“We weren’t born distrusting and fearing ourselves. That was part of our taming. We were taught to believe that who we are in our natural state is bad and dangerous. They convinced us to be afraid of ourselves. So we do not honor our own bodies, curiosity, hunger, judgment, experience, or ambition. Instead, we lock away our true selves. Women who are best at this disappearing act earn the highest praise: She is so selfless. Can you imagine? The epitome of womanhood is to lose one’s self completely. That is the end goal of every patriarchal culture. Because a very effective way to control women is to convince women to control themselves.”
― Glennon Doyle, Untamed
Finding The Book
I usually pick up memoirs because I’ve read the cover blurb and thought either “oh cool, I’ve always wanted to live that life, I wonder how [author name] did it”, or “oh cool, I’ve never wanted to live that life, but [author name] makes it sound interesting”.
This book has neither of those reasons. Instead, one day while we were lounging in our matching La-Z-Boys, my wife asked if I knew Glennon Doyle had written a book. It went something like this:
Me: Who?
Her: Glennon Doyle. You know, Amy Wambach’s wife?
Me: Amy who?
Her: Wambach
Me: (picturing Megan Rapinoe) Oh yeah, she’s great. Olympian, soccer player, right?
Her: Yes, but this is a book by her wife, Glennon
Me: OK, I’ll look it up
Love Warrior or Untamed?
I found a number of Doyle’s books at the library, most with waiting lists. Except Untamed; there was no waiting list for Untamed. I put my name in to borrow Love, Warrior because I didn’t read the blurb, I just thought it must be about her queer activism. I then downloaded Untamed.
I like to pretend I am long past the point of reading “how to find your authentic self” books. If I was any more authentic to my true self at this point, I suspect I’d simply be a puddle of goo, occasionally oozing out of my La-Z-Boy and into the kitchen.
But, I borrowed the book, so now I’m going to read it. But at an oozing pace. Because in some places, like when she’s talking about kids, it does kind of feel like thick goo slowly oozing out of the screen.
I have almost nothing in common with Glennon, nor do I want to live much, if any, of her life. I don’t want a marriage to an unfaithful man, I have never been bulimic, don’t have an addiction, I don’t want children, I don’t want to travel America on book tours talking to religious heterosexuals and I haven’t fallen in love with a superstar soccer player. So I don’t care much about the lessons she learned through these tribulations.
Am I Screwed? Or Just Mean?
Don’t get me wrong, I like learning life lessons that aren’t relevant to me. Like, don’t drink too much or your stomach will explode (Guts by Kristen Johnston), or your embrace of every day technology should be tempered (The End of Absence by Michael Harris).
Doyle clearly articulates her hard-earned life lessons in short, easy-to-digest chapters. Once or twice it resonated with me, but much more often I rolled my eyes and thought it sounded overstated, overwrought or obvious.
“Be careful with the stories you tell about yourself.”
Uh oh, maybe I am screwed, because this isn’t a flattering story for me. But wait, she said, uh, something about not pleasing others? Or burning things? Wait, here it is:
“A woman who is full of herself knows and trusts herself enough to say and do what must be done. She lets the rest burn.”
Burn or Be Careful?
Maybe a careful, controlled burn? I think if you’re interested in pithy life observations (which I sometimes am) it’s going to be a great book for you. But for me, we’ll, it’s almost time to ooze my way into the kitchen to scavenge for lunch.
I don’t care much about life lessons about caring for children. And I don’t think Love, Warrior is quite what I thought it was. I took my name off the list.
Full disclosures: Only in writing this review did I realize my Wambach/Rapinoe mistake. I guess that’s a burn.
