Nora & Hae Sung: Past Lives and the Lives We Don’t Live
Celine Song’s ‘Past Lives’ offers a tender, complex exploration of love, fate, and the lives we don’t live. As Annie Wright, LMFT, I delve into the film’s nuanced relational geometry, particularly the three-way ending, through a trauma-informed lens. We’ll unpack the unspoken narratives, the power of choice, and the profound impact of what remains unsaid.
Last reviewed: June 2026 by Annie Wright, LMFT
- The Quiet Hum of Unspoken Longing
- In-Yun: Threads of Connection Across Time
- The Weight of What Could Have Been
- Arthur’s Unspoken Role: The Translator and the Witness
- The Geometry of Three: A Trauma-Informed Perspective
- Both/And: Embracing Complexity in Relational Dynamics
- The Systemic Lens: Beyond the Individual Narrative
- Reconciling the Past, Living the Present
- Frequently Asked Questions
The Quiet Hum of Unspoken Longing
The soft glow of a New York City bar, the clinking of glasses, and the murmured conversations create a backdrop for a scene that feels both intimate and impossibly vast. You’re watching Nora, Hae Sung, and Arthur, the three points of a relational triangle, navigate a moment charged with unspoken histories and imagined futures. The air is thick with what *could have been* and what *is*, a palpable tension that resonates deep within. It’s not just a love story; it’s a profound exploration of identity, choice, and the indelible marks left by our pasts. As a therapist, I see in this film a mirror to the complex relational geometries we all inhabit, the way our lives are shaped by both presence and absence.
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Celine Song’s ‘Past Lives’ isn’t just a film; it’s an invitation to reflect on the paths not taken, the ‘what ifs’ that linger in the quiet corners of our minds. It asks us to consider the profound impact of childhood connections, the way they echo through our adult lives, and the choices we make that inevitably lead us away from or towards certain destinies. This isn’t about regret, but about acknowledging the rich tapestry of our experiences, both lived and unlived. It’s a testament to the enduring power of connection, even when those connections defy easy categorization or conventional narrative arcs. You’ll find yourself pondering your own ‘in-yun’. Those threads of destiny that bind us.
The film masterfully avoids simplistic resolutions, instead leaning into the beautiful, messy ambiguity of human relationships. There’s no clear villain, no easy answers, just three individuals grappling with their own truths and vulnerabilities. This complexity is precisely what makes it so compelling, particularly from a trauma-informed perspective. It mirrors the real-life challenges many of my clients face when trying to make sense of their own intricate relational histories, especially those shaped by family trauma. You’ll recognize the echoes of your own choices, the moments where you’ve stood at a crossroads, knowing that each path would lead to a different version of yourself.
As we delve into the film’s intricate dance, I want you to consider not just Nora’s journey, but the perspectives of Hae Sung and Arthur. What does it mean to be the one left behind, the one who arrives later, or the one who witnesses the ghost of a past love? These are not just cinematic questions; they are deeply human ones that speak to our universal longing for connection, belonging, and understanding. You’ll see how the film’s quiet power lies in its ability to illuminate the often-unspoken dynamics that shape our most significant relationships, urging us to look closer at our own stories and the people who populate them.
In-Yun: Threads of Connection Across Time
The Korean concept of ‘in-yun’ is central to ‘Past Lives,’ suggesting that connections are forged over many lifetimes, predestined and profound. While this might sound mystical, from a clinical perspective, it speaks to the powerful, often unconscious, pull we feel towards certain individuals. It’s the feeling of instant recognition, the sense that you’ve known someone forever, even if you’ve just met. This isn’t just romantic idealization; it can be a manifestation of early attachment patterns, a resonance with familiar dynamics, or an echo of unresolved relational needs. You’ve likely felt this pull yourself, that inexplicable connection to another soul.
Think about those relationships in your life that feel fated, the ones that persist despite distance or time. These aren’t always romantic; they can be friendships, mentorships, or even familial bonds that defy explanation. ‘In-yun’ invites us to consider the deeper currents beneath the surface of our interactions, acknowledging that some connections run deeper than conscious choice. This perspective can be incredibly validating for clients who grapple with intense, often confusing, feelings for people from their past, helping them to frame these experiences not as flaws, but as part of a larger human tapestry. It’s a way to honor the enduring impact of certain people.
However, ‘in-yun’ also presents a challenge: how do we reconcile these powerful, almost destined, connections with the choices we make in the present? Nora’s journey beautifully illustrates this tension. She acknowledges the profound ‘in-yun’ with Hae Sung, but she also actively chooses her life with Arthur. This isn’t a rejection of her past, but an integration of it into her evolving identity. It highlights the agency we have in shaping our present, even when our past exerts a powerful influence. You’re not merely a passive recipient of fate; you’re an active participant in your own story.
From a trauma-informed lens, understanding ‘in-yun’ can help us contextualize the enduring impact of early relational experiences. When early attachments are disrupted or traumatic, the longing for a ‘fated’ connection can become particularly intense, a yearning for repair or completion. This isn’t about pathologizing the concept, but about recognizing how our deepest relational needs can be projected onto new connections. It’s a reminder that while some bonds feel ancient, our present choices and growth are paramount. If you’re navigating complex relational feelings, perhaps consider seeking therapy to explore these deep currents.
A type of loss characterized by uncertainty and a lack of clear closure, where a person is either physically absent but psychologically present (e.g., a missing person) or physically present but psychologically absent (e.g., dementia). Pauline Boss, PhD, family therapist, defines this as a relational phenomenon, not a pathological one, emphasizing the need to tolerate ambiguity rather than seek resolution.
In plain terms: When someone is ‘gone but not gone,’ or ‘here but not here,’ making it hard to grieve or move on because there’s no clear ending.
The Weight of What Could Have Been
The film’s quiet exploration of ‘what could have been’ resonates deeply with many of my clients, particularly those who’ve made significant life choices that diverged from earlier paths. Consider Kira, a composite client who often grapples with the ‘ghosts’ of past career opportunities or relationships. She’ll articulate a profound sense of loss for a life she didn’t choose, even while acknowledging the richness of her current reality. This isn’t about regret in a debilitating sense, but a recognition of the inherent bittersweetness of human experience. That every ‘yes’ to one path is a ‘no’ to countless others. Nora’s tearful farewell to Hae Sung embodies this universal human experience.
This sense of ‘unchosen lives’ is not a failure of character; it’s a testament to the complexity of human decision-making and the enduring power of memory and imagination. We carry within us not just the memories of what happened, but also the vivid imaginings of what *might have happened*. For someone like Kira, these imagined lives can feel as real and impactful as her lived experiences, sometimes leading to a form of ambiguous loss. It’s crucial to validate this feeling, to create space for grieving not just what was lost, but what was never fully actualized. You’re allowed to mourn the paths you didn’t take.
The film beautifully illustrates that choosing one life doesn’t erase the validity or beauty of another. Nora’s life in New York, her career, and her marriage to Arthur are real and deeply meaningful. Yet, the presence of Hae Sung reminds us that her identity is also shaped by the life she *didn’t* lead, the Nora who might have stayed in Korea. This duality is a powerful aspect of identity formation, especially for those who’ve experienced significant geographical or cultural shifts. It’s about holding multiple truths simultaneously, a skill often honed in executive coaching when navigating complex career transitions.
From a trauma-informed perspective, the weight of ‘what could have been’ can be particularly heavy for individuals who experienced early relational disruptions or betrayals. The imagined ‘safe’ or ‘ideal’ past can become a powerful counter-narrative to a painful reality. For Nadia, another composite client, the fantasy of a loving, stable childhood often overshadows her actual experiences, making it difficult to fully engage with her present relationships. The film invites us to acknowledge these parallel realities without allowing them to overshadow the richness of our chosen lives, fostering a more integrated sense of self.
A psychological model describing the long-term interpersonal relationships between humans. John Bowlby, MD, psychiatrist, proposed that humans are born with an innate psychobiological system that motivates them to seek proximity to significant others (attachment figures) in times of need, forming patterns of attachment that influence relationships throughout life.
In plain terms: How we connect with others, formed by our earliest relationships, shaping how we love and relate as adults.
Arthur’s Unspoken Role: The Translator and the Witness
Arthur’s role in the film is incredibly nuanced and, for me as a therapist, one of the most compelling aspects of the relational geometry. He is the witness, the outsider, the one who must contend with the ghost of Nora’s past. His quiet observation of Nora and Hae Sung, his willingness to sit with the discomfort, speaks volumes about his character and the strength of his attachment to Nora. He doesn’t demand, he doesn’t accuse; instead, he grapples with his own vulnerability, asking Nora if Hae Sung is ‘better’ than him. This is a profoundly human moment, revealing the insecurity that can surface when confronted with a partner’s deep, historical connection.
Arthur’s capacity to articulate his feelings, even his anxieties, is a testament to a secure attachment style and a healthy relational dynamic with Nora. He doesn’t resort to blame or anger, but expresses his fear of being secondary, of not being ‘enough.’ This is a critical distinction from more dysfunctional patterns often seen in betrayal trauma, where partners might react with intense rage or withdrawal. His vulnerability allows for an honest conversation, even if it’s painful, strengthening their bond rather than fracturing it. You can learn a lot from his ability to communicate his fears.
What Arthur refuses to translate, both literally and figuratively, is equally significant. He chooses not to understand Korean, creating a barrier that, while perhaps practical, also serves as a symbolic refusal to fully enter Nora’s ‘other’ world. This isn’t necessarily a flaw, but a boundary. He acknowledges Nora’s past without fully immersing himself in it, recognizing that some parts of her history belong solely to her. This delicate balance. Acknowledging a partner’s past without being consumed by it. Is a vital skill in healthy relationships, especially when one partner has a rich, complex history like Nora’s.
Consider the impact this has on Nadia, who struggles with partners who either dismiss her past entirely or become overly enmeshed in it. Arthur’s approach offers a third way: respectful witnessing without absorption. He holds space for Nora’s grief and longing without needing to ‘fix’ it or make it his own. This capacity for differentiated connection is a hallmark of relational maturity. It allows Nora to fully experience her reunion with Hae Sung, knowing she has a secure base to return to, a partner who can tolerate her complexity. This is a powerful lesson in how to support a loved one through their own emotional landscapes.
Trauma that occurs within the context of interpersonal relationships, often involving chronic or repeated experiences of neglect, abuse, or betrayal. Diana Fosha, PhD, psychologist, emphasizes how relational trauma impacts the self’s capacity for connection and regulation, often leading to difficulties in forming secure attachments and regulating emotions.
In plain terms: Wounds from difficult or damaging relationships, especially early in life, making it hard to trust and connect with people later on.
This is why trauma scholars such as Judith Herman, MD and Bessel van der Kolk, MD are useful companions for reading pop culture: both make clear, in different ways, that trauma is not only an event in the past but a present-tense pattern in the body, relationships, memory, and agency. Their work helps keep the analysis grounded in clinical humility rather than turning art into a diagnostic parlor game.
The Geometry of Three: A Trauma-Informed Perspective
The three-way ending of ‘Past Lives’ is a masterclass in relational geometry, moving beyond simplistic notions of ‘love triangles.’ From a trauma-informed perspective, it highlights the intricate dance of attachment, identity, and the enduring impact of early experiences. Nora is not choosing *between* two men in a reductive sense; she is integrating different facets of her identity, different timelines, and different versions of herself. Hae Sung represents a foundational, almost primal, connection to her childhood and Korean identity, while Arthur represents her chosen, adult life in New York. You’re witnessing a complex integration, not a simple selection.
This dynamic can be deeply resonant for individuals who have experienced significant cultural shifts or who carry a strong sense of a ‘past self’ that feels distinct from their ‘present self.’ The film doesn’t ask Nora to abandon one for the other, but to hold both within her. This is a powerful metaphor for the work of integration in therapy, where clients learn to reconcile disparate parts of their identity, often those shaped by different environments or relational contexts. It’s about recognizing that all these parts contribute to the rich tapestry of who you are, without necessarily needing to choose one over the other.
Arthur’s presence in this three-way dynamic is crucial. He is not merely a prop or a rival; he is an active participant in Nora’s process of integration. His willingness to witness her emotional reunion with Hae Sung, even her tears, speaks to a profound level of secure attachment. He doesn’t feel threatened by her past; he trusts in their present. This is a radical departure from conventional narratives of jealousy and possessiveness, offering a model of relational maturity that many of us aspire to. It’s a testament to the strength of their bond, forged in mutual respect and understanding.
When we apply a trauma-informed lens, we recognize that the intensity of Nora’s connection to Hae Sung might also be understood as a longing for a ‘re-do’ or a ‘completion’ of an interrupted narrative, particularly if her childhood departure felt like an abandonment or a rupture. Hae Sung, in this sense, becomes a container for those unresolved feelings. Arthur, then, is the secure base that allows her to safely explore these deep emotional currents without fear of losing her present. This complex interplay is far richer than a simple romantic rivalry; it’s about healing and integration, a process often explored in depth during Fixing the Foundations™.
A dysfunctional relational pattern, often observed in family systems, where a third party is drawn into a dyadic conflict or relationship to reduce tension or avoid direct communication between the primary two. Murray Bowen, MD, psychiatrist, identified triangulation as a core concept in family systems theory, where it can stabilize a system temporarily but prevents genuine resolution and differentiation.
In plain terms: When two people in conflict pull a third person into their issues, often to avoid dealing with each other directly, creating a complicated three-way dynamic.
“I stand in the ring in the dead city and tie on the red shoes…”
Anne Sexton, The Red Shoes
In one composite clinical vignette, Leila (name and details have been changed for confidentiality) noticed that the story stayed with her because it mirrored a private pattern she had normalized for years: staying articulate, useful, and calm while her body kept registering threat. The point was not to diagnose a character or herself from the couch. It was to use the story as a safer third object, a way to say, “Something about this feels familiar,” before she was ready to say the whole thing directly.
Both/And: Embracing Complexity in Relational Dynamics
Both/And: Embracing Complexity in Relational Dynamics. The film brilliantly resists the urge to force a binary choice, instead inviting us to embrace the ‘both/and’ of human experience. Nora loves Arthur *and* she has a profound, enduring connection with Hae Sung. These are not mutually exclusive truths. This is a vital concept in trauma recovery, where clients often struggle with holding contradictory feelings or experiences simultaneously. For example, you can love a parent *and* acknowledge the harm they caused. This capacity for integration, for tolerating ambiguity, is a hallmark of psychological health.
The ‘both/and’ perspective challenges the simplistic narratives often presented in media and even in some therapeutic approaches. Life isn’t always about choosing one path and abandoning all others; it’s about weaving together the various threads that make up our identity. Nora’s journey is a powerful example of this, demonstrating that a chosen present doesn’t negate a deeply felt past. It’s about expanding your capacity to hold complexity, to understand that your identity is multifaceted and ever-evolving. This nuanced approach is something I frequently discuss in my newsletter.
This approach is particularly relevant for those navigating significant life transitions, such as immigration or career changes, where different parts of the self might feel at odds. You might feel a deep connection to your heritage *and* a strong sense of belonging in your new culture. The film encourages us to honor all these facets without feeling the need to choose or diminish any of them. It’s about building a coherent narrative that incorporates all your experiences, rather than segmenting them into separate, competing categories. This is a profound act of self-acceptance and integration.
From a systemic lens, the ‘both/and’ also applies to understanding family dynamics. A family system can be both loving *and* dysfunctional. An individual can be both resilient *and* deeply wounded. The film’s ending, with Nora crying in Arthur’s arms after Hae Sung leaves, perfectly encapsulates this. She is grieving the loss of an imagined future with Hae Sung *and* she is returning to the comfort and security of her chosen present with Arthur. There’s no contradiction in her tears; they represent the full spectrum of her human experience, a testament to the fact that grief and love can coexist.
The Systemic Lens: Beyond the Individual Narrative
The Systemic Lens: Beyond the Individual Narrative. While ‘Past Lives’ centers on Nora’s journey, a systemic lens reveals the intricate web of relationships and cultural forces that shape her choices. Her immigration from Korea to Canada and then to the United States isn’t just a personal decision; it’s a profound systemic shift that impacts her identity, her language, and her relational landscape. This move creates the very conditions for the ‘unchosen lives’ dynamic, as she leaves behind one system (her Korean family, culture, and childhood friend) to enter another. You can’t separate her choices from these larger contexts.
Consider the unspoken expectations and cultural norms that might have influenced Nora’s trajectory. In Korean culture, the concept of ‘in-yun’ carries significant weight, suggesting a deep, almost fated, connection. Her departure, while driven by personal ambition, also represents a break from certain cultural expectations. This tension between individual aspiration and systemic influence is a common theme for many of my clients, especially those navigating bicultural identities. It’s not just about personal choice; it’s about negotiating the demands and influences of multiple systems. This is explored further in T12.
Arthur, too, is part of a system. His American upbringing, his identity as a writer, his relationship with Nora. His struggle to understand Nora’s connection to Hae Sung isn’t just a personal insecurity; it’s also a reflection of cultural differences in how relationships and pasts are understood. The film subtly highlights how these different systemic backgrounds can create both connection and friction within a relationship. Understanding these systemic influences is crucial for fostering empathy and bridging gaps in communication, particularly when working with couples from diverse backgrounds. You’re seeing the collision of worlds.
The film’s ending, with Nora returning to Arthur after Hae Sung’s departure, can be viewed through a systemic lens as Nora choosing to reinforce her current system, while still honoring the deep connection to her past system. It’s not a rejection of Hae Sung or her Korean heritage, but an affirmation of the life she has built. This integration of past and present systems is a complex process, often requiring significant emotional labor and self-reflection. It’s about creating a coherent narrative that honors all parts of your systemic history, a journey I often guide clients through in one-on-one sessions.
Reconciling the Past, Living the Present
Reconciling the Past, Living the Present. Ultimately, ‘Past Lives’ offers a profound meditation on reconciling our pasts with our presents. Nora’s journey isn’t about forgetting Hae Sung or her childhood; it’s about integrating those experiences into her current identity. She carries her past with her, but it no longer dictates her future. This is a crucial aspect of healing from trauma: acknowledging the past’s impact without allowing it to define your entire existence. It’s about building a bridge between who you were and who you are becoming, a process that requires immense courage and self-compassion.
The film’s quiet, contemplative tone invites us to sit with the discomfort of unresolved feelings and unfulfilled possibilities. It reminds us that sometimes, the most profound acts of love are not about grand gestures, but about quiet understanding and respectful letting go. Nora’s tears are not just for Hae Sung, but for the girl she once was, for the life she didn’t choose, and for the bittersweet beauty of growth and change. This emotional release is a powerful act of integration, allowing her to fully step into her present with Arthur. It’s a testament to the power of authentic emotion.
For many, the process of reconciling past and present involves grieving the ‘ghosts’ of what could have been. This isn’t a sign of weakness, but a healthy acknowledgment of the full spectrum of human experience. Just as we grieve the loss of loved ones, we can also grieve the loss of imagined futures or past versions of ourselves. This is a central theme in Crying in H Mart, which explores the profound impact of loss on identity. Allowing yourself to feel these complex emotions is a vital step towards emotional freedom and integration.
As you reflect on ‘Past Lives,’ I encourage you to consider your own ‘unchosen lives’ and the ways in which your past continues to shape your present. How do you honor the connections that run deep, while also affirming the choices that have led you to where you are today? The film doesn’t offer easy answers, but it offers a powerful framework for understanding the enduring complexity of human connection and the profound beauty of living a life that is authentically your own. If you’re ready to explore these themes further, consider taking my self-assessment quiz to better understand your relational patterns or connect with me directly.
Q: What is the significance of ‘in-yun’ in ‘Past Lives’ from a clinical perspective?
A: From a clinical perspective, ‘in-yun’ can be understood as the profound, often unconscious, pull we feel towards certain individuals, deeply rooted in early attachment experiences and relational patterning. While the film presents it as a mystical concept of destined connections across lifetimes, psychologically, it speaks to the powerful resonance of familiar dynamics or unresolved relational needs from our formative years. It highlights how our earliest bonds can create an enduring ‘template’ for connection, influencing who we are drawn to and the intensity of those attractions, even across vast distances and time. This concept helps validate the deep, sometimes inexplicable, feelings clients have for past figures, framing them as echoes of their relational history rather than mere romantic fantasy.
Q: How does Arthur’s character contribute to a trauma-informed understanding of healthy relationships?
A: Arthur’s character in ‘Past Lives’ offers a powerful model of secure attachment and relational maturity, particularly from a trauma-informed lens. His capacity to witness Nora’s deep emotional connection to Hae Sung without resorting to blame, jealousy, or withdrawal demonstrates a high degree of emotional regulation and trust. His vulnerability in expressing his fears (‘Is he better than me?’) allows for honest communication, which is crucial in navigating complex relational histories, especially those involving past ‘ghosts.’ His ability to hold space for Nora’s grief and longing, without needing to ‘fix’ or absorb it, exemplifies differentiated connection. A key component of healthy relationships where partners maintain their individual identities while remaining deeply connected. This contrasts sharply with enmeshed or avoidant patterns often seen in trauma survivors.
Q: What does the film’s ending, with Nora crying in Arthur’s arms, signify clinically?
A: The film’s ending, with Nora crying in Arthur’s arms after Hae Sung’s departure, is a profound moment of integration and emotional processing, viewed clinically. It signifies that Nora is not simply choosing one man over another, but rather integrating the ‘unchosen life’ represented by Hae Sung with her chosen present with Arthur. Her tears are not a sign of regret or confusion, but a natural, healthy expression of grief for the path not taken, for the girl she once was, and for the bittersweet nature of growth and change. Arthur’s embrace provides a secure base, allowing her to fully feel and process these complex emotions, demonstrating that true intimacy involves holding space for a partner’s full emotional landscape, including their past losses and longings. This act of co-regulation and secure attachment facilitates her emotional completion and reinforces her commitment to her present life.
Q: How does ‘Past Lives’ address the concept of ‘unchosen lives’ and its psychological impact?
A: ‘Past Lives’ masterfully explores the psychological impact of ‘unchosen lives’ by illustrating that every significant life choice, particularly those involving migration or identity shifts, inherently creates a parallel reality of what ‘could have been.’ For Nora, the life she might have had in Korea with Hae Sung is a vivid, emotionally resonant ‘unchosen life.’ Clinically, this speaks to the concept of ambiguous loss. Grieving something that was never fully actualized but still holds profound emotional weight. The film validates that these imagined lives can feel as real and impactful as lived experiences, and that acknowledging and grieving them is a crucial part of identity formation and emotional integration. It highlights that carrying the ‘ghosts’ of these unchosen paths is a normal, albeit often bittersweet, aspect of the human condition, rather than a sign of indecision or regret.
Q: In what ways does the film encourage a ‘both/and’ perspective on relationships and identity?
A: The film strongly advocates for a ‘both/and’ perspective, challenging simplistic binary choices in relationships and identity. Nora’s story illustrates that she can have a deep, enduring, almost fated connection with Hae Sung *and* a profound, chosen, and loving partnership with Arthur. These are not mutually exclusive; they represent different facets of her rich and complex identity. Clinically, this ‘both/and’ approach is vital for mental health, especially for individuals navigating complex histories, cultural identities, or relational trauma. It allows for the integration of seemingly contradictory feelings (e.g., love and anger towards a parent), experiences (e.g., belonging in two cultures), or identities (e.g., past self and present self). The film suggests that true maturity lies in the capacity to hold and honor multiple truths simultaneously, fostering a more integrated and resilient sense of self, rather than forcing a reductive either/or choice.
Related Reading
- Song, Celine, director. Past Lives. A24, 2023.
- Bowlby, John. Attachment and Loss, Vol. 1: Attachment. Attachment and Loss. New York: Basic Books, 1969.
- Boss, Pauline. Ambiguous Loss: Learning to Live with Unresolved Grief. Harvard University Press, 1999.
- Herman, Judith Lewis. Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence, From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. Basic Books, 1992.
References
Peer-Reviewed Research (Vancouver)
- Cloitre M, Stolbach BC, Herman JL, van der Kolk B, Pynoos R, Wang J, et al. A developmental approach to complex PTSD: childhood and adult cumulative trauma as predictors of symptom complexity. J Trauma Stress. 2009;22(5):399-408. doi:10.1002/jts.20444. PMID: 19795402.
- Iwakabe S, Edlin J, Fosha D, Thoma NC, Gretton H, Joseph AJ, et al. The long-term outcome of accelerated experiential dynamic psychotherapy: 6- and 12-month follow-up results. Psychotherapy (Chic). 2022;59(3):431-446. doi:10.1037/pst0000441. PMID: 35653751.
- Bowlby J. Attachment and loss: retrospect and prospect. Am J Orthopsychiatry. 1982;52(4):664-678. doi:10.1111/j.1939-0025.1982.tb01456.x. PMID: 7148988.
- 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.
Books & Cultural Sources (Chicago Author-Date)
- Sexton, Anne. The complete poems. Houghton Mifflin (P), 1981.
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Annie Wright, LMFT
LMFT · Relational Trauma Specialist · W.W. Norton Author
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Annie Wright is a licensed psychotherapist (LMFT #95719) and trauma-informed executive coach with over 15,000 clinical hours. 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.
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