Hot Take: Untamed

By Tashi Sharma, BA hons Philosophy, 1st year

Edited and Designed by Anshika Singh, BA hons English, 1st year.

Saying Untamed is “just another self-help book” is probably one of the easiest ways to show that you never really got the book.

Yes, Glennon Doyle’s words have found their way into countless Instagram captions. Yes, “We can do hard things” has been printed on everything from mugs to tote bags. But a book can be commercially popular and still be intellectually interesting. Untamed has been quoted endlessly, but the more uncomfortable part of the book—the way it challenges the image of a “good woman”—often gets left behind.

This is not a book that simply asks women to love themselves in a gentle, reassuring way.

It asks women to be troublesome.

For generations, women have been praised when they can survive without making anyone else uncomfortable. Be assertive, but not intimidating. Be independent, but keep everyone happy. Say what you think, but say it politely. Have desires, but make sure those desires do not inconvenience anyone.

Untamed pushes against that contradiction.

And I think that is where the book becomes more interesting than a collection of motivational quotes.

The biggest challenge in Doyle’s ideas is not simply her insistence on confidence. Confidence, after all, has become socially acceptable. The more uncomfortable idea is that someone else’s disappointment in you is not automatically proof that you have done something wrong.

“The braver I am, the luckier I get.”

This line is easy to turn into a motivational Instagram caption. But there is something more uncomfortable underneath it. How often do women wait for permission before making a decision, and then call that waiting patience?

We tell ourselves that things will get better when circumstances change, when people understand us, when someone finally approves of our choices. Doyle turns that idea around. Sometimes, what looks like luck begins with the courage to act before everyone agrees with you.

The cheetah metaphor in the book works for the same reason.

An animal that has been trained to live within boundaries can eventually stop needing an actual fence. The limitation becomes internal. It knows where it is allowed to go, even when nobody is physically stopping it.

Women can learn those boundaries too.

They are not always told, “Do not become too strong.” Instead, they learn which women are considered lovable and which are labelled selfish, difficult, loud, dramatic or crazy. Eventually, nobody has to tell them to shrink. They learn to do it themselves.

That is why Doyle’s idea that “discontent is the nagging of the imagination” is so important.

We are often taught to interpret dissatisfaction as ingratitude. If our life looks good from the outside, why aren't we happy? If we have a family, a job, friends and stability, what more could we possibly want?

But Untamed treats discontent differently.

It suggests that sometimes dissatisfaction is information.

Maybe the restlessness is telling us something. Maybe it is pointing towards a version of ourselves that we have spent years ignoring because she was inconvenient, ambitious, angry, loud or simply unwilling to fit.

And honestly, that idea can be frightening.

Because once a woman begins to believe that her unhappiness might actually be telling her something, she becomes harder to manage.

Of course, there are criticisms of the book. Some readers find it repetitive, overly dramatic or too centred on Doyle's own experiences. Those criticisms are fair to consider. But I also wonder if the repetition serves a purpose.

Women have been hearing the opposite message for years: adjust, forgive, endure, compromise, think about everyone else, don't overreact, don't make it about yourself.

One book telling women to listen to themselves is obviously not going to undo all of that.

And then there is the word “selfish.”

Women are often called selfish when they stop providing endless emotional labour. When men protect their time, it can be interpreted as ambition or independence. When women do the same, it can be interpreted as coldness or neglect.

Untamed does not necessarily argue that selfishness is good.

It asks a more interesting question:

Why is a woman's self-respect so easily mistaken for selfishness?

Perhaps that is why I think Untamed has been misunderstood. It has become so associated with motivational quotes that its more rebellious argument has almost disappeared.

The point is not that women should become rebellious for the sake of rebellion.

It is that goodness and obedience are not the same thing.

Love without honesty can become performance. Silence created by constantly suppressing yourself is not necessarily peace. And being loved by everyone around you does not automatically mean that you are free.

A lot of literature asks us to look into the mirror and change what we see.

Untamed asks a different question:

Who taught you to dislike the person looking back?

The book never promises that following your instincts will make life easier. If anything, it suggests the opposite. Choosing yourself can create conflict. People may misunderstand you. Some relationships may change. You may disappoint people you love.

But difficulty is not always evidence that you have made the wrong choice.

Sometimes, the difficult path is difficult precisely because it is yours.

So no, I don't think Untamed has simply been “overrated.” I think it has had a stranger fate: it became popular without always being taken seriously.

Its most provocative ideas were turned into aesthetic captions and pastel quote cards, while the discomfort behind those ideas was quietly removed.

But underneath the quotes, the book is asking something much less Instagram-friendly:

What if the woman you were taught to become was never the woman you actually wanted to be?

Untamed does not simply tell women to rebel.

It asks them to notice how often they have been rewarded for pretending not to want freedom in the first place.