Ideas in the Wild: Emily Gindlesparger On Embracing Self-Love by Learning to Speak The Truth
For Emily Gindlesparger, the idea of opening up her eight-year relationship was terrifying. Even considering it sent her into a tailspin of jealousy, anxiety, and self-doubt. Except…maybe she did want it, if she was being brutally honest.
When she said yes to an open relationship, she discovered an assertive, impulsive side that wanted to take risks. Another side, timid and ashamed, that shrank from uncomfortable conversations. And an insatiable side — one that hungered for others to love her more than she knew how to love herself.
But she discovered something else: a wild, undeniable need to expose her darkest secrets, no matter how terrifying. And, ultimately, to know and love every last part of herself, no matter what it might cost. She chronicled this journey in her new memoir, Please Make Me Love Me. I was fortunate enough to catch up with Emily recently to learn more about why she wrote the book and the ideas she shares with readers.
What happened that made you decide to write the book? What was the exact moment when you realized these ideas needed to get out there?
I was talking to a fellow writer one day about how ashamed I was feeling that I’d been in an open relationship and with my second partner for nearly a year and still hadn’t told my parents that I was queer or dating two people.
I talked about how, because I’d been with my first partner for years, of course no one was going to ask if I was dating anyone. I could just hide. Continue flying under the social radar as a straight woman in a long-term committed relationship.
Meanwhile, I had all these huge changes and expansions going on under the surface: I was queer and polyamorous and questioning everything about my romantic and sexual selves. I had also barreled into these beautiful, imperfect and ultimately volatile relationships. I was embarrassed about the chaos I’d created and wanted to “fix it” before I told anyone about these big identity and relationship shifts in my life. So I kept hiding, hiding, hiding.
As all these words spilled out of my mouth, this new thought smacked me between the eyes: no one knows me very well anymore. And that’s entirely my fault. I’m afraid to be seen.
That’s when I started writing this story — so that I could practice looking at myself clearly and honestly, and develop the courage to talk to people about what I saw inside myself. Very slowly, I started to practice talking to people about what I was writing, and then it became easier to talk about the mess and the growing and learning I was going through.
As for deciding to share it all by publishing the book that came out of it: all I can say is it’s basically the biggest game of truth-chicken I’ve ever played. I’m training my truth to be stronger than my hiding. And I’m hoping my story can be helpful to others playing their own versions of truth-chicken.
What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned going through the journey you share in the book?
When it comes to trying to describe how I feel or what I want, I no longer allow myself to stop at “I don’t know.” This lesson came to light very clearly in editing the book; the first draft was riddled with the phrase “I don’t know” — and the thing is, at the time I thought that was fine for the sake of the story. “I don’t know” is a natural consequence of feeling conflicted, confused, and overwhelmed, and during this time of my life I felt conflicted, confused, and overwhelmed all the time.
Am I straight? Am I bi? Am I pansexual? Am I polyamorous? Am I staying with this person because I feel guilty for hurting her and I’m trying to fix it, or am I staying because I believe in our relationship? My first answer was to so many of the questions in my life was “I don’t know.” And I let myself stay there.
The problem is, “I don’t know” should be like a train station stop — a holding spot between one destination and another. I was living there.
Tucker Max edited my book, and when he saw all these “I don’t know”s all over my manuscript, he left me a comment like, “Look, I get it, I really do — but this is the work.” He meant the work of writing memoir, but also the work of life.
And as soon as he pointed that out, the whole story fell into place: I realized that all the moments where I felt unsteady and overwhelmed, I was perpetuating the chaos by just trying to “fix things” and “feel better” without ever getting clear on how I felt and what I wanted.
There’s a part of the story where I finally start turning into myself to listen to how I feel and what I want, and the quality of the story changes after that. I started having more honest conversations with people, started holding better boundaries, and acting with more intentionality and integrity.
Before, I thought that the answer to each “I don’t know” would just arrive when there was an answer to be had; now I know that for me, knowing takes deliberate practice. I have to sit with myself and seek it out.
How will you apply this lesson in your life moving forward?
One of the best ways for me to check in with my emotions, what I want, and where I’m headed is through meditation. The way I meditate now is very different from how I thought I was “supposed to;” I was trained in yoga classes to sit very still and upright with eyes closed and try to clear my mind. But what that resulted in, for me, was tons of denial: denying my body’s impulses to move, denying thoughts and feelings and sensations and shoving it all away to get to some supposedly blissful blank state. Essentially, what I used to be aiming for in meditation was dissociation. I got good at being blank.
Now, I use meditation to be receptive to what’s inside, rather than shove it away. I turn my attention to inner sensations and feelings and give them time and space to do whatever they want to do — cry, sway, punch pillows, dance, sit quietly. It’s like recess for my emotions.
Over time, I’ve noticed that when I know what’s going on in my inner life, I’m more likely to know what to do in my outer life. When I don’t know what I want, I find that if I take some time to give my emotions space and exercise, and then I sit quietly and ask again, it’s easier to listen. There’s always an answer for me.
I’ve also learned that for me meditation is a daily requirement. When I don’t do it, I notice I’m more easily swayed by other people’s emotions or by my own fear throughout the day — and that sends me back into hiding, back into not being clear and honest with myself and others.
My meditation practice spills into my everyday interactions. I notice now if I’m ignoring my needs, and I slow down to check in. If I can tell I’m not really listening to myself or another person in a conversation, I stop and take a few breaths before I respond. Practicing awareness moment to moment like this has helped me be more open, honest, and brave, in little bits at a time.