Embracing Audacity: Living Boldly on Your Own Terms
Guest Podcast on the Philosophy for Life Show
What You'll Hear in This Episode
What does it mean to be audacious? Not reckless. Not performative. But truly bold in a way that honors who you are—not who you think you should be. In this conversation with Darron from Philosophy for Life, I share what it means to live audaciously when you've spent your life being the strong one, the responsible one, the one who never needs anything.
We talk about:
✨ Why I introduce myself by qualities, not accomplishments
✨ Growing up between France and America—and never quite fitting in either place
✨ How I accidentally joined the military (and why I stayed for 8 years)
✨ The crimes I investigated that could have been prevented through communication
✨ What it means to be a woman in a male-dominated space
✨ Why vulnerability was the most audacious thing I ever learned
✨ The difference between French boldness and American performance
✨ My framework for reclaiming your power (the 5 P's)
✨ Why you should ask "what's now" before asking "what's next"
If you've ever felt like you're performing a life instead of living one, this conversation is for you.
Who We Are Transcends What We Do
When Darron asked me to introduce myself, I didn't lead with my résumé.
I said: I'm adventurous, bold, and tenaciously curious.
Not because I don't have accomplishments. I do. I spent 8 years as a federal criminal investigator for the Air Force. I have 13 coaching certifications. I've helped hundreds of people reclaim their power.
But here's the thing: Who we are transcends what we do.
If you spent any amount of time with me, you'd know I'm adventurous and eternally curious. Those are the things that matter. Those are the things that shaped every accomplishment I've ever earned.
And I think we've lost sight of that. We lead with titles and degrees and years of experience. But those things don't tell you who someone is. They just tell you what they've done.
Boldness Is Bestowed, Not Earned
Darron asked me how I earned the title of being bold.
And I told him: I didn't. It was bestowed on me.
Because when you're being bold, you don't feel bold. You're just doing what feels authentic and natural to you. You're doing what feels right in the moment.
It's like when people say, "Oh my God, you're so brave for doing that. I could never do that."
But you don't think what you're doing is brave. You're just doing what needs to be done.
That's what makes it powerful. That's what makes it inspiring. It looks effortless to you—but impossible to someone else.
Boldness is just living in alignment with who you are. And other people notice it because they're not used to seeing that.
The Same Trauma, Just With a Nicer View
I was born in America but grew up in the South of France. My father is French, my mother was American. I was bilingual, privileged in a lot of ways.
But I joke that it was the same trauma that every kid experiences—just with a nicer view.
I was still dealing with divorced parents. I was still feeling alone. I was still being bullied at school for being different.
In France, they called me the American girl. In America, they called me French. I never quite belonged anywhere.
So I became excellent at two things: empathy and combativeness.
I learned to leverage empathy to connect with people. And I learned to leverage inner strength to protect myself.
And when people tried to other me, my instinct was to rebel. When French fries became "Freedom fries" in America and people were anti-French, I didn't try to be more American. I got more French. I asked people to point to France on a map. Most of them couldn't.
I carved this inner confidence that said: I'll show you what I can do if you don't think I'm capable.
And I let that spirit guide me all the way to college.
How I Accidentally Joined the Military
I didn't set out to join the military.
I went to college in Pittsburgh, and my former debate partner invited me to an ROTC meeting. He was the only person I knew at the school. So I said sure.
And two things happened:
1. I liked getting yelled at.
Because it felt like home. I grew up with chaos and stress, so the military training environment felt familiar. I could handle it.
But more than that—I loved the direct communication. People in the military don't do passive-aggressive. They tell you exactly what they expect. They're bold and upfront.
And that was comforting to me. These people were speaking my language.
2. I wanted the challenge.
I had never run before in my life. I literally had to walk the track the first time. I didn't have an athletic bone in my body.
But I liked that. I wanted something to hold me accountable. I wanted to do something I would never do otherwise.
And honestly? I thought everyone in the military would have their act together. I thought I wouldn't have to take care of anyone for once.
(Spoiler: I ended up doing the one job in the military that's exclusively about holding people accountable—as an officer and a criminal investigator.)
The Crimes That Could Have Been Prevented
For 8 years, I was a federal criminal investigator for the Air Force.
My job was to interview people on their worst day. Victims of crimes. Witnesses. People accused of crimes. I collected facts. I made people feel safe enough to talk to me during the scariest moments of their lives.
And what I came to realize—what broke my heart—was how many of those crimes were preventable.
Everything I saw could have been prevented through communication.
If people had known how to express themselves. If they had been present to their feelings. If they had given themselves permission to want what they wanted.
They wouldn't have felt the need to express themselves in ways that were unhealthy. In ways that caused harm.
And there were so many victims who didn't know how to say no. Who were afraid of what would happen if they did.
That broke me.
And it drove me to say: If I can help people say no confidently, the ripple effect I can create is profound.
Because those people can then inspire others to speak up for themselves. To take a stand for themselves.
That's what motivates me.
The Five P's of Reclaiming Your Power
When clients come to me, they think they want something superficial. A new job. A better relationship with their boss. Clarity on what's next.
But what they really need is to reclaim their power. And I lead them through what I call the 5 P's:
1. Presence
Most people are so busy thinking about what's next that they're not present to what's now. I help them reconnect to their thoughts, feelings, and emotions. I help them make connections between those things and their behaviors.
Because you can be dissatisfied with your habits, but if you're not accounting for why you're doing what you're doing, nothing changes.
2. Purpose
Not your big life purpose (that's overwhelming). Your for what purpose. What's motivating you—consciously and unconsciously?
Most people realize they're not doing what they want to do. They're doing what they think they should do. They're chasing respect. Approval. Success defined by someone else.
Once they have that awareness, we can start asking: Do you want to keep this? Or do you want to be motivated differently?
3. People
Once you know what you want, you can build community around it. You can surround yourself with people who are aligned with your values. Who nourish you instead of drain you.
4. Parley
The art of communication and negotiation. Now that you know what you need and have people who support you, you can advocate for yourself. You can set boundaries. You can communicate without shrinking.
5. Pleasure
Pleasure becomes what guides every decision. Not as a reward for productivity, but as the fuel that keeps you alive.
When you reconfigure your purpose so it's motivating you toward pleasure instead of away from pain, everything shifts.
French Confidence vs. American Confidence
Darron asked me about the difference between French and American culture.
And here's what I said: The French are not as performative as Americans.
There's a reason people perceive the French as rude. It's because they're not putting on a fake face. They're not smiling at you just because. Why would they? You haven't done anything to make them smile.
There's no need to bend over backwards for someone. There's an expectation of equity and equality.
In America, there's still this huge pressure to perform. To be productive. To achieve. To smile even when you don't feel like it.
And that permeates everything—your workplace, your relationships, what you decide to spend your energy on.
America is all about productivity. France is all about pleasure.
And when it comes to confidence? I don't want people to have American confidence—loud, performative, always "on."
I want them to have French confidence. That nonchalance. That ease. That ability to let things roll off your shoulders and say no when things don't align with who you are.
You don't need to be loud to be confident. You can be introverted, quiet, shy—and still be bold.
The difference is: you're not letting outside circumstances dictate your self-worth.
The Most Audacious Thing I Ever Did? Be Vulnerable.
Darron asked me if there was ever a time I wasn't being bold.
And I said: By the outside world's definition? No. Everyone always saw me as the strong one. The brave one. The one who could handle anything.
But internally? I was repressing my vulnerability for years.
I hid it away until 2014, when my mom passed away. And that cracked me wide open. She was the only person I was ever vulnerable with. When she was gone, I didn't know how to close that gap.
Everything felt soft and sensitive and squishy. I didn't know how to deal with feelings—especially the softer ones.
I was good at being bold in the stereotypical sense. I could push through. I could do the hard thing. I could challenge myself.
But daring to do the easy thing? Daring to be soft? Daring to be held? Daring to ask for help?
That was the most audacious thing I ever learned.
Being a Woman in the Military
When I told people I was in the military, they didn't believe me.
I was literally the only woman in my office for probably 6 out of 8 years.
And here's what I learned: When you're a minority in a room, you have to balance this experience of tokenism. You want to take a stand for who you represent. But you also need to integrate and be taken seriously.
There were times I said no to helping with something—just like my male counterparts said no all the time—and I was called a bitch.
One time, I was told I needed to "get laid" because I said no to an assignment.
No one ever said that to a male colleague. Ever.
But here's the thing: I refused to let the military disintegrate my identity. I wore hats in the desert. I brought my nicest clothes on deployment. I became known as "hat girl."
And that made me a pain in the butt for some bosses. But by the end, I was being called into meetings that had nothing to do with me—because my boss knew I would tell him the truth.
I learned that conforming might keep you average, but it won't make you happy.
Why I Left the Military
The decision to leave the military is rarely instantaneous. It's this feeling of I'm getting ready to get out. You're just waiting for the right time. The straw that breaks the camel's back.
For me, I knew from the beginning I wasn't going to do 20 years. The military was something I wanted to take advantage of while I could—because I could join the military in my 20s, but I could go to law school at 70.
By the time I got out, I was no longer in alignment with the values of the Department of Defense. I didn't want my salary—derived from taxpayer dollars—going toward those efforts.
And I asked myself: Is this the best use of my time?
Time is the most precious thing we have. We can't get it back.
So: Is this leveraging my best skill sets? Is this impacting people the way I want to? Am I improving myself and my environment?
Once the answer was no, it was time to leave.
The final straw was when they offered me an assignment in Niger, Africa, for a year. I wouldn't have been able to leave or travel when I wanted. And my 85-year-old grandmother and my ailing father were the last family I had.
I wanted the flexibility to see them at a moment's notice.
And at that point, no amount of money could make me walk away from them.
Before You Ask What's Next, Ask What's Now
This is the piece of advice I want to leave you with:
Every time people go through a big transition, everyone asks: What's next?
But before you ask yourself what's next, ask yourself what's now.
Get really aware of what's happening to you right now. What you're feeling. What you're thinking. What the current situation truly is.
Let that determine what's next—rather than putting the cart before the horse.
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