrough came when a therapist finally helped her see the truth: her mother never loved her unconditionally. The "love" was entirely dependent on Jennette sacrificing herself. Grieving that realization—grieving the mother she deserved but never had—was the key. Jackson: So "I'm Glad My Mom Died" isn't just a statement of anger or resentment. It's an acknowledgment of a brutal, necessary condition for her own survival. Olivia: It is the most radical act of truth-telling in the entire book. It’s her finally saying, out loud, that the person who was supposed to be her greatest protector was actually her greatest source of harm. And her death, while tragic in its own right, was the event that finally allowed Jennette the space to even begin to live her own life. She had to visit her mother's grave at the end of the book to finally say it, to own that feeling, and to let go. Jackson: It’s the paradox of grieving an abuser. You can mourn the person while also feeling liberated from their control. And society is so uncomfortable with that second part. We have this sacred idea of motherhood, and her title just shatters it. Olivia: It does. And that’s why the book resonated so deeply. It gave millions of people permission to feel their own complicated feelings about their families. It validated the idea that sometimes the most honest emotions are the ones we’re told are the ugliest.

Jackson: When you pull it all together, this book is so much more than a celebrity memoir. It feels like a landmark text on psychological abuse and recovery. Olivia: I completely agree. Its real power is in its refusal to sanitize the story. It doesn't offer easy answers or a neat, happy ending. It presents healing for what it is: brutal, messy, and ongoing work. The core insight is that you cannot heal from a trauma that you are not allowed to name. Jackson: And she names it in the most direct way possible, right on the cover. Olivia: Exactly. The book is a case study in the reclamation of a narrative. For decades, her story was written by her mother and by the entertainment industry. This book is her grabbing the pen back and writing her own truth, in her own words, no matter how uncomfortable it makes people. The ultimate message is that sometimes, the most profound act of self-love is to speak a truth that the world has told you to keep silent. Jackson: That’s powerful. It really makes you wonder how many of the "perfect" family relationships or shiny celebrity lives we see are built on similar, unspoken, and painful conditions. Olivia: It's a vital question. And it’s one we’d love to hear your thoughts on. The book touches on so many complex themes—family, fame, mental health, and the courage to speak out. We encourage you to continue the conversation and share what resonated with you. Jackson: It’s a story that will stick with you long after you finish it. A testament to resilience and the fight for one's own identity. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.