Podbit · The Diary Of A CEO with Steven Bartlett
Poirier met his wife Jolie in middle school. She dropped out of college — nursing school — and moved from Louisiana to South Florida so he could train and chase the UFC title. Poirier says he doesn't think he would have made it to where he did without her as an anchor. Coming home after the arrest and facing her was one of the hardest parts.
Where this was said
At 37:17 · chapter starts 26:45
Bartlett demonstrates Wispr Flow live on camera, posting to a Slack channel and composing an email by voice, showcasing the product's claim to be four times faster than typing. He then transitions to Function Health, explaining that a single blood draw unlocks over 160 lab results covering hormones, inflammation, toxins, and cardiovascular markers, with an AI query layer on top. Bartlett says he and team members use it personally. The membership costs $365 per year with a $25 discount using code DOAC25.
Poirier has never been a casual drinker — when he drinks, he drinks until the bottle is gone. He envies people who can stop at two. After the arrest and a conversation with his wife, he's made the definitive decision: alcohol is out of his life permanently, because it has never benefited him and he refuses to replicate his father's legacy.
After the airport arrest, Poirier made a firm decision to cut alcohol completely from his life, describing himself as someone who always drinks until the bottle is gone.
After posting an apology on Instagram, Poirier deleted all social media apps from his phone and has not returned to any platform since Father's Day.
Jungian analyst James Hollis distills a good life to four things: shut up (have gratitude, stop whining), suit up (prepare yourself to fulfill a role), show up (do the actual work in service of others), and daily get out of stimulus-response to ask what your deeper wish actually is. The whole landscape of self-help slots into just these four bins.
Toward the end of their 20s, many men discover that all the strategies that earned them recognition and success have stopped working. It's a second adolescence — more important than the first — where the question shifts from 'how do I play the game?' to 'who do I actually want to become?' Most people going through it look fragile from the outside. They're actually building a foundation.
Boys are told from childhood not to cry, not to feel, not to be weak — but anger gets a pass. The result: a generation of men who reroute every emotion, including sadness and fear, through the only acceptable channel. Emotional avoidance isn't toughness, it's misdirected sensitivity.
Men need a 'bank account' of masculine status — muscle, money, success — before society grants them permission to express vulnerability. Chris Bumstead can cry at the Olympia and get celebrated. A struggling nobody doing the same thing gets contempt. This creates a tragic paradox where the men who most need emotional support get the least of it.
Emotional sensitivity isn't a defect — it's a high-resolution scanner for human experience. Highly sensitive people pick up body language, tone, and unspoken tension that others miss entirely. In the right environment, that's not a liability. It's a superpower.
Her supervisor told her she was too emotional for the pediatric ICU. So she asked herself: 'What area of medicine can I cry in?' That question led her to psychiatry. Finding the environment that holds your emotional sensitivity isn't retreat — it's strategy.
For someone with RSD, ghosting isn't ambiguity — it's a self-verdict. Their brain doesn't read 'this relationship ended,' it reads 'I am the reason this failed.' No closure means the brain fills the gap with evidence of personal insufficiency, and it keeps filling indefinitely.
More freedom doesn't produce more happiness — it produces more anxiety. Kierkegaard identified this 180 years ago: the more options you have, the more you feel the 'dizziness of freedom,' a paralytic unease at having to choose any single one. The freest generation in history is, by his prediction, exactly the most anxious.
Every person lives in constant tension between infinite possible selves and the finite, limited self they actually are. Tipping too far toward infinite possibility produces a loss of identity; too much confinement in the finite produces stagnation. Kierkegaard argued that this tension is never solved — only managed.
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