Divorcing a Covert Narcissist. What to Expect in Court and in Your Nervous System
Divorcing a covert narcissist means the legal process itself becomes an extension of the abuse. This article walks you through what to expect in court: the DARVO tactics, the paper trail warfare, the calm performance your husband delivers to a room full of strangers, and what all of it does to your nervous system over time. You’ll find practical guidance on documentation, legal strategy, and the support structures that make it survivable.
Last reviewed: June 2026 by Annie Wright, LMFT
- Renée Does Not Recognize the Person in the Seventeen-Page Filing
- Why Covert Narcissists Use Divorce Proceedings as an Extension of the Abuse
- What to Expect from a Covert Narcissist in Litigation: DARVO, Parental Alienation, and the Paper Trail
- How to Protect Yourself: Documentation, Legal Strategy, and the Right Support Team
- The Psychological Tax: What High-Conflict Divorce Does to Your Nervous System Over Time
- Both/And: You Can Know This Is What He Does AND Still Need Support Processing Every Filing
- The Systemic Lens: Why Family Court Wasn’t Designed to Recognize Covert Abuse
- What the First Year Post-Divorce Looks Like. And Why It Gets Better Differently Than You Expect
- Frequently Asked Questions
Renée Does Not Recognize the Person in the Seventeen-Page Filing
Renée, 47, a university professor, sits across from her divorce attorney on a Tuesday morning, a document resting in her hands that she can’t quite bring herself to put down. It’s seventeen pages long, and on every page there’s a version of her she doesn’t recognize. A woman described as “erratic,” “controlling,” and “emotionally volatile.” Her attorney is circling things with a pen, professionally unsurprised, because this is what she sees every week. It’s not normal to Renée. Renée keeps checking the header to make sure her name is actually on it.
She’s one month into divorce proceedings from a covert narcissistic husband of fourteen years, and what she’s holding is not just a legal filing. It’s a curated portrait, assembled with care and notarized, of the story he has been quietly constructing about her for most of their marriage. “He spent fourteen years making me doubt my perception,” she thinks. “Now he has seventeen pages of it, notarized.” She won’t cry in the attorney’s office. She’ll cry in the car.
If you’re divorcing a covert narcissist, or preparing to, Renée’s experience is not unusual. It’s the entry point for a kind of legal process unlike most divorces. One where the courtroom becomes another theater for the same dynamic you were already living inside. The abuse doesn’t stop when you file. In many ways, it escalates. Understanding what you’re about to face is not pessimism; it’s preparation.
Why Covert Narcissists Use Divorce Proceedings as an Extension of the Abuse
A covert narcissist (sometimes called a vulnerable narcissist or closet narcissist) doesn’t project dominance the way the classic portrayal suggests. He doesn’t shout or obviously control. He suffers. He’s misunderstood. He manages his image with extraordinary precision. The people who know him at work, in the neighborhood, at your child’s school, genuinely believe they know a kind, thoughtful, put-upon man. That image is the entire apparatus. And divorce threatens it fatally.
When you file for divorce, you’re not just ending a legal partnership. You’re threatening exposure. The covert narcissist has spent years managing the private reality of your relationship: the subtle putdowns, the strategic withdrawal, the rewriting of events, the erosion of your confidence. He did all of that while maintaining a completely different public face. Divorce means strangers will now adjudicate the private reality. That’s intolerable to him, and he will respond by doing the thing he does best: rewriting the narrative before you can establish yours.
This is why so many women divorcing covert narcissists describe a divorce process that feels fundamentally disorienting. It’s not just that it’s hard, or expensive, or emotionally exhausting. It’s that the process seems to confirm every doubt he planted in you during the marriage. That you’re the difficult one, the unstable one, the one who can’t see clearly. If you want to understand more about the patterns of covert narcissistic abuse in marriage, that context matters enormously before you enter a legal arena.
DARVO stands for Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender. A term coined by Jennifer Freyd, PhD, psychologist and professor emerita at the University of Oregon, and developer of Betrayal Trauma Theory. It describes a predictable sequence abusers use when confronted with accountability: first denying that the harmful behavior occurred, then attacking the person raising concern, and finally reversing the roles so that the abuser presents as the true victim. Freyd’s research documents this pattern across interpersonal, institutional, and legal contexts.
In plain terms: When you hold him accountable. Even in a legal document. He doesn’t defend himself. He becomes the wronged party. He doesn’t explain what happened; he explains what you did to him. In divorce proceedings, DARVO doesn’t stay interpersonal. It gets filed with the court.
The divorce filing Renée is holding is a textbook DARVO document. Her husband doesn’t deny the marriage was difficult. He explains, calmly and with supporting examples and timestamps, how her behavior made the marriage untenable. Every incident where she reacted, cried, raised her voice, or expressed pain is documented as evidence of her instability. Every time he maintained his composure while she fell apart is evidence of his reasonableness. He has turned fourteen years of a relationship into a police report with him as the witness and her as the perpetrator.
Understanding this isn’t about becoming cynical about the legal system. It’s about understanding what you’re actually up against so you can prepare properly. If you’re still in the process of deciding whether to leave, this guide on leaving a covert narcissist covers the planning stages in more detail.
What to Expect from a Covert Narcissist in Litigation: DARVO, Parental Alienation, and the Paper Trail
In my work with clients going through high-conflict divorces with covert narcissists, several patterns appear with enough consistency that I want to name them clearly. Not to frighten you, but because they’re easier to survive when you see them coming. The disorientation is greatest when you’re blindsided. Knowledge changes the neurological experience of being in the process.
First: he will likely be excellent in court. This is not speculation. It’s one of the most consistent things my clients report, and it’s consistent with what researchers and legal advocates who work in this space document as well. Covert narcissists have spent years perfecting the art of appearing reasonable, measured, and victimized in front of audiences who don’t have access to the private record. Your attorney has seen this. A trauma-informed therapist has seen this. The judge has likely not.
Second: expect an extensive paper trail created by him, possibly before you even filed. Screenshots of texts (often without context), emails that make you look reactive, records of your “erratic” behavior constructed over months or years in anticipation of exactly this moment. Some of my clients discover their husbands had been keeping logs for far longer than they knew. It’s a disorienting discovery. Understanding it as a deliberate strategy, not as evidence that he’s right about you, is essential.
Third: if you have children, expect the parental alienation accusation. This is one of the most well-documented misuses of a clinical concept in family court, and it lands with particular force on protective mothers.
Parental alienation as a clinical concept refers to a child’s unjustified rejection of a parent due to the other parent’s manipulation. Joan Meier, JD, professor at George Washington University Law School and founder of the National Family Violence Law Center, has conducted extensive empirical research documenting how this concept is systematically misused in family court proceedings. Most commonly against mothers who are attempting to protect children from an abusive father. Meier’s research found that fathers raising parental alienation claims against mothers are more likely to win custody, even when domestic abuse is documented, because courts frequently treat the alienation claim as more credible than the abuse history.
In plain terms: If you try to protect your children from a man who has harmed you, he can claim you’re alienating them from him. And courts are often more responsive to that claim than to your account of the abuse. It’s not fair. It is what the research shows, and you need to know it.
Lundy Bancroft, author of Why Does He Do That? and The Batterer as Parent, has written extensively on how abusive men use family court to continue controlling their partners after separation. Bancroft’s analysis of covert and emotionally abusive men specifically notes that these men are often the most skilled at legal manipulation. They understand optics, they can delay, they can escalate cost, and they can use the children as pressure points in ways that look, to an uninitiated court, like concerned fatherhood. Bancroft writes that batterers in custody proceedings rarely lose their image entirely; they lose it over time, through consistent documentation.
What this means practically: the process will probably take longer than you hope, cost more than you budget, and require more emotional stamina than feels reasonable. Building the right team is not optional. That means people who understand abuse dynamics, not just family law procedure. It’s structural.
How to Protect Yourself: Documentation, Legal Strategy, and the Right Support Team
I want to be clear about something before this section: nothing here constitutes legal advice, and every jurisdiction has different rules. What I can offer is the framework my clients have found most stabilizing. It’s a combination of practical strategy and psychological groundedness that makes it possible to get through this without losing yourself in the process.
Documentation is the single most important thing you can do before and during divorce proceedings. If you haven’t started already, start now. Screenshot everything: texts, emails, voicemails. Keep a private, dated log of incidents. What was said, when, who was present, how you felt afterward. The log doesn’t need to be formal; it needs to be consistent. Dates and specifics matter far more than prose style. Store copies somewhere he can’t access, in a cloud account he doesn’t know about or a device kept at your office or a trusted friend’s home.
What to look for in a divorce attorney is its own conversation, and we address it in the FAQ below. The short version: you need someone who understands high-conflict divorce dynamics and doesn’t dismiss the word “narcissism” as psychological jargon. Some attorneys still assume that if there are no police reports and no visible physical injuries, the relationship was probably “just difficult.” That attorney will not serve you well. You want someone who has worked with abuse survivors, knows how DARVO operates in depositions, and takes documentation seriously from the first meeting.
Your support team extends beyond your attorney. A trauma-informed therapist who works specifically with relational and covert abuse is not a luxury during this process. It’s a clinical necessity. The legal proceedings will re-traumatize you in ways that are entirely predictable and entirely survivable with the right support. Therapy with a clinician who understands these dynamics can mean the difference between a process that breaks something in you and one that slowly, imperfectly, builds something new.
Consider also a financial advisor who specializes in divorce, particularly if he’s been managing the accounts. Covert narcissists frequently use financial control as part of the abuse dynamic; hidden accounts, underreported income, and strategic debt are not uncommon. A forensic accountant can be worth their fee many times over.
Aisha, a 39-year-old corporate attorney who came to my practice mid-divorce from a covert narcissistic husband of eight years, described the early months of her legal process as “doing brain surgery on yourself.” She was professionally equipped to understand the legal strategy better than most. It didn’t protect her from the destabilization of seeing her own history rewritten in pleadings. “I kept thinking: I’m a lawyer. I should be able to hold this together,” she told me. What helped her most wasn’t better legal reasoning. It was a therapist who could sit with her in the disorientation without rushing to resolve it, and a close friend who kept her fed when she forgot to eat. The strategic and the human both matter. You need both.
The Psychological Tax: What High-Conflict Divorce Does to Your Nervous System Over Time
The nervous system doesn’t distinguish well between the kind of threat that requires you to run from a predator and the kind that arrives in a certified envelope from a family court. Both activate the same biological alarm system and cost the same neurological resources. A high-conflict divorce with a covert narcissist isn’t just emotionally hard. It’s physiologically taxing in ways that compound over months and years.
What I see in clients going through this is a specific cluster: the hypervigilance that makes it hard to sleep before any legal deadline or hearing, the crash that comes after each filing or court date, the way ordinary tasks feel unreasonably heavy when the process is in an active phase. Some of my clients describe a kind of chronic bracing. They can never quite fully relax because the next document, the next court date, the next attempt to unsettle them could come at any time.
Jennifer Freyd, PhD, whose work on betrayal trauma we discussed earlier, has written about how the chronic nature of institutional betrayal compounds the original relational injury. When the court process treats your account of abuse as less credible than his account of your instability, that’s not just frustrating. It’s a second injury. Understanding that response as rational, as your body correctly registering that something is wrong, rather than as evidence that you can’t handle the process, matters clinically and personally.
There’s also the cognitive load of performing competence at work, with your children, in depositions, while your internal world is in upheaval. The driven women I work with often carry enormous shame about how destabilized they feel. “I run a department of forty people,” Aisha told me. “I shouldn’t be unable to open my mail.” But the brain doesn’t scale its stress response to professional achievement. The woman who manages a department of forty and the woman who has never run a meeting are physiologically equivalent when their safety is under threat.
Rest, food, movement, and co-regulation with safe people aren’t wellness additions to the divorce process. They’re strategic. A nervous system that’s chronically flooded makes worse legal decisions, reads threatening meaning into neutral events, and takes longer to recover from each escalation. Caring for your body is part of the strategy. If connecting with a therapist who specializes in this kind of recovery feels like too much right now, even a trusted friend who can witness your experience without trying to fix it is worth protecting.
Both/And: You Can Know This Is What He Does AND Still Need Support Processing Every Filing
One of the things I want to name explicitly, because I don’t see it said often enough: the divorce is the right thing to do. The process will also be used against you, possibly in ways you haven’t anticipated, because he knows how to perform victimhood in a room full of people who don’t know your private life. Both of these things are true.
You can be right and still need to be strategic. You can be strategic and still need to cry in the car. Knowing intellectually that DARVO is a documented pattern doesn’t insulate your nervous system from the experience of being DAVROed. Understanding that he’s going to file seventeen pages of distortion doesn’t make those seventeen pages easy to hold. The analysis and the grief coexist. The clarity and the devastation coexist. You don’t have to choose between being informed and being human about it.
What I see in clients who get through this with their sense of self intact is not that they stopped reacting. It’s that they built structures around their reactions that kept them from becoming the evidence. They cried in the car. They raged to their therapist. They kept their emotional processing out of the legal arena. Not because their emotions were wrong, but because the legal arena was already stacked against them, and giving him material to use was something they could prevent.
There’s a secondary vignette that matters here. Mira, 44, was eight months into her divorce when she found out her husband had been forwarding her emails to his attorney. Including the ones she sent to mutual friends describing how she was holding up. She’d been honest in those emails, the way you’re honest with friends. He used her honesty as evidence of her “fragility.” The lesson isn’t “stop being honest.” The lesson is: the private and the legal are not separate arenas during a divorce with a covert narcissist. What you say to anyone who might be friendly to him, in any format, can become a document. That’s not paranoia. It’s the landscape.
If the weight of this feels like too much to carry alone, it is too much to carry alone. Working with a therapist who understands covert narcissistic abuse isn’t about being broken. It’s about being appropriately supported for a process that is, by design, wearing.
The Systemic Lens: Why Family Court Wasn’t Designed to Recognize Covert Abuse
Family court was designed to adjudicate disputed facts between two parties with roughly equivalent credibility. It was built on an assumption of discernible events: property, finances, the visible behavior of children. These are things a neutral third party can evaluate by hearing competing accounts and applying legal standards. It was not designed for a relationship where the central harm is ambient, private, undocumented, and deniable by design.
Covert narcissistic abuse is specifically structured to leave no paper trail. That’s not incidental to the pattern; it’s intrinsic to it. The devaluation happens in private conversations. The gaslighting is verbal. The subtle undermining unfolds over years in small erosions that feel unremarkable in isolation. You weren’t documenting it during the marriage because you didn’t have language for it, or because you believed him when he said you were misremembering, or because documenting your own marriage felt paranoid. Now you’re in a legal arena where documented evidence is the currency, and he arrives with seventeen pages of yours.
Joan Meier’s research on family court outcomes is worth sitting with here. Her findings aren’t just disturbing; they’re clarifying. Courts respond to what’s legible within their frameworks. A calm, sympathetic man who can produce documentation is legible. A woman who is reactive, fragile after years of abuse, and has “no evidence” of covert harm is not legible in the same way. The structural disadvantage isn’t a matter of individual judges being bad people. It’s a systemic failure to account for abuse patterns that don’t fit the visible-harm model the courts were built around.
“Until we can understand the assumptions in which we are drenched we cannot know ourselves.”
ADRIENNE RICH, On Lies, Secrets, and Silence
Adrienne Rich’s words name something essential about what covert abuse does to perception, and they’re equally apt for what family court systems do. The assumptions built into our legal institutions about what abuse looks like, what credibility looks like, what a “reasonable” mother looks like during a contested divorce: these assumptions aren’t neutral. They were formed in a particular cultural and historical context that systematically undervalued women’s testimony and ignored non-physical forms of harm.
Naming this as a systemic problem is important precisely because it protects you from internalizing it as a personal one. If the court process treats you as less credible than you are, that’s not evidence that you’re not credible. If the judge is more responsive to his calm presentation than to your documented emotional distress, that’s not evidence that you’re the difficult party. It’s evidence that you’re operating inside a system with built-in constraints. The work of understanding and repairing what this kind of relationship has done to your psychological foundations happens in parallel with, but entirely separate from, the legal process. The court can’t give you that restoration. It can only settle the legal terms of your separation.
Advocates like Lundy Bancroft, Joan Meier, and Jennifer Freyd have spent careers trying to change these systemic assumptions. Progress is slow but real. You don’t have time to wait for systemic change. You need to work strategically within the system as it currently exists, while understanding its limitations clearly enough that those limitations don’t become further evidence of your own inadequacy.
What the First Year Post-Divorce Looks Like. And Why It Gets Better Differently Than You Expect
Most of my clients expect that the moment the divorce is finalized, something lifts. The legal battle ends; the abuse ends with it. That’s not quite how it works, especially when there are children and the co-parenting relationship keeps you in contact with him. But even without children, the first year after finalizing a divorce from a covert narcissist has a particular texture that’s worth preparing for.
The first thing most people notice is exhaustion that goes deeper than they anticipated. The divorce process itself, with its constant demands on alertness and emotional regulation and strategic thinking, has been running in the background of your life for months or years. When it ends, the nervous system doesn’t immediately know that the threat has passed. You may find yourself still bracing, still hypervigilant, still checking your phone for the next document or filing. That protective response takes time to recalibrate. It’s not a sign that something went wrong. It’s the predictable aftermath of sustained threat exposure.
The second thing, and this one catches people off guard, is grief. Not for him, necessarily, though that’s real too. Grief for the marriage you thought you were in. Grief for the years spent trying to make something work that couldn’t work, for reasons you’re only now fully understanding. Grief for the version of yourself that existed before the relationship, or the version of yourself you were becoming when you met him, before things shifted. This grief is not a mistake. It’s appropriate. It deserves to be witnessed, not rushed.
The third thing is slowly, unevenly, returning to yourself. Clients describe it in different ways. “I started having opinions again,” one woman told me. “I realized I’d been performing my preferences for years.” Another said, “The first time I made a decision and didn’t immediately wonder what he’d think about it, I cried.” Recovery from covert narcissistic abuse doesn’t move in a straight line, and it doesn’t happen on a schedule, but it does happen. The Strong & Stable newsletter is one of the places I think through this ongoing work, the week-by-week experience of rebuilding a self that was quietly dismantled over years.
Co-parenting with a covert narcissist after divorce is its own extended chapter, and we address it briefly in the FAQ below. The short version: parallel parenting rather than co-parenting is often the more realistic goal. That means minimizing direct communication, using apps like OurFamilyWizard or TalkingParents that create documented records, and resisting the pull to engage with him on anything beyond logistics. He will create opportunities for continued conflict. You don’t have to take them.
What I want to leave you with is this: the clarity you’re building about what happened to you is not just therapeutic. The language you’re finding, the understanding you’re developing about the patterns involved. That clarity is also protective. The woman who leaves a covert narcissistic marriage understanding what she was up against is harder to recruit into another one. The woman who understands her own vulnerabilities, the places her early relational history made her susceptible to this kind of relationship, is building something that outlasts the divorce. If that deeper work interests you, Fixing the Foundations™ is the most direct path into it that I offer. And if you’re ready to work one-on-one, reaching out for a consultation is the place to start.
Renée eventually stopped checking the header to confirm it was her name. Not because the document became less harmful, but because she stopped needing the document to tell her who she was. That’s the work. It takes longer than the divorce. It’s worth every month of it.
Q: What happens when a covert narcissist is taken to court for divorce?
A: Covert narcissists typically perform extremely well in legal settings. They’re calm, sympathetic, and well-prepared. Often more prepared than you’d expect. Because image management is a core feature of the covert narcissistic pattern, not an occasional behavior. Expect him to present as the long-suffering, reasonable spouse who tried everything to save the marriage. Expect detailed documentation of your emotional reactions and his measured responses. Expect DARVO: he’ll deny, attack your credibility, and position himself as the true victim of the relationship. He may also weaponize the children by raising parental alienation claims, particularly if you’ve attempted to limit his access due to concerns about his behavior. None of this reflects the truth of what happened between you. It reflects his understanding that legal proceedings are won on optics, and he’s been managing optics for years.
Q: How do I document covert abuse for a divorce proceeding?
A: Start immediately and be consistent. Keep a private, dated journal. Digital or handwritten. Stored somewhere he can’t access. Record specific incidents: what was said, in what context, what his tone was, what the aftermath felt like, any witnesses. Screenshot and save text messages, emails, voicemails. Note any incidents involving the children. If he’s made financial decisions that seem designed to harm you (hidden accounts, sudden debt, changing beneficiaries), document those separately and consider a forensic accountant. The challenge with covert abuse is that each incident often seems small in isolation; the pattern becomes clear across time. Date-specific records are far more useful in court than general descriptions. If a therapist you saw during the marriage took notes, those may be relevant depending on your jurisdiction. Discuss with your attorney.
Q: What does DARVO mean and how does it appear in divorce?
A: DARVO stands for Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender. A pattern identified by Jennifer Freyd, PhD, to describe how abusers respond to accountability. In divorce, it typically looks like this: he denies the abuse you describe ever happened; attacks your credibility by presenting you as unstable, reactive, or vindictive; and then repositions himself as the real victim of the marriage. Someone who endured your difficult behavior for years while trying to make things work. In legal filings, this can look like a detailed account of your emotional outbursts alongside documentation of his calm responses. In court hearings, it can look like a composed, believable man sitting across from a woman who is visibly distressed. Recognizing DARVO as a deliberate tactic doesn’t make you immune to it. But it does allow you and your attorney to name it strategically rather than spending your energy simply reacting to it.
Q: How do I co-parent with a covert narcissist after divorce?
A: The most important reframe is this: “co-parenting” implies collaboration, and collaboration requires two people who can prioritize their children’s needs over their own impulses toward control. With a covert narcissist, that’s typically not achievable. Parallel parenting is a more realistic goal. Two parents operating largely independently, with minimal direct communication, clear and detailed parenting agreements, and documented channels. Communication apps like OurFamilyWizard or TalkingParents are worth the cost: they create a documented record of every exchange, which matters if things escalate. Keep communications brief, factual, and child-focused. Don’t respond to bait. Don’t explain yourself or defend yourself in messages. Anything you write can become a document in future proceedings. Work with your therapist on the emotional labor of disengaging from dynamics that feel familiar and almost magnetic. Your children’s wellbeing depends on your ability to maintain your own regulation in this relationship. Not on fixing or managing him.
Q: What should I look for in a divorce attorney when there’s narcissistic abuse involved?
A: First: find someone who doesn’t flinch at the word “narcissism” or dismiss it as pop psychology. Attorneys who haven’t worked with abuse survivors sometimes operate on an assumption that if there are no police reports and no physical injuries, the marriage was simply “high-conflict” rather than abusive. And that framing leaves you at a disadvantage. You want an attorney who has represented survivors of covert and emotional abuse specifically, understands DARVO as a legal tactic, takes documentation seriously from the initial consultation, and is prepared for a potentially lengthy and expensive process. Ask directly: “Have you worked with cases involving covert or emotional abuse where there’s no physical evidence?” Their answer will tell you a great deal. It’s also worth asking whether they’ve worked with forensic accountants and whether they have relationships with therapists who specialize in abuse dynamics, since the legal and psychological strategy need to be coordinated.
Related Reading
Freyd, Jennifer J. Betrayal Trauma: The Logic of Forgetting Childhood Abuse. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996.
Bancroft, Lundy. Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men. New York: Berkley Books, 2002.
Bancroft, Lundy, and Jay G. Silverman. The Batterer as Parent: Addressing the Impact of Domestic Violence on Family Dynamics. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2002.
Meier, Joan S. “U.S. Child Custody Outcomes in Cases Involving Parental Alienation and Abuse Allegations: What Do the Data Show?” Journal of Social Welfare and Family Law 42, no. 1 (2020): 92, 105.
Rich, Adrienne. On Lies, Secrets, and Silence: Selected Prose 1966, 1978. New York: W. W. Norton, 1979.
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Annie Wright, LMFT
LMFT · Relational Trauma Specialist · W.W. Norton Author
Helping ambitious 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, ambitious 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 Forbes, Business Insider, Inc., NBC, and The Information. She is currently writing her first book with W.W. Norton.
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Regular contributor to Psychology Today. Expert commentary has appeared in Forbes, Business Insider, Inc., NBC, and The Information.
