Because I’ve lived it—from using achievement as armor to creating genuine internal strength and stability that can actually support the life I’ve built.
I’m Annie Wright, LMFT, and I specialize in helping ambitious women understand how early relational experiences still quietly shape their capacity for joy, intimacy, and genuine satisfaction.
Growing up on an island off the coast of Maine with one destructive parent and another who couldn’t protect me, I learned what many driven women discover: when home doesn’t feel safe, achievement becomes both shield and escape route.
After being legally disowned at 11, I doubled down on the one thing that offered stability—achieving and striving.
This drive carried me to become valedictorian, the first in my family to attend college, let alone the Ivy League. I joined the Peace Corps after two degrees at Brown. By 25, I had a career that looked impressive from the outside.
But I was performing my life instead of living it.
In 2005, everything I’d carefully constructed came undone during an evacuation from Uzbekistan where I’d been serving in the Peace Corps.
The survival strategies I’d been running on—using achievement and disordered eating to numb myself, prove my worth, and feel safe—suddenly weren’t enough for what life was asking of me.
I had a choice: keep patching the surface or do the deeper work that actually creates lasting change.
At 25, I left my post-Peace Corps life for the Esalen Institute with a one-way plane ticket and a carry-on suitcase. What was supposed to be a one-month retreat became four life-changing years.
…the kind of transformative work that goes all the way to the core patterns of your life instead of just managing symptoms.
For the first time, I began to understand how the relational patterns I’d learned as a child—when love felt conditional, safety felt uncertain, and survival required constant vigilance—were still running my adult life like background programming I’d never consciously installed. I learned to understand how my early experiences had shaped the way I showed up everywhere—in my friendships, my work, romantically, even my relationship with my own body. I discovered what it felt like to actually feel my feelings instead of immediately strategizing my way out of them, to inhabit my body as a home instead of treating it like a vehicle I happened to be driving. For the first time, I experienced what healthy connection and communication actually looked like when you weren’t constantly scanning for danger or performing for safety.
It was also at Esalen that I started graduate school, training to become someone who could help others like me. (Side note: I also met my now-husband there—turns out when you start healing, you attract healthier relationships.)
I thought I had done “the work”—and I had, for that stage of my life.
Having found my calling in trauma therapy and becoming a relational trauma recovery specialist, in 2019—not long after I was fully licensed—I founded Evergreen Counseling in Berkeley when my daughter was three months old.
My initial healing work had given me something I’d never had before: the capacity to build genuine professional success from a place of passion rather than desperation. As a new mother, I scaled the practice from zero to a multi-state, multi-million-dollar business with 24 employees in under five years, working with Silicon Valley leaders, physicians, and other driven professionals as my personal therapy clients while running the company.
But as I built this business, my old friend workaholism came roaring back.
Here’s the thing about workaholism—it’s the most socially acceptable form of feeling-avoidance. Nobody questions your 80-hour weeks when you’re “building something meaningful.” It’s the perfect hiding place for ambitious women who’ve done their therapy but haven’t quite touched this final, most insidious survival strategy.
A health scare, missed milestones with my daughter, a marriage that felt more like a business partnership, and those all-too-familiar 2 AM anxiety spirals forced me to confront an uncomfortable truth: I’d healed my relationship with food, learned to feel my feelings, could set boundaries—but I’d never actually healed my relationship with work.
Those 80-hour weeks weren’t just building the practice—they were my drug of choice. The way I numbed difficult emotions, proved my worth, and avoided the scary vulnerability of actually being present in my life.
For so many of us driven women, this is the final frontier. The last piece we somehow think we can skip because, well, at least we’re productive while we’re avoiding ourselves.
Sound familiar?
If you’re reading this and thinking “how does she know my life?”—that recognition isn’t coincidence. Your nervous system often holds the story your mind has minimized. Take a moment to notice what happens as you read—perhaps that subtle “oh” of recognition, the tightening in your chest, or simply the relief of feeling genuinely seen. That feeling? It’s your system recognizing that maybe, finally, someone gets it.
This time, I knew surface-level fixes wouldn’t cut it. You can’t update software that’s running on faulty hardware.
I dove back into intensive EMDR therapy (a research-backed approach for processing trauma), built my own comprehensive healing curriculum (because of course the former valedictorian who still gets excited about homework would create herself assignments for healing), and made bold external changes—including selling Evergreen and moving my family across the country to create space for a completely different way of living.
This healing journey wasn’t a quick fix or linear path—it rarely is when you’re dismantling deeply ingrained survival patterns that have been running your life since childhood.
There were moments of resistance, setbacks, and the uncomfortable realization that transforming my relationship with work meant confronting core beliefs about my worth and identity that I’d been carrying for decades.
Some days, I still felt the magnetic pull of old patterns, that familiar whisper that my value was tied to my output, that rest was risky, that slowing down meant falling behind.
But now I had the awareness to recognize these patterns and the tools to respond differently. Not just intellectually, but in my nervous system—the kind of deep knowing that actually shifts how you move through the world.
I learned to be safe without striving. I discovered that everything wouldn’t fall apart if I stopped pushing all the time—that my worth wasn’t contingent on my output.
I sleep through the night now instead of waking at 3 AM with anxiety spirals. My new favorite hobby? Hours spent on the couch with a Kindle full of romantasy novels. (The recovering Type A who used to feel guilty about “unproductive” time now genuinely loves getting lost in fictional worlds for hours.)
I could say yes to spontaneous playdates and dinners with neighbors, had time for conversations that meandered, for actually loving my life instead of just managing it.
My relationships transformed. Less resentment, more genuine closeness. Work relationships became less triggering—those difficult conversations that used to activate my entire nervous system? I could navigate them from curiosity rather than defensiveness.
The result? I could access real joy instead of just accomplishment.
This is what happens when you do the deeper foundation work—nervous system-level transformation that affects every area of your life.
Today, yes, I’m still the CEO of Evergreen and still seeing a small handful of clients as a relational trauma recovery specialist. I’m also writing my first book, developing my signature course, writing my weekly Substack, and offering executive coaching.
It’s a big work life, sure—but it’s not one driven by survival patterns. It’s fueled not by fear, but by creativity, mission, and genuine purpose. The difference is tangible in ways that go far beyond just feeling better.
I work reasonable hours with clear boundaries because I’ve learned that sustainable success requires protecting the energy that feeds everything else. I’m fully present with my family—not just physically there while mentally planning tomorrow’s schedule, but genuinely engaged in bedtime stories and weekend adventures. I’m connected with my local community in ways that feel nourishing rather than obligatory.
I prioritize rest and recovery not as luxury, but as the infrastructure that makes everything else possible. And here’s the shift that surprised me most: I measure success by how much peace and happiness I feel, not just external achievements. Don’t get me wrong—I’m still deeply ambitious and I still love building meaningful work. But now it comes from a place of overflow rather than emptiness.
The truth I’ve learned through my own journey and thousands of clinical hours with women like you? You can absolutely be deeply ambitious and have a big work life. It’s infinitely more sustainable when you do the core work first.
That’s what I help women create—not smaller dreams, but stronger psychological foundations to support the life they’re actually building.
I specialize in driven, ambitious women who mirror my former self—women who’ve built objectively successful lives but sense something fundamental isn’t quite solid beneath the surface.
Maybe you can lead a team of 20 through a complex project without breaking a sweat, but when your child starts melting down in Target, you feel your nervous system activate like you’re the one having the tantrum.
Maybe you achieve something big—the promotion, the successful launch, the recognition you’ve worked toward—and instead of feeling proud or satisfied, your brain immediately jumps to “okay, what’s next?” as if pause equals falling behind.
Maybe you’re the person everyone calls when they need help, but you don’t know who to call when you need support.
You might be someone who:
The part of you that keeps pushing forward despite signals that your psychological foundation needs attention? That part deserves respect—it’s gotten you this far. But those same brilliant survival strategies might also be what’s making your personal relationships feel harder than your professional ones, or why you can manage a crisis at work but feel overwhelmed by that tone in your spouse’s voice…
I specialize in:
Weekly therapy sessions and EMDR intensives for California and Florida residents ready to address the root causes of relational trauma, not just manage symptoms.
A monthly membership for ambitious women healing from relational trauma, featuring essays, workbooks, community conversations, and direct access to me through Q&As.
If you’re reading this, something here likely feels familiar. Maybe it’s recognizing that you can handle a board presentation but feel overwhelmed by your teenager’s attitude. Or that you can pitch to investors without breaking a sweat but can’t tell your partner how you really feel.
This isn’t about your professional capabilities—those are real and impressive. This is about understanding why your personal relationships can feel more challenging than your career, why you might reach for wine at 5 PM more nights than you’d admit, or why achievement feels necessary for safety rather than just satisfying.
The work I do helps women understand how patterns that developed early—when love felt conditional, when you learned that being useful meant being valuable, when you discovered that managing everyone else’s comfort kept you safe—still quietly influence how you parent, how you show up in your marriage, whether you can sleep through the night, and your capacity to actually enjoy what you’ve built.
This isn’t about doing less or wanting less. It’s about building the internal capacity to be present for your daughter’s bedtime story without mentally planning tomorrow’s schedule. To have difficult conversations without your nervous system treating them like emergencies. To receive love and support instead of just providing it.
When you’re ready to explore what that looks like, I’m here.