I guess I’m posting this for other children/daughters of abusive narcissistic parents.
I’m Glad My Mom Died is a great book, but I didn’t enjoy it. It’s very funny, but I didn’t laugh. I was mostly terrified for Jennette and heartbroken that her life was so derailed, and my heart and guts sank for her over and over.
The book mainly had me analyzing my own life and trying to figure out how I escaped my mom’s house without her completely taking over my identity and giving me co-dependent relationships and eating disorders. Maybe because I am the oldest kid, and Jennette is the youngest, I had more defiance. Maybe because I was older when my mom got sick; maybe because Jennette’s mom was actually sick, and mine was only pretending. My mom wanted me to be a model (I was 5’8″ when I was 12 years old) but was too lazy to drag me around to auditions etc., unlike Jennette’s mom. I don’t know how I escaped better off than Jennette, but I’m so grateful and so, so sorry that she endured so much pain.
“You’re surprisingly normal” is a thing my family members sometimes say to me and my siblings, and I know what they mean, but because of my abuse, I dislike being called by my name. Because of my abuse, I didn’t have children, even though my partner wanted them and would have been great at it. Maybe the markers of my abuse aren’t as obvious as Jennette’s, but no one wins.
My sister told me not to read this book, and maybe she was right. If you are on the fence and have abuse or eating disorder trauma, maybe take my sister’s advice and skip this one. But I’m glad Jennette wrote this, and I don’t think I’m sorry I read it. I’m so sorry that these bad parents exist. We deserved better.