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Biglaw Burnout in Women Attorneys: A Trauma-Informed Clinical Guide
Biglaw burnout in women attorneys isn’t ordinary occupational fatigue. It’s a specific, cumulative form of chronic stress exposure shaped by structural inequity, moral injury, and an institution never designed to sustain the humans working inside it. In this guide, I break down what’s actually happening neurobiologically, how it presents differently in women, and what recovery genuinely requires. Beyond weekend retreats and self-care advice.
Last reviewed: July 2026 by Annie Wright, LMFT · Editorial Policy
- The Breaking Point: When Excellence Becomes Exhaustion
- What Is Biglaw Burnout?
- Why Doesn’t a Vacation Fix Biglaw Burnout?
- How Does Biglaw Burnout Show Up in Women Attorneys Specifically?
- Is the Partner Track Designed to Break Women?
- Both/And: Brilliant at Law AND Breaking Under the Structure
- The Systemic Lens: Biglaw Was Not Designed for Women or Wellness
- What Does Recovery From Biglaw Burnout Actually Look Like?
- Who Am I Without the Firm Name Attached to Me?
- Who I Am and Why I Know This
- Frequently Asked Questions
Biglaw burnout in women attorneys is a clinically distinct form of occupational exhaustion shaped by structural inequity, moral injury, and the gendered double bind of needing to perform both competence and warmth to advance. Standard burnout frameworks underdiagnose it because the drivers are structural, not personal. In my work with driven women in law, the wound beneath the burnout is almost always the grief of having bent so far they’ve lost track of who they were bending away from.
In short: Biglaw burnout in women attorneys is a trauma-shaped occupational exhaustion compounded by structural inequity and moral injury, requiring clinical approaches beyond standard burnout treatment.
If nothing was ever obviously wrong but you still came out doubting your own perception, my self-paced course Clarity After the Covert is the map for what you experienced.
A note before we begin: This piece is psychoeducational, not a substitute for individualized clinical care. If you are in crisis or thinking about harming yourself, please call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, or contact a licensed provider directly.
Who I Am and Why I Know This
I’m Annie Wright, a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with over 15,000 direct clinical hours, licensed across 15 U.S. jurisdictions, including Colorado (telehealth only). A meaningful share of my caseload, over the past decade, has been driven women in law: associates, income partners, general counsel, and women who left the profession entirely and are still untangling what it did to them. I recently read Arlie Hochschild, PhD, sociologist at UC Berkeley, and haven’t stopped thinking about her 1989 documentation of what she called the “second shift,” the unpaid domestic and emotional labor that continues after the paid workday ends. What she named in a book about working mothers in the 1980s is, almost word for word, what I hear from women attorneys in my office nearly four decades later.
The Breaking Point: When Excellence Becomes Exhaustion
It’s 11:47 p.m. on a Tuesday in October, and Becky is sitting at her kitchen island in her South End townhouse, the overhead light off, the laptop screen the only light in the room. She’s 44, a litigation partner at a firm most people would recognize by name, still wearing the blazer from a deposition twelve hours ago because changing felt like a task she didn’t have bandwidth for. Her Away carry-on is still packed by the door from a trip three weeks back. Slack is open in one tab, a redline in another. Her twin boys have been asleep for two hours. Her husband asked her, four days ago, how she was doing, and she genuinely can’t remember what she said back. She’s billed 2,340 hours so far this year. It’s October.
She hasn’t been to a spin class, her one non-negotiable stress outlet for a decade, since August. She hasn’t had dinner with her husband on a weeknight in six weeks. “I keep thinking I’ll catch up,” she told me, the first time we spoke, turning a pen over and over in her hand without noticing she was doing it. “I have never once caught up. Not in nineteen years. I don’t actually know what catching up would look like. I just know I haven’t done it.” Her performance reviews are excellent. Her billables are excellent. She is also aware, the way you’re aware of a very old migraine building somewhere behind your eyes, that something in her is breaking. She doesn’t know yet what, or when, or what it will cost her to find out.
In my work with clients, I see this exact scene play out again and again. Driven women attorneys don’t usually come to my practice because they’re failing at their jobs. They come because they’re succeeding at a cost they can no longer afford, and they can’t yet say that sentence out loud to anyone who signs their paycheck. This isn’t ordinary tiredness. It’s a depletion that reaches into the body, the marriage, the capacity to feel anything at all on a Sunday afternoon.
This isn’t simply about working too many hours. It’s about what happens when a driven woman spends a decade inside an institution that demands her exceptional performance and structurally disadvantages her at nearly every turn. Be extraordinary, and know your odds are worse than your male peers’. That double bind leaves marks general stress management doesn’t touch. The constant vigilance, the need to anticipate every misstep, the pervasive sense of being evaluated: these create hyperarousal that rarely lets up, even in sleep.
What Is Biglaw Burnout?
Biglaw burnout in women attorneys isn’t the same as garden-variety occupational fatigue. It’s a cumulative, often traumatic experience of chronic stress exposure inside a system that demands extraordinary performance while failing to provide the supports that would make that performance sustainable. Herbert Freudenberger, PhD, the psychologist who first described burnout in clinical terms in the 1970s, defined it as the depletion of a person’s mental and physical resources from excessive striving toward goals set by internal values rather than external realities. For women attorneys, the twist is that both push in the exact same direction: more, faster, better, and without complaint.
A clinically distinct form of occupational exhaustion occurring in large law firm environments, characterized by the intersection of chronic hyperarousal, moral injury from systemic inequity, and structural demands that consistently exceed recovery capacity. Christina Maslach, PhD, social psychologist and professor emerita at UC Berkeley, whose Maslach Burnout Inventory remains the field’s gold standard measurement tool, describes burnout as defined by emotional exhaustion, depersonalization, and a reduced sense of personal accomplishment. All three are amplified in Biglaw for women by structural gender inequity.
In plain terms: It’s not that you’re weak or can’t handle pressure. You’ve been handling enormous pressure for years. Biglaw burnout is what happens when the system extracts more than any human body or psyche can sustainably give, and women in Biglaw are asked to give more, for less, with fewer structural supports than their male peers.
Here’s what I keep seeing in my own clinical work with driven women attorneys, session after session: burnout rates run disproportionately high, particularly among first-generation lawyers and women of color carrying compounded stressors. Not always, but often enough that I now ask about generational and racial context in every intake with a woman in law. These aren’t personality differences. They’re structural outcomes.
What makes Biglaw burnout particularly insidious for women is that it’s often invisible, both to others and, for a long time, to the woman living inside it. The very skills that make driven women excellent attorneys, compartmentalization, emotional suppression, relentless forward motion, are the same skills that let them keep functioning past the point where the system has genuinely damaged them. By the time many women attorneys reach my office, they’ve been running on empty for years, presenting as slightly more tired, slightly less interested in things that used to matter, slightly more irritable. They’re describing symptoms without yet recognizing the syndrome underneath them.
Why Doesn’t a Vacation Fix Biglaw Burnout?
Understanding why Biglaw burnout feels so different from ordinary tiredness takes a brief detour into the nervous system. Bessel van der Kolk, MD, psychiatrist and trauma researcher, author of The Body Keeps the Score, has written for decades about how chronic stress exposure, particularly repeated threat perception without adequate recovery, fundamentally alters the architecture of the nervous system. Think of the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis, the body’s cortisol stress response system, like a thermostat jammed on high for a decade. It stops reading the room’s actual temperature. The result is a body that can no longer calibrate its own stress response: the alarm stays on even when there’s no fire.
What this looks like in practice: a woman attorney’s heart rate spikes at a client’s name in her inbox on a Saturday morning, at brunch, kids at the next table. Her body has learned the name means threat, regardless of what the email says.
A psychological wound that occurs when a person is compelled to act in ways that violate their deeply held moral beliefs, or when they witness such violations without being able to prevent them, or when they feel betrayed by institutional leadership. First conceptualized in the context of military personnel by Jonathan Shay, MD, PhD, moral injury has since been documented extensively in physicians, nurses, attorneys, and other professionals who work inside institutions that routinely ask them to compromise their values. In Biglaw, moral injury often lives at the intersection of client loyalty, firm economics, and the inequities built into the partnership model itself.
In plain terms: This is the specific pain of knowing the right thing to do and having the institution make doing it impossible, then rewarding you for compliance anyway. It’s different from burnout because it strikes at your identity, not just your energy. Women attorneys in Biglaw feel it when they’re asked to absorb inequitable treatment in silence, when they watch less capable male colleagues advance ahead of them, or when client demands require them to compromise their health, their families, and their values all at once.
Allan Schore, PhD, researcher in regulation theory and the neurobiology of attachment at UCLA, has documented how chronic stress exposure, particularly in unpredictable threat environments, can reorganize the right brain’s emotional processing architecture over time. For women attorneys managing client crises, partner volatility, and constant micro-assessment of their gender performance, the cumulative neurological cost is significant. The hypervigilance that helps them survive in Biglaw eventually makes it hard to feel safe anywhere, including at home, including in bed next to someone who loves them.
This is why Biglaw burnout doesn’t resolve with a vacation. A nervous system chronically hyperactivated for five or eight or twelve years doesn’t reset in two weeks in the Maldives. It requires a different kind of intervention, one that addresses the neurological patterning itself, not just the calendar.
Becky told me, in month two of our work, that she’d taken a week off that spring, her first real vacation in three years, and spent four of the seven days checking her phone despite her out-of-office being on. “I sat on a beach in Turks and Caicos,” she said, “and my shoulders never came down. Not once.” That’s not a failure of willpower. That’s a nervous system with no “off” setting, because it was never given the chance to practice using one.
How Does Biglaw Burnout Show Up in Women Attorneys Specifically?
In my clinical practice, I’ve observed that Biglaw burnout in women attorneys presents differently than the generic burnout literature suggests. The textbook descriptions, exhaustion, cynicism, reduced efficacy, are present, but often masked by the extraordinary performance capacity these women have built over years of practice. What I see instead are subtler presentations that women don’t immediately identify as burnout at all.
It’s a gray Tuesday morning in February, and Mindy is 47, an income partner at a firm in Chicago, sitting across from me in month one of our work with a hard-shell Yeti mug of coffee she hasn’t touched. She’s wearing running clothes she never actually ran in that morning, a habit she picked up during the pandemic and never dropped. She made partner eleven months ago, a goal she’d worked toward for nearly a decade, and she describes it to me as though she’s reading a deposition transcript rather than talking about her own life. “I thought I’d feel like I’d arrived,” she said, flat, staring at a point somewhere past my left shoulder. “Instead I just thought, and then what? I sat at the celebration dinner my firm threw for me and felt nothing. Not relief. Not pride. I performed gratitude the whole night and felt like I was watching myself do it from the ceiling.”
Sitting with Mindy that first session, I felt the particular flatness that shows up in women who’ve spent a decade outrunning their own nervous systems. Not sadness exactly. Something closer to a dimmer switch turned down so slowly she hadn’t noticed the room going dark. What clinicians sometimes call anhedonia, the inability to experience pleasure, is one of the most common and least-discussed presentations of Biglaw burnout in women.
Other presentations I see consistently: sleep disruption that doesn’t resolve on weekends, intrusive rumination about perceived errors, physical symptoms without a clear medical cause, difficulty tolerating ambiguity in personal relationships, and a narrowing of emotional range down to irritability, anxiety, or numbness. These aren’t personality failures. They’re the neurological sequelae of chronic overload inside a structurally inequitable system, and most of the women who sit across from me have spent years quietly wondering if the problem is them.
Is the Partner Track Designed to Break Women?
The partner track in Biglaw is a psychological gauntlet that would challenge anyone. For women, it’s specifically, even if not intentionally, designed to test qualities women have often been socialized toward: relational harmony, collaborative communication, visible competence that doesn’t threaten male ego. The track rewards qualities culturally coded as masculine: aggressive client development, self-promotion, competitive billing, comfort with hierarchical authority. Women who show these same qualities are frequently penalized through subtler mechanisms, labeled “difficult” or “not a team player,” even while being nominally evaluated on the same criteria as their male colleagues.
Mindy spent seven years on the partnership track before making income partner, and then spent her first year as a partner wondering why she felt worse, not better. “Everyone kept telling me I should feel proud,” she told me, turning the Yeti mug in a slow half circle on the table between us. “I just felt like I’d finished a marathon that led directly to the starting line of a harder marathon.” What Mindy was describing is the disillusionment that follows when the goal, partnership, turns out to be not the destination but the mechanism by which the extraction continues at higher intensity. The relational toll of the partner track, the years of absorbing microaggressions, the performances of invulnerability, doesn’t evaporate at the partnership dinner. It deposits in the body as a residue that needs therapeutic attention to metabolize. Mindy still hasn’t decided what she wants to do about any of it. The Yeti mug was empty by the time she left my office that afternoon, and she hadn’t noticed drinking it.
Research published in Law and Social Inquiry documents what practicing women attorneys already know intuitively: women in Biglaw firms are consistently evaluated through gender-biased lenses, receive less credit for client origination than their male counterparts, and face what researchers call a double bind, penalized for being too aggressive and penalized for not being aggressive enough. The psychological toll of managing that double bind for years, often while carrying primary caregiving responsibilities at home, creates the specific signature of Biglaw burnout in women. It isn’t just exhaustion. It’s the exhaustion of performing a version of yourself the institution can accept, at the cost of the version you actually are.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?”
Mary Oliver, poet, from “The Summer Day”
Both/And: Brilliant at Law AND Breaking Under the Structure
One of the most important reframes I offer women attorneys in my practice is this Both/And: you’re genuinely excellent at your work, AND the structure you do that work inside of is genuinely damaging you. These two things aren’t in contradiction. They’re simultaneously, concurrently true, and holding both at once is often the first real relief a driven woman feels in my office.
This matters clinically because women attorneys who come to therapy often arrive with a deeply internalized belief that struggling means failing. If they’re burning out, the internal logic goes, it must be because they’re not good enough or not managing their time correctly. The solution, in this framework, is to fix themselves. Get better at self-care. Build more efficient systems. This framework, while culturally pervasive, is clinically wrong and therapeutically dangerous, because it locates the problem entirely inside the woman and entirely outside the system that produced it.
The Both/And reframe disrupts this. You don’t need to be fixed. You need to stop being extracted from. Those are different problems with different solutions. Healing requires two simultaneous tracks: the internal track of therapeutic recovery, and the external track of structural change, whether that’s renegotiating workload, changing practice groups, or leaving Biglaw entirely. Neither track alone is sufficient. Therapy that helps a woman feel better about continuing to absorb structural damage isn’t healing. It’s adaptation.
Becky came back to this reframe six weeks into our work, on a video call, wearing a faded college sweatshirt instead of the blazer. “I keep wanting you to tell me the firm is the problem so I can stop feeling crazy,” she said, “or tell me I’m the problem so I know what to fix. I don’t think I like that it’s actually both.” I felt something settle in my chest hearing her say it, because that discomfort, the wish for a single villain, is almost always the moment right before the real work begins. Becky hadn’t left her firm yet. She still hasn’t, as of this writing. But she’d stopped waiting for a verdict about which half of the sentence was true.
The Systemic Lens: Biglaw Was Not Designed for Women or Wellness
The partnership model structuring most major law firms was designed in an era when lawyers were assumed to be men with wives managing the rest of their lives. The billable hour model, the origination credit system, the up-or-out promotion structure: these features were architected around someone whose domestic and emotional labor was handled by a partner who wasn’t also working 2,400 hours a year. Women who enter this structure enter it already carrying disadvantages that have nothing to do with their competence.
Arlie Hochschild, PhD, sociologist and author of The Second Shift, documented what she called the second shift: the domestic and emotional labor that continues after the paid workday ends, and that falls disproportionately on women. In Biglaw, women attorneys often manage a second shift of domestic and childcare responsibilities after a first shift of ten to fourteen hours of billable and non-billable legal work. The cumulative cognitive and emotional load of managing both, without institutional structures that genuinely support either, creates the specific exhaustion signature of Biglaw burnout in women.
This is what that looks like on an ordinary Wednesday: a woman attorney closes her laptop at 9:40 p.m., finally, and immediately opens the group text about a school project due tomorrow. Her inbox has 340 unread messages. Her son needs poster board. There’s no billable hour category for poster board, and no partner meeting where anyone asks how she’s managing both. This isn’t a failure of individual women to manage their priorities. It’s a structural mismatch between an institutional design and the actual lives of the humans it’s asking to work inside. Naming this clearly in therapy matters: it moves the attribution of the problem away from a woman’s perceived inadequacy and toward the structural reality that produced it, and it opens the door to genuinely structural responses, rather than individual coping strategies bolted onto structural problems.
The cultural narrative around Biglaw, prestige, elite performance, the best and brightest, also serves an ideological function: it makes it hard for women to name what’s happening to them without feeling like they’re failing to be grateful for an opportunity other people covet. The prestige framing is a mechanism of containment. It’s harder to name exploitation when it arrives in a package labeled excellence. You’re not broken. You’re not ungrateful. The system was never designed with your flourishing in mind.
Nothing was obviously wrong. Everything felt off.
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What Does Recovery From Biglaw Burnout Actually Look Like?
Recovery from Biglaw burnout isn’t a weekend retreat or a self-care regimen bolted onto an unchanged structure. For driven women attorneys who’ve been running a dysregulated nervous system through an inequitable institution for years, healing is a sustained, multi-layered process requiring clinical support, structural change, and real patience.
In my practice, I begin with somatic stabilization: working directly with the nervous system to teach it, slowly, that it’s no longer in the threat environment, even when anxiety insists otherwise. This typically involves body-based practices, breathwork, and the deliberate work of learning to tolerate deactivation without interpreting it as danger. For women whose identity and survival have been organized around constant high performance, rest itself can feel threatening. Learning that it isn’t is foundational, and often the slowest part of the work.
The second track is grief work. Many women attorneys who come to me have never had space to grieve what Biglaw cost them: the years of their thirties spent in conference rooms instead of building intimate relationships, the pregnancies managed around depositions, the relationships that didn’t survive the hours, the hobbies and parts of themselves that went into stasis somewhere around year three. This grief is real, and needs to be witnessed therapeutically rather than bypassed in the rush to find the next professional chapter.
The third track is identity reconstruction. Women who’ve been driven, ambitious attorneys their entire adult lives often discover, in leaving or substantially changing their relationship to Biglaw, that they don’t know who they are underneath the professional identity. Building an identity not organized around professional achievement is some of the deepest work I do with clients, and some of the most frightening, for women who’ve used achievement as the answer to questions of worth since childhood. If you’re ready to begin this work, individual therapy offers a space to do it with support. You can also explore executive coaching as you work through career transition alongside internal healing. The Fixing the Foundations™ course is a structured framework for understanding the roots of the patterns Biglaw has amplified. And Strong & Stable, my weekly newsletter, offers ongoing support as you move through this terrain.
What I want every woman attorney reading this to know is this: the fact that you’re depleted doesn’t mean you were wrong to try. It means you tried, brilliantly, and at significant personal cost, inside a system that was never designed to sustain you. That’s not a character flaw. It’s a structural reality. And it’s one you don’t have to keep carrying alone.
Warmly,
Annie.
Who Am I Without the Firm Name Attached to Me?
One of the least-discussed dimensions of Biglaw burnout recovery is what happens to identity. For many women attorneys, the title, the firm name, the years of grinding toward partnership, hasn’t merely been a career. It’s been the primary answer to the question of who they are. When that identity gets disrupted by burnout, by leave, or by a genuine reassessment of what they want their lives to look like, the destabilization can feel existential in a way that’s hard to articulate and easy for others to underestimate.
I work with women attorneys who are brilliant, accomplished, and genuinely unsure whether they exist outside their professional role. They discover, sometimes for the first time in their adult lives, that they don’t know what they enjoy, not what’s productive or impressive, but what they actually enjoy. This isn’t a small discovery. It can feel terrifying, and then, gradually, profoundly liberating.
Becky, seven months into our work, told me she’d started taking a Wednesday pottery class, badly, with clay under her fingernails she couldn’t fully scrub out before client calls the next morning. “I’m not good at it,” she said, laughing in a way I hadn’t heard from her before. “I made a bowl that looks like a bowl that got in a fight with another bowl. I don’t care. Nobody’s grading it. I think that might be the point.” She hasn’t decided whether she’s staying at the firm. She hasn’t decided whether the marathon ends here or somewhere else entirely. The clay is still under her fingernails most Thursdays. That’s where things stand, for now.
The identity reconstruction work isn’t a detour from burnout recovery. It’s the central work, because sustainable recovery doesn’t look like a better strategy for managing the same over-extracted life. It looks like rebuilding a life organized around what you actually value, which requires excavating what’s underneath the performance. That excavation is some of the most meaningful therapy I do. If you’re at that juncture, connecting with Annie is a powerful next step. And the Strong and Stable newsletter offers a weekly companion for women in exactly this terrain.
Q: Is what I’m experiencing burnout or depression?
A: They can co-occur, and distinguishing them matters clinically. Burnout is tied to chronic occupational stress: exhaustion, cynicism, and reduced efficacy connected to your professional context. Depression is a more pervasive mood disturbance affecting functioning across all domains. Many women attorneys experience a burnout-depression spectrum. A trauma-informed therapist can help you get a clear picture of what you’re working with and what intervention fits.
Q: Will leaving Biglaw fix the burnout?
A: Structural change is often necessary, but it’s rarely sufficient on its own. The psychological and neurological patterns burnout creates follow you out the door. I’ve worked with women who transitioned to in-house or government roles expecting the burnout to resolve, and found their nervous system and identity still organized around the Biglaw mode they’d left. Leaving changes the external structure. Healing changes the internal one. You typically need both.
Q: I feel guilty even reading about burnout. Shouldn’t I be more grateful for my position?
A: This is one of the most common things I hear from women attorneys. Gratitude for professional opportunity and acknowledgment of structural harm aren’t mutually exclusive. You can genuinely appreciate what you’ve built and simultaneously name that the structure cost you something real. The guilt you feel about naming the cost is often a mechanism by which the institution keeps women from advocating for change, including their own wellbeing.
Q: How do I know when to stay and when to leave?
A: There’s no universal answer, and I’m cautious of any framework that offers one. What I can offer is this: therapy can help you distinguish between leaving from fear (fleeing a difficult situation because you’re in threat mode) and leaving from clarity (having done enough work to know what you actually want and need, rather than just what you’re desperate to escape). Decisions made from the second place tend to be more sustainable. Sometimes, though, the structure is genuinely untenable, and the work becomes learning to tolerate the grief of that reality.
Q: Can I keep practicing law and also recover from burnout?
A: Yes, for many women, though often not without some structural change. Recovery typically requires, at minimum, a sustainable reduction in hours, a change in practice context or relationship with specific supervising attorneys, real investment in therapeutic support, and a life outside of work that isn’t organized around professional identity. Some women accomplish this within their current firm. Others require a transition to a different professional context. The key is being honest with yourself, in therapy, with support, about what your current structure is actually costing you.
Q: Is burnout different for women of color in Biglaw?
A: Yes, significantly. Women of color in Biglaw carry compounded stressors: the structural inequities of gender in legal practice, plus specific forms of racism, both overt and covert, that operate in predominantly white institutional contexts. In my clinical experience, women of color in Biglaw leave at higher rates not because they’re less capable or committed, but because the cumulative cost of code-switching, absorbing racialized microaggressions, and operating without mentorship or sponsorship from people who share their identities runs substantially higher. That pattern holds across my caseload; I wouldn’t generalize it beyond it. Culturally competent, intersectional trauma-informed therapy is essential for this work.
Q: What’s the difference between Biglaw burnout and moral injury?
A: Burnout is about depletion. Moral injury is about betrayal. A woman attorney can be well-rested and still carry moral injury from years of watching an institution reward behavior that violated her values. In practice the two nearly always travel together in Biglaw, and treating only the exhaustion while leaving the moral injury unaddressed tends to produce short-lived relief.
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References
Peer-Reviewed Research (Vancouver)
- van der Kolk BA, Wang JB, Yehuda R, Bedrosian L, Coker AR, Harrison C, et al. Effects of MDMA-assisted therapy for PTSD on self-experience. PLoS One. 2024;19(1):e0295926. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0295926. PMID: 38198456.
- Schore AN. The Interpersonal Neurobiology of Intersubjectivity. Front Psychol. 2021;12:648616. doi:10.3389/fpsyg.2021.648616. PMID: 33959077.
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Annie Wright, LMFT
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Annie Wright is a licensed psychotherapist (LMFT #95719) and trauma-informed executive coach with over 15,000 direct clinical hours, licensed across 15 U.S. jurisdictions, including Colorado (telehealth only). She works with driven women, including Silicon Valley leaders, physicians, and entrepreneurs, in repairing the psychological foundations beneath their impressive lives. Annie is the founder and former CEO of Evergreen Counseling, a multimillion-dollar trauma-informed therapy center she built, scaled, and successfully exited. A regular contributor to Psychology Today, her expert commentary has appeared in USA Today, Forbes, Business Insider, Inc., NBC, and The Information. She is currently writing her first book with W.W. Norton.
Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist (LMFT #95719)
Over 15,000 direct clinical hours
California · Colorado (telehealth only) · Connecticut · Washington DC · Florida · Maine · Maryland · New Hampshire · New Jersey · Texas · Utah · Virginia · Washington
Creator of House of Life™ and Fixing the Foundations™
The Everything Years (W.W. Norton)
Founder & former CEO, Evergreen Counseling
Regular contributor to Psychology Today. Expert commentary has appeared in USA Today, Forbes, Business Insider, Inc., NBC, and The Information.
