Hello and Welcome. This page is a collection of 23 quotes that I liked and saved while reading I’m Glad My Mom Died book by Jennette McCurdy. I hope you will like them too.
By the way, I am Deepak Kundu, an avid book reader, quotes collector and blogger.
I’m Glad My Mom Died Quotes
- Mom’s watching me and I’m watching her and that’s how it always is. We’re always connected. Intertwined. One.
- I actually like dance. A lot. I like moving my body, it gets me out of my head.
- There’s a lot of talk about big breaks in Hollywood, but so far I haven’t experienced that. Instead, I’ve experienced a bunch of little breaks that trickle in just as I’m almost positive I won’t catch one again. Mom says Hollywood’s like a bad boyfriend. “They keep stringing you along without making any type of formal commitment.” I’m not exactly sure what this means, but it sounds right.
- Fun isn’t a thing I’m particularly familiar with. Life’s a serious thing. There’s a lot going on in this place. Being prepared and working hard and doing well are far more important than fun.
- I absolutely prefer writing to acting. Through writing, I feel power for maybe the first time in my life. I don’t have to say somebody else’s words. I can write my own. I can be myself for once. I like the privacy of it. Nobody’s watching. Nobody’s judging. Nobody’s weighing in. No casting directors or agents or managers or directors or Mom. Just me and the page. Writing is the opposite of performing to me. Performing feels inherently fake. Writing feels inherently real.
- I can’t let Mom know I’m into purple, since Mom prefers pink. She would be heartbroken if I suddenly announce that I’ve switched my favorite color to one that isn’t also hers. It is an honor that Mom cares about me so much that something like me having my own favorite color would devastate her. True love.
- It confuses me when people throw a spin on the delivery of something to overcompensate for the fact that the thing they’re delivering is unpleasant.
- The kind of fame I have now is causing me a level of stress that I did not know was possible. I know everybody wants it, and everybody tells me how lucky I am to have it, but I hate it.
- Fame has put a wedge between Mom and me that I didn’t think was possible. She wanted this. And I wanted her to have it. I wanted her to be happy. But now that I have it, I realize that she’s happy and I’m not. Her happiness came at the cost of mine. I feel robbed and exploited.
- I feel the wedge between Mom and I growing by the day. With every lie I tell, I feel myself slipping further away from her. With every pound I gain, every binge I partake in, I feel myself getting more disconnected from her. I’m so confused and troubled by this wedge. I’m desperate to feel close with her, but also desperate for that closeness to be on my terms, not hers. I want her to know me for who I’m becoming. I want her to allow my growth. I want her to want me to be me. But that feels more like a fantasy than a possibility, for now at least.
- I don’t like knowing people in the context of things. Oh, that’s the person I work out with. That’s the person I’m in a book club with. That’s the person I did that show with. Because once the context ends, so does the friendship. I yearn to know the people I love deeply and intimately – without context, without boxes – and I yearn for them to know me that way, too.
- When I’m drunk, all of my worries disappear – hating my body, the shame I feel about my eating habits, coping with my dying mother, starring in a show I’m humiliated to be a part of – it all just goes away. When I’m drunk, I’m less anxious, less inhibited, less worried about what Mom would want or think of me – in fact, when I’m drunk, the voice of Mom judging me evaporates completely.
- People seem to assign thin with “good,” heavy with “bad,” and too thin also with “bad.” There’s such a small window of “good.” It’s a window that I currently fall into, even though my habits are so far from good. I’m abusing my body every day. I’m miserable. I’m depleted. And yet the compliments keep pouring in.
- Anyone with an eating disorder can tell when anyone else has an eating disorder. It’s like a secret code you can’t help but pick up on.
- Through the years, I’ve slowly learned that the entertainment business is one where what’s being said is rarely what’s being talked about. This way of operating not only disagrees with me but seems genuinely impossible for me to adapt to.
- Millions of people dream of being famous, and here I am with fame and hating it. I somehow feel entitled to my hatred since I was not the one who dreamed of being famous. Mom was. Mom pushed this on me. I’m allowed to hate someone else’s dream, even if it’s my reality.
- Without Mom around, I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I need. I don’t know who I am. And I certainly don’t know what to wish for.
- I want to do good work. I want to do work I’m proud of. This matters to me on a deep, inherent level. I want to make a difference, or at least feel like I’m making a difference through my work. Without that feeling, that connection, the work feels pointless and vapid. I feel pointless and vapid.
- I’ve pretended to be other people my whole life, my whole childhood and adolescence and young adulthood. The years that you’re supposed to spend finding yourself, I was spending pretending to be other people. The years that you’re supposed to spend building character, I was spending building characters. I’m more convinced than ever that I need to quit acting. That it doesn’t serve my mental or emotional health.
- I think of somebody’s dying days as the perfect opportunity to tie up loose ends, get their affairs in order, tell their children who their real fathers are.
- My relationship with acting is a complicated one. Not dissimilar to my relationship with food and my body. Both of them feel like constant pulling, yearning, begging, fighting. I’m trying desperately to get their approval, their affection, and I never quite seem to. I’m never quite good enough.
- Many aspects of any job are out of the control of the person doing it, but in acting that’s especially the case. As an actor, you can’t control which agents want to represent you, what roles your agent submits you for, which auditions you get, what callbacks you get, what roles you get, what the lines are for your role, how you look for your role, how the director directs your performance, how the editor edits your performance, whether the show gets picked up or the movie does well, whether critics like your performance, whether you get famous, how the media portrays you, and so on. God bless the souls who can tolerate that much up-in-the-airness in their lives, but I can’t anymore.
- At the beginning of the decade, the people I was close to seemed like friends for life, people I could never imagine not seeing every day. But life happens. Love happens. Loss happens. Change and growth happen at different paces for different people, and sometimes the paces just don’t line up. It’s devastating if I think too much about it, so I usually don’t.