Fleabag: Grief, Sex, and the Wound the Show Refuses to Name
Fleabag, Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s masterpiece, offers a raw, unflinching look at grief, sex, and the messy reality of being human. As a therapist, I see its brilliance in how it portrays the unspoken wound beneath every joke and every glance at the camera. Join me as we unpack the profound trauma and unexpected paths to healing woven into this iconic series.
Last reviewed: June 2026 by Annie Wright, LMFT
- The Unseen Architecture of Grief
- Breaking the Fourth Wall: Dissociation as Art
- Sex, Shame, and Self-Sabotage
- The Priest: A Mirror of Unvarnished Truth
- Family Systems: The Collateral Damage of Silence
- Both/And: Humor as a Coping Mechanism and a Cry for Help
- The Systemic Lens: Healing Beyond the Individual
- Finding Your Own Way Home
- Frequently Asked Questions
Fleabag, Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s BAFTA-winning series, is a clinical portrait of unprocessed grief, dissociation, and the way sexual behavior can function as both an anesthetic for pain and a form of self-punishment after trauma. The protagonist’s direct address to the camera is not a narrative device but a depiction of dissociation: the observer-self that splits off to narrate experience from a safe remove while the rest of the self continues to suffer and act out. Her unnamed wound, the death of her best friend and the fracture of her family system, drives every relationship, every joke, and every self-sabotaging choice in the series. In my work with driven women, Fleabag’s particular grief is recognizable: the loss that cannot be spoken because naming it would require sitting with its full weight.
In short: Fleabag depicts grief, dissociation, and trauma-driven self-sabotage with clinical precision, using the fourth-wall break as a visual metaphor for the observer-self that splits off from overwhelming pain.
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With more than 15,000 clinical hours, I see Fleabag’s fourth-wall narration immediately recognized by clients who have their own inner commentator running while their life falls apart around them. Judith Herman, MD, psychiatrist and complex trauma researcher, established that dissociation is a primary adaptive response to overwhelming grief and relational trauma, allowing survival while deferring processing (Herman 1992).
The Unseen Architecture of Grief
The stale scent of old coffee and a faint whiff of desperation hang in the air of the café where Fleabag often finds herself, a backdrop to her internal monologue. You can almost feel the uncomfortable silence, the weight of unspoken words, and the constant hum of anxiety just beneath her witty facade. This isn’t just a show about a woman making bad choices; it’s a profound exploration of how family trauma and unresolved grief can shape every aspect of your existence. The series opens not with a bang, but with a quiet, devastating ache, a wound that, while never explicitly named, dictates every comedic beat and every heartbreaking glance.
From the very first scene, you’re invited into Fleabag’s chaotic inner world, a world where humor is a shield and sex is often a distraction. What strikes me as a therapist is how masterfully Phoebe Waller-Bridge uses the medium to portray the internal landscape of someone grappling with profound loss and betrayal trauma. The death of her best friend, Boo, is the catastrophic event that sets everything in motion, yet it’s rarely directly discussed. Instead, its echoes reverberate through every strained family dinner, every ill-advised sexual encounter, and every self-deprecating joke she delivers directly to us.
You might find yourself laughing at her antics, even as a part of you recognizes the deep pain driving them. This duality is central to the show’s genius. It’s not just about the external events, but the internal architecture of grief that underpins her entire personality. The show doesn’t just tell you she’s hurting; it *shows* you, through her actions, her relationships, and the way she constantly seeks external validation while simultaneously pushing people away. It’s a visceral depiction of how trauma can make you feel utterly alone, even when surrounded by others.
This isn’t just entertainment; it’s a masterclass in depicting the psychological impact of unaddressed sorrow. The show invites you to sit with discomfort, to see yourself reflected in Fleabag’s flaws, and to understand that sometimes, the funniest people are carrying the heaviest burdens. It’s a testament to the fact that healing isn’t linear, and sometimes, the path involves a lot of messy detours and seemingly self-destructive choices before you can even begin to acknowledge the source of your pain. You’re watching a woman navigate a world that feels both too much and not enough, all while trying to keep her head above water.
Breaking the Fourth Wall: Dissociation as Art
The most striking stylistic choice in Fleabag is, without a doubt, her direct address to the camera. This isn’t merely a clever narrative device; it’s a brilliant artistic representation of dissociation, a coping mechanism where the mind creates distance from overwhelming reality. As a therapist, I see this ‘breaking the fourth wall’ as her constant escape hatch, a way to pull herself out of emotionally charged situations and comment on them, rather than fully experience them. It’s a form of emotional self-preservation, a private world she shares only with us, the audience.
Think about it: when things get too intense, too awkward, or too painful, she pivots, makes eye contact with us, and delivers a wry observation. This isn’t just for comedic effect; it’s her mind’s way of compartmentalizing, of creating a buffer between her raw feelings and the external world. It’s a subtle yet profound portrayal of how trauma can make you feel like an observer of your own life, rather than a full participant. You’re watching her literally step out of her own experience to process it, or rather, to avoid processing it directly.
This constant narrative interruption serves another crucial purpose: it highlights her profound loneliness and her desperate need for connection, even if it’s with an unseen audience. She’s sharing her deepest, darkest thoughts with us because she can’t, or won’t, share them with the people in her actual life. It’s a poignant illustration of how isolation can become a self-fulfilling prophecy when you’re struggling with unspoken grief and shame. She’s both inviting us in and keeping everyone else at arm’s length.
Ultimately, the breaking of the fourth wall becomes a metaphor for her internal world: fragmented, guarded, and constantly seeking an escape from the present moment. It’s a powerful visual representation of how trauma can make you feel disconnected from yourself and others. Only when she begins to truly engage with her emotions, particularly in her relationship with the Priest, does this fourth wall begin to crack, signaling a shift towards greater integration and less reliance on this dissociative coping mechanism. This journey is a powerful reminder that therapy often involves integrating these fractured parts of self.
An organizational structure and treatment framework that involves understanding, recognizing, and responding to the effects of all types of trauma. Trauma-informed care emphasizes physical, psychological, and emotional safety for both clients and providers, and helps survivors rebuild a sense of control and empowerment. As articulated by Dr. Sandra L. Bloom, MD, psychiatrist, this approach moves beyond simply asking ‘What’s wrong with you?’ to ‘What happened to you?’
In plain terms: It’s about understanding that people’s past painful experiences shape their present actions and feelings. Instead of judging, we ask what happened to them, and then create a safe space to heal and regain control.
Sex, Shame, and Self-Sabotage
Fleabag’s relationship with sex is complex, often transactional, and frequently used as a tool for self-sabotage and emotional avoidance. It’s rarely about genuine connection or pleasure; instead, it functions as a distraction, a way to feel something. Anything. Other than the gnawing pain of her grief. For clients like Elena, who’ve experienced similar patterns, sex can become a temporary anesthetic, a fleeting moment of intensity that pushes deeper feelings further away. It’s a desperate attempt to fill an internal void, to feel seen or desired, even if only for a moment.
You see her engaging in encounters that are clearly not fulfilling, sometimes even humiliating, yet she continues. This isn’t simply a character flaw; it’s a symptom of deeper emotional wounds. When you’re carrying unresolved trauma, your relationship with intimacy can become deeply distorted. It can be hard to differentiate between genuine connection and fleeting physical contact, especially when you’re struggling with self-worth. Her choices reflect a desperate search for validation, a craving for any form of attention that might momentarily alleviate her profound sense of loneliness and shame.
The show doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable truths about how people use sex to cope with pain. It portrays the raw, messy reality of someone who hasn’t learned healthier ways to process her emotions. For Jordan, who struggled with similar patterns after a significant loss, understanding that these behaviors were coping mechanisms, not inherent flaws, was a crucial step in their healing journey. It’s about recognizing that these actions, while seemingly self-destructive, are often born out of a desperate need to survive emotional overwhelm.
Ultimately, Fleabag’s sexual escapades are a cry for help, a visible manifestation of her internal chaos. They highlight the profound impact of her unspoken grief and the ways in which she struggles to form healthy attachments. It’s a painful reminder that when you don’t address your core wounds, they will inevitably manifest in other areas of your life, often in ways that cause further distress. The show bravely confronts the shame and vulnerability inherent in these behaviors, inviting you to look beyond the surface and understand the underlying pain.
A disruption in the usually integrated functions of consciousness, memory, identity, emotion, perception, body representation, motor control, and behavior. These disruptions can be sudden or gradual, transient or chronic. Dr. Janina Fisher, PhD, psychologist, describes dissociation as a survival strategy, a way the mind protects itself from overwhelming experiences by creating distance from them.
In plain terms: It’s like your mind temporarily checks out or disconnects from reality, your feelings, or even your own body when things get too overwhelming. It’s a coping mechanism to survive intense pain, but it can make you feel fragmented.
The Priest: A Mirror of Unvarnished Truth
The arrival of the Priest, or ‘Hot Priest’ as he’s affectionately known, marks a significant turning point in Fleabag’s journey. He’s arguably the most honest mirror she encounters, someone who sees through her witty defenses and her dissociative coping mechanisms. For the first time, she meets someone who not only acknowledges her pain but also sees her direct addresses to the camera, her private world. This recognition is profoundly unsettling for her, yet also deeply transformative. It’s the first real crack in her carefully constructed facade.
His ability to see her, truly see her, is what makes their connection so compelling and so dangerous for her. He doesn’t just laugh at her jokes; he sees the sadness behind them. He doesn’t just engage in witty banter; he challenges her to be present. This kind of authentic, non-judgmental witnessing is often what clients like Elena crave in therapy, a space where they can drop their defenses and be truly seen without fear of rejection. It’s a powerful catalyst for change, even if it feels terrifying.
The Priest’s own struggles and vulnerabilities make him a relatable figure, but it’s his capacity for radical honesty that truly sets him apart. He doesn’t let her off the hook, but he also doesn’t condemn her. This blend of challenge and acceptance is crucial for healing. He reflects back to her not just her flaws, but also her inherent goodness, her capacity for love, and her profound grief. For Jordan, finding a similar ‘mirror’ in their life allowed them to finally confront the patterns that were keeping them stuck.
Their relationship, though ultimately doomed by their respective commitments, serves as a powerful illustration of relational healing. It shows that even brief, intense connections can be profoundly impactful, especially when they involve genuine vulnerability and mutual recognition. He helps her to integrate her fragmented self, to bring her inner world into conversation with her outer reality, and to begin the painful but necessary process of acknowledging her grief directly, rather than deflecting it with humor or sex. He doesn’t fix her, but he helps her to see herself more clearly.
A psychological injury that results from prolonged, repeated trauma, often in the context of an interpersonal relationship where the victim has little or no chance of escape. Unlike single-incident trauma, C-PTSD impacts identity, emotional regulation, relationships, and meaning-making. Judith Herman, MD, Professor of Psychiatry at Harvard Medical School and Director of Training at the Victims of Violence Program, Cambridge Health Alliance, extensively documented the profound and pervasive effects of complex trauma on survivors.
In plain terms: This isn’t just one bad event, but ongoing, repeated trauma, usually from childhood or an abusive relationship. It fundamentally changes how you see yourself, manage your emotions, and relate to others, leaving deep, lasting wounds.
Family Systems: The Collateral Damage of Silence
Fleabag’s family is a masterclass in dysfunctional dynamics, a prime example of how family trauma can ripple through generations, creating a legacy of silence, competition, and emotional neglect. Her relationship with her sister, Claire, is particularly poignant, marked by a deep love constantly undermined by resentment, misunderstanding, and a desperate need for parental approval. Their interactions are a painful dance of proximity and distance, a struggle to connect in a system that taught them to compete rather than collaborate.
The stepmother, played with chilling precision by Olivia Colman, embodies the insidious nature of emotional abuse and passive-aggression. She’s not overtly cruel, but her constant undermining, her subtle barbs, and her performative victimhood create an environment of profound psychological unsafety. This kind of relational dynamic can be far more damaging than overt abuse because it’s harder to name, harder to fight against, and often leaves the victim questioning their own sanity. It’s a classic example of the collateral damage of psychopathy within a family system.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?”
Mary Oliver, poet, from “The Summer Day” (House of Light, 1990)
Her father, well-meaning but utterly passive, represents the enabler, the parent who fails to protect his children from the emotional harm inflicted by another. His inability to intervene, his preference for peace over truth, further perpetuates the cycle of dysfunction. You see how his avoidance of conflict leaves his daughters vulnerable and reinforces their belief that their feelings don’t matter. This parental passivity is often a significant source of pain for adults in fixing the foundations of their own relational patterns.
This family system, with its unspoken rules and unaddressed grief, is the fertile ground from which Fleabag’s coping mechanisms spring. The death of her mother, followed by Boo’s suicide, are never truly processed collectively, leading to a profound sense of isolation for each member. The show brilliantly illustrates how silence can be as damaging as direct abuse, creating an emotional vacuum that each character tries to fill in unhealthy ways. It’s a stark reminder that healing often requires confronting not just individual pain, but the systemic patterns that perpetuate it.
A rupture or disruption in the secure bond between an individual and their primary caregivers, often resulting from neglect, abuse, or inconsistent caregiving. These early experiences can lead to insecure attachment styles (anxious, avoidant, disorganized) that impact adult relationships and self-worth. Dr. Sue Johnson, EdD, psychologist, highlights how attachment injuries create profound emotional pain and shape relational patterns.
In plain terms: When the vital connection with your earliest caregivers is broken or unstable, it leaves a deep wound. This affects how you form relationships later in life, making it hard to trust, feel secure, or believe you’re worthy of love.
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: Humor as a Coping Mechanism and a Cry for Help
Both/And: Humor as a Coping Mechanism and a Cry for Help. Fleabag’s relentless wit and dark humor are undoubtedly one of the show’s most appealing features. You’re constantly laughing, even as you wince at the underlying pain. This isn’t just clever writing; it’s a deeply authentic portrayal of how many people, especially those grappling with trauma, use humor as a survival strategy. It’s a way to deflect, to diffuse tension, and to create a momentary distance from overwhelming emotions. It’s a shield, but also, paradoxically, a way to connect.
Think about the times you’ve used humor to get through an awkward or painful situation. Fleabag takes this to an extreme, using her jokes as a constant buffer between herself and the raw reality of her life. It’s a brilliant defense mechanism, allowing her to appear strong and irreverent, even when she’s crumbling inside. This is a common pattern I see in clients: the ability to make light of serious issues, to use self-deprecation as a form of self-protection. It’s both incredibly resourceful and deeply isolating.
However, her humor is also a cry for help. Every sarcastic remark, every self-deprecating jab, is an invitation for someone to see through the facade, to ask if she’s truly okay. It’s a desperate attempt to be understood, even if she can’t articulate her pain directly. This dual function of humor. As both a defense and a plea. Is what makes her character so compelling and so relatable. It highlights the complex ways we try to communicate our suffering when we lack the language or the safety to express it plainly.
The show masterfully balances the comedic and the tragic, never allowing you to fully escape the underlying sorrow, even in the most hilarious moments. This ‘both/and’ approach is crucial for understanding the human experience of trauma. Life isn’t just sad or just funny; it’s a messy mix of both. Fleabag’s humor reminds us that even in our darkest moments, there can be lightness, and that sometimes, laughter is the only way to keep from falling apart entirely. It’s a testament to resilience, even if it’s a resilience born out of pain.
The Systemic Lens: Healing Beyond the Individual
The Systemic Lens: Healing Beyond the Individual. While Fleabag’s individual journey is central, the show also offers a powerful commentary on the systemic factors that contribute to her suffering. Her family’s inability to communicate, their ingrained patterns of avoidance, and the unspoken rules around grief all create a system that actively prevents healing. This isn’t just about Fleabag’s choices; it’s about the environment that shaped those choices and continues to reinforce them. You can’t understand her without understanding the system she inhabits.
From a family systems perspective, her behaviors, however self-destructive, make perfect sense within the context of her family. Her need for attention, her self-sabotage, and her difficulty with intimacy are all logical responses to a system that failed to provide her with emotional safety and secure attachment. This broader view is essential for understanding complex trauma; it’s rarely just about one person, but about the intricate web of relationships and dynamics that influence them. It’s a powerful argument for looking beyond individual pathology.
The show subtly critiques societal expectations placed on women, particularly around sex, relationships, and emotional expression. Fleabag constantly grapples with these pressures, often rebelling against them in ways that are both liberating and self-destructive. Her journey isn’t just personal; it’s a reflection of broader cultural narratives about female desire, grief, and agency. This systemic critique elevates the show beyond a simple character study, making it a profound cultural commentary that resonates deeply with many women.
Ultimately, Fleabag’s path to healing involves not just individual insight but a shift in her relationship to her family system. While she can’t change her family, she can change her response to them, setting boundaries, and choosing different patterns of engagement. This systemic understanding is crucial for true, lasting change. It’s about recognizing that while you are responsible for your own healing, the context in which you heal is equally important. It’s a powerful reminder that we are all products of our environments, and healing often requires a conscious decision to break free from unhelpful patterns.
Finding Your Own Way Home
As Fleabag’s journey progresses, you witness a slow, painful, but ultimately hopeful shift. The raw edges of her grief begin to soften, her reliance on dissociation lessens, and her capacity for genuine connection grows. It’s not a tidy, linear progression, but a messy, authentic portrayal of what healing from complex trauma actually looks like. She doesn’t magically become ‘fixed,’ but she learns to carry her pain differently, to integrate her experiences, and to find moments of genuine peace amidst the chaos. This is the real work of personal growth.
Her final, poignant glance to the camera, followed by her turning away, signifies a profound internal shift. She no longer needs us, the audience, as her sole confidantes or her escape route. She’s choosing to be present in her own life, to engage with her emotions, and to walk forward, even if it’s alone. This isn’t a tragic ending, but a powerful affirmation of self-reliance and emotional integration. It’s a beautiful depiction of finding your own way home, not to a person or a place, but to yourself.
The show leaves you with the understanding that healing isn’t about erasing the past, but about learning to live with it, to integrate it into your story without letting it define you entirely. It’s about finding moments of grace, even in the midst of profound sadness. Fleabag’s journey reminds us that vulnerability is not a weakness, and that true strength lies in facing your pain head-on, even when every fiber of your being wants to run. This is a message I often share with readers of my newsletter.
Ultimately, Fleabag offers a powerful message of hope: that even when you feel utterly broken, even when you’ve made countless mistakes, and even when your grief feels insurmountable, there is a path forward. It’s a testament to the human capacity for resilience, for growth, and for finding connection in the most unexpected places. It encourages you to embrace your flaws, to acknowledge your pain, and to keep moving, one messy, imperfect step at a time. This is the essence of what it means to heal, to truly live. If you’re ready to explore your own path, consider taking my trauma response quiz.
Clinically, this is where Fleabag: Grief, Sex, and the Wound the Show Refuses to Name becomes useful rather than merely interesting. When I sit with driven women who recognize themselves in this kind of story, the work is rarely about deciding whether a character was good or bad. The more useful question is what your body learned to do in the presence of love, danger, obligation, longing, and shame. That question belongs beside deeper resources such as C1 C3 S7 S14, because the cultural text is only the doorway; the real work is learning what your own nervous system has been carrying.
I also want to name the two composite threads I hear in this material. Elena might be the client who can describe everyone else’s pain with astonishing precision but loses language when her own need enters the room. Jordan might be the client who has built an impressive life around never asking too directly for care. Neither woman is broken. Both adapted intelligently to relational conditions that made direct wanting feel dangerous, selfish, or too costly to risk.
Q: What is the ‘unnamed wound’ in Fleabag?
A: The ‘unnamed wound’ in Fleabag primarily refers to the profound, unaddressed grief and guilt surrounding the suicide of her best friend, Boo. While the show frequently alludes to it, Fleabag rarely directly discusses the event or her feelings about it, instead manifesting her pain through self-sabotage, sexual escapades, and her dissociative fourth-wall breaks. This unacknowledged trauma acts as the architectural foundation for her entire character, driving her actions and relationships. The silence around Boo’s death also highlights the family’s broader inability to process grief, creating a ripple effect of dysfunction among all characters.
Q: How does Fleabag use humor to cope with trauma?
A: Fleabag uses humor as a sophisticated, multi-layered coping mechanism for her unresolved trauma and grief. Her witty remarks and sarcastic observations serve as a defense, deflecting genuine emotional vulnerability and creating distance from painful realities. It allows her to maintain a facade of irreverence and control, preventing others from seeing her true suffering. However, her humor also functions as a cry for help, a desperate attempt to connect and be seen, even if indirectly. It’s a way to process overwhelming feelings by externalizing them in a palatable, often self-deprecating, manner, making her both relatable and heartbreaking.
Q: What role does the ‘Hot Priest’ play in Fleabag’s healing?
A: The ‘Hot Priest’ serves as a crucial catalyst for Fleabag’s healing by being the first person who truly ‘sees’ her, including her dissociative habit of breaking the fourth wall. His direct, honest, and non-judgmental presence forces her to confront her defenses and her underlying pain. He doesn’t enable her avoidance but challenges her to be present and vulnerable. This authentic witnessing creates a safe space for her to begin acknowledging her grief and guilt, moving her away from self-sabotage and towards genuine emotional integration. Their relationship, though brief, represents a profound experience of relational healing and acceptance.
Q: How does Fleabag portray family dysfunction?
A: Fleabag offers a raw and incisive portrayal of family dysfunction, highlighting how unresolved trauma and poor communication patterns ripple through generations. The family system is characterized by emotional neglect, passive-aggression (especially from the stepmother), and a father who passively enables the dysfunction. The sisters, Fleabag and Claire, struggle with a complex dynamic of love and resentment, constantly vying for attention within a system that fosters competition rather than connection. Their inability to collectively process the deaths of their mother and Boo perpetuates a cycle of isolation and unhealthy coping, demonstrating the profound impact of systemic issues on individual well-being.
Q: What is the significance of Fleabag eventually turning away from the camera?
A: Fleabag’s final act of turning away from the camera signifies a profound and hopeful step in her healing journey. Throughout the series, breaking the fourth wall represents her dissociation, her escape from overwhelming reality into a private, guarded space. By turning away, she signals that she no longer needs this dissociative coping mechanism; she is choosing to be present in her own life, to engage with her emotions directly, and to walk forward into her future, even if it’s alone. It symbolizes emotional integration, self-reliance, and a willingness to face her reality without the constant need for external validation or escape.
Related Reading
- Waller-Bridge, Phoebe. Fleabag: The Scriptures. Nick Hern Books, 2019.
- Herman, Judith Lewis. Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence, From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. Basic Books, 1992.
- van der Kolk, Bessel A. The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking, 2014.
- Strayed, Cheryl. Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar. Vintage Books, 2012. My analysis of Tiny Beautiful Things.
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.
- Greenman PS, Johnson SM. Emotionally focused therapy: Attachment, connection, and health. Curr Opin Psychol. 2022;43:146-150. doi:10.1016/j.copsyc.2021.06.015. PMID: 34375935.
Books & Cultural Sources (Chicago Author-Date)
- Oliver, Mary. Devotions. Little, Brown Book Group Limited, 2017.
- Fisher, Janina. Healing the fragmented selves of trauma survivors. Taylor & Francis Group, 2017.
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Annie Wright, LMFT
LMFT · Relational Trauma Specialist · W.W. Norton Author
Helping driven women finally feel as good as their résumé looks.
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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