EMDR and Somatic Therapy for Sociopathic Abuse Recovery: A Therapist’s Guide

MENTAL HEALTH & WELLNESS • April 6, 2026

Why Talk Therapy Alone Often Isn’t Enough

She had read every book. She had been in weekly therapy for two years. She could articulate, with remarkable precision, exactly what had happened to her — the love bombing, the intermittent reinforcement, the coercive control, the systematic dismantling of her sense of reality. She understood it. She had a framework for it. And she still couldn’t be in a room with a man who raised his voice without her heart rate spiking and her mind going blank.

Miriam was a 44-year-old hospital administrator in Tampa — the kind of woman who ran a department of sixty people with cool precision, who had navigated two hospital system mergers and never lost her composure. She had spent eleven years with Marcus, a financial consultant who had seemed, in the beginning, to be the most attentive man she had ever met. She now understood, two years out of that relationship, that what she had experienced was systematic sociopathic manipulation: the gaslighting that made her doubt her memory, the financial abuse conducted in plain sight, and — worst of all — the way Marcus had known, with uncanny precision, exactly which of her insecurities to press. She had eventually recognized the signs of a sociopath she had missed for years.

“My therapist is wonderful,” she told me. “I’ve learned so much. But I feel like I’ve hit a ceiling. Like there’s a layer underneath the understanding that the talking isn’t reaching.”

Miriam was right. There is a layer underneath the understanding that talk therapy, on its own, often does not reach. It is the layer where the trauma lives in the body — in the nervous system, in the somatic memory, in the automatic responses that were shaped by years of sustained psychological threat. Reaching that layer requires modalities that work directly with the body — and the evidence base for several of those modalities is now substantial enough to be taken seriously.

This experience — the gap between intellectual understanding and somatic relief — is one of the defining features of recovery from C-PTSD after a sociopathic relationship. It is also, I want to be clear, not a sign that something is wrong with you or with your therapy. It is a signal about the nature of trauma itself — and about which tools are actually suited to the terrain.

Talk therapy — specifically cognitive-behavioral approaches — works primarily through the prefrontal cortex: the brain’s executive function center, which is responsible for reasoning, planning, and narrative construction. Talk therapy helps you understand what happened, construct a coherent narrative about it, and develop cognitive strategies for managing its impact. This is genuinely valuable — and it is not sufficient for trauma recovery.

The reason is neurological. Traumatic memories are not stored primarily in the prefrontal cortex. They are stored in the amygdala and the body’s somatic memory systems — in the form of sensory impressions, emotional responses, and physiological reactions that are not primarily linguistic. When a trauma response is activated — when Miriam’s heart rate spikes at a raised voice — the prefrontal cortex is often offline. The response is subcortical, automatic, and not responsive to the cognitive strategies that talk therapy provides.

The Clinical Framework: AIP, Polyvagal Theory, and Somatic Memory

To understand why body-based therapies work where talk alone does not, it helps to understand three converging frameworks that together explain how complex trauma rewires the nervous system: Shapiro’s Adaptive Information Processing model, Levine’s somatic experiencing model, and Stephen Porges’ polyvagal theory.

Shapiro’s Adaptive Information Processing (AIP) Model. Francine Shapiro’s foundational insight — the theoretical basis for EMDR — is that the human brain has a natural information processing system designed to metabolize difficult experiences and integrate them into the broader memory network. Under ordinary circumstances, a disturbing event is processed during sleep — particularly during the rapid eye movement (REM) phase — and gradually loses its emotional charge. It is remembered, but it does not hijack the nervous system when recalled.

Trauma overwhelms this system. When an experience is too threatening, too sustained, or too complex for the natural processing system to handle, it is stored in an unprocessed form — with its original emotional intensity, its sensory details, and its associated beliefs about self intact. This is why a client like Miriam can remember the events of her relationship without being overwhelmed in the consulting room, but is flooded when a raised voice triggers the somatic memory of a specific moment of threat. The memory is not processed — it is encapsulated, vivid, and present-tense in the nervous system.

EMDR works by reactivating the natural information processing system — through bilateral stimulation that mimics the mechanism of REM sleep — and allowing the encapsulated memory to be metabolized and integrated. When processing is complete, the memory is still accessible, but it no longer has the same charge. It is past-tense rather than present-tense in the nervous system.

Levine’s Somatic Model. Peter Levine’s contribution — developed through decades of studying trauma responses in both animals and humans — is the observation that trauma is not primarily a psychological event. It is a biological one. When a person encounters a threat, the autonomic nervous system mobilizes a survival response: fight or flight, or — when escape is impossible — freeze. This mobilization produces a massive discharge of stress hormones, a surge of physiological activation, and a preparation for action that is meant to be temporary.

In animals, this cycle completes naturally through physical movement — the deer that escapes the predator shakes and trembles as the stress hormones discharge. In humans, particularly in the context of relational trauma where the threat is chronic and the escape routes are blocked — by trauma bonding, by financial entanglement, by fear — the discharge is suppressed. The body remains in a state of incomplete activation: held tension, chronic hypervigilance, and the dysregulation that shows up as the physical symptoms of narcissistic abuse that many survivors experience — disrupted sleep, gastrointestinal disturbance, chronic pain, and immune dysfunction.

Polyvagal Theory in Practice. Stephen Porges’ polyvagal theory has transformed trauma treatment by explaining, at a neurobiological level, why survivors of chronic relational abuse so often feel simultaneously disconnected from others and hypervigilant to threat. The vagus nerve — the body’s primary parasympathetic pathway — has two branches that produce dramatically different responses to perceived threat.

The dorsal vagal branch, evolutionarily older, produces the freeze or collapse response: the dissociation, the emotional numbness, the going-through-the-motions quality that many survivors of sustained abuse describe. The ventral vagal branch, newer and uniquely mammalian, supports social engagement, co-regulation, and the felt sense of safety. What polyvagal theory tells us is that survivors of sociopathic abuse — who lived for months or years in an environment of chronic threat — have a nervous system that has recalibrated its baseline. Safety does not feel safe. Connection feels dangerous. Stillness feels like the calm before the next storm.

This is not a psychological problem. It is a physiological one — and it requires physiological solutions. Body-based therapies, when delivered skillfully, directly address this recalibration by creating repeated experiences of regulated safety within the therapeutic relationship, gradually expanding the nervous system’s capacity to tolerate both activation and stillness without tipping into crisis.

What EMDR Is and How It Works — Including What to Expect in Sessions

EMDR is an eight-phase treatment protocol that works with traumatic memories directly — not by talking about them in the usual sense, but by activating them in a controlled way while simultaneously engaging the bilateral stimulation that facilitates their reprocessing.

The eight phases include: history taking and treatment planning; preparation (establishing safety and coping resources); assessment (identifying the specific memory to be processed and its associated cognitions, emotions, and body sensations); desensitization (the active reprocessing phase, in which the memory is held in awareness while bilateral stimulation is applied); installation (strengthening the positive cognition that replaces the negative one); body scan (checking for residual somatic disturbance); closure (returning to equilibrium); and re-evaluation (assessing progress at the next session).

What to expect in your first EMDR sessions. Many clients arrive for their first EMDR sessions expecting immediate processing — and are sometimes surprised to discover that several sessions may pass before any active trauma work begins. This is by design, and it matters.

The preparation phase typically involves developing what EMDR clinicians call “resources” — internal experiences of safety, calm, or strength that can be accessed during and after processing to prevent flooding. A common resource is the “safe place” installation: your therapist guides you to imagine a place — real or imagined — where you feel completely safe, and then anchors that felt sense of safety through bilateral stimulation. The resource becomes available to activate if processing becomes overwhelming.

You will also practice the bilateral stimulation itself — typically eye movements following the therapist’s fingers or a light bar, or tapping on your knees or shoulders in an alternating pattern. This bilateral component may feel strange or even anticlimactic at first. That is normal. The mechanism does not require that it feel dramatic to be effective.

When active processing begins, your therapist will ask you to hold a specific memory — not retell it in detail, but notice it: the image that represents the worst part, the negative belief about yourself that came with it (“I am stupid,” “I am powerless,” “I should have known”), the emotion, and where you feel it in your body. The bilateral stimulation begins, and your therapist invites you to “just notice” what arises — without directing it, without analyzing it. Sessions typically move in sets of bilateral stimulation followed by brief check-ins. Material arises, shifts, and often moves in ways that surprise clients.

What many EMDR clients find is that the emotional charge associated with a specific memory decreases noticeably within a single session — and that new insights, connections, and perspectives arise spontaneously during processing, without being constructed through deliberate cognitive work. This is not magic. It is the brain’s information processing system doing what it is designed to do, with a little help getting started.

For survivors of sociopathic abuse, active processing sessions may bring up layered material: the specific incidents of acute threat, but also the more diffuse, pervasive injuries of sustained devaluation, gaslighting, and the grief of a relationship that was never real. A skilled therapist will help you titrate this — moving into difficult material and then back to resource states — so that sessions are productive without being destabilizing.

EMDR for Sociopathic Abuse: What the Research Shows

For survivors of sociopathic abuse, EMDR is particularly well-suited to addressing several specific features of the trauma: the intrusive memories and flashbacks that characterize PTSD and CPTSD; the somatic triggers — the physiological responses to environmental cues that are associated with the trauma; the negative core beliefs about self that were installed by years of systematic devaluation; and the attachment trauma that underlies the trauma bond.

EMDR for complex trauma — including the relational trauma of sociopathic abuse — typically requires a modified approach that prioritizes stabilization and resource development before moving into active trauma processing. The standard EMDR protocol was developed for single-incident trauma — and the complex, relational, developmental nature of sociopathic abuse requires adaptation. A skilled EMDR therapist will understand this and will not rush into processing before the foundation is stable.

The research base for EMDR in complex and relational trauma has expanded substantially in the past decade. Studies have demonstrated meaningful reductions in PTSD symptom severity, reductions in depression and anxiety comorbid with PTSD, and improvements in overall functioning — with effect sizes that compare favorably with other evidence-based treatments. The World Health Organization’s 2013 guidelines for trauma treatment included EMDR as one of only two recommended first-line treatments (alongside trauma-focused CBT) for PTSD in adults.

For survivors of relational trauma specifically, the AIP model’s focus on the negative cognitions installed by the trauma — “I am worthless,” “I cannot trust my own judgment,” “I am responsible for what happened” — is particularly relevant. These are often the beliefs that undermine self-worth most persistently, and they are precisely what EMDR’s installation phase targets directly.

Somatic Experiencing: Working with the Body’s Incomplete Stress Cycles

Somatic experiencing (SE), developed by Peter Levine, is a body-based trauma therapy that works with the body’s incomplete stress response cycles — the physiological processes that were mobilized in response to threat and that were never completed.

Levine’s foundational observation — drawn from studying animals in the wild — is that animals who survive life-threatening experiences discharge the stress response through physical movement: shaking, trembling, running, or other forms of motor activity that complete the fight-or-flight cycle. Humans, by contrast, often suppress this discharge — through social conditioning, through the need to maintain function, through the freeze response that characterizes many trauma experiences. The suppressed discharge remains in the body as chronic tension, hyperarousal, or dissociation — and it is this residue that SE works to complete.

In practice, SE involves tracking body sensations with the therapist’s guidance — noticing where tension is held, where energy is blocked, where the body wants to move but has been prevented from doing so. The therapist works slowly and carefully, titrating the activation to avoid overwhelming the nervous system, and facilitating the gradual completion of the stress response cycles that have been held in the body.

For survivors of sociopathic abuse, SE often addresses the specific somatic residue of the freeze response — the collapse, the going-numb, the dissociation that many clients experienced during the most frightening moments of the relationship. If you have ever wondered why you didn’t leave, why you didn’t fight back, why you froze — the answer is polyvagal. Your nervous system did what nervous systems do under conditions of inescapable threat. SE helps complete the response that the threat cut short.

SE also attends to what Levine calls the “felt sense” — the body’s holistic, pre-verbal experience of a situation. Many survivors of sustained relational trauma have become significantly disconnected from their felt sense — partly through the dissociation that the abuse produced, and partly through years of having their perceptions invalidated. Reconnecting to the felt sense is not simply a therapeutic exercise; it is a form of reclaiming your reality after being systematically taught to distrust it. It also becomes the foundation for the somatic intelligence that will help you recognize threat earlier in future relationships — the gut-level signal that something is wrong, restored and legible again.

Internal Family Systems (IFS): Healing the Fragmented Self

Internal Family Systems (IFS), developed by Richard Schwartz, is a model of psychotherapy that understands the psyche as a system of distinct “parts” — each with its own perspective, its own history, and its own role in the system’s functioning. IFS is particularly well-suited to the specific features of sociopathic abuse recovery.

The core IFS insight relevant to sociopathic abuse recovery is the concept of exiles — parts of the self that carry the pain, shame, and vulnerability of traumatic experiences, and that have been banished from conscious awareness by protective parts that developed to prevent the pain from being felt. In survivors of sociopathic relationships, the exiles often carry the specific wounds of the relationship: the shame of having been deceived, the grief of the relationship that never existed, the terror of the moments of acute threat, and the fundamental wound to the sense of self that years of systematic devaluation produced. You might recognize this in the way certain questions — “How didn’t I see it?” “What does it say about me that I stayed?” — carry a disproportionate charge. That charge is an exile, pressed against the door.

IFS also names the protective parts that develop in response to relational trauma — the managers who keep the exiles locked away through overwork, perfectionism, hypervigilance, or emotional distance; and the firefighters who activate in emergencies, through dissociation, self-numbing, or impulsive behavior. Driven, high-functioning women who have survived sociopathic abuse are often running on protective parts — on the manager who says, “If I work hard enough, produce enough, achieve enough, I will be safe.” Understanding that this is a protective strategy — not your personality — is itself a meaningful step in the healing process.

IFS works by developing a relationship between the client’s Self — the core, undamaged center of the person that IFS holds is always present and always intact — and the various parts that have been protecting the exiles. The goal is not to eliminate the protective parts but to help them trust that the Self can now handle what they have been protecting against — and to allow the exiles to be witnessed, validated, and healed. This process is often described by clients as the first time they have felt genuinely kind toward themselves, rather than merely managing themselves.

The Both/And Lens: Readiness, Safety, and the Limits of Any Modality

I want to say something important here — something that gets lost in the excitement about effective trauma modalities, and something that I have seen cause harm when it is not said clearly enough.

EMDR works. Somatic experiencing works. IFS works. The research is genuine, the clinical results are real, and these modalities have changed lives — including the lives of clients I have had the privilege of working with. And — not but — they require readiness and safety as prerequisites. They are not rescue operations. They are not shortcuts. And they are not appropriate for every survivor at every stage of recovery.

The “both/and” lens I apply to all of my clinical work on relational trauma means holding two things simultaneously: these tools genuinely help, AND they require careful preparation, skilled delivery, and — critically — a stable enough present-day life to metabolize the work. Active trauma processing is destabilizing by design: you are, in a controlled way, bringing difficult material into contact with the nervous system. If that nervous system is simultaneously managing ongoing threat — an active legal battle with a sociopathic ex in divorce proceedings, ongoing co-parenting conflict, or a living situation that remains unsafe — processing is likely to re-traumatize rather than heal.

This is also the moment to address what the “both/and” lens means for how we think about the people who caused the harm. I want to be direct: I do not demonize people with Antisocial Personality Disorder, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, or Borderline Personality Disorder. The neuroscience and developmental literature on these presentations is complex, and the people who carry these diagnoses are whole human beings whose development was typically shaped by their own early wounds. And — not but — the behavior that characterizes these presentations can cause profound, lasting harm to the people who are in relationship with them. Holding both of these things is not weakness or naivety. It is clinical accuracy. Your healing does not require you to hate the person who hurt you. It requires you to see clearly what happened — and to build your life accordingly.

Readiness for trauma processing is a clinical assessment, not a moral judgment. A skilled therapist will work with you to evaluate your current stability, your support system, your window of tolerance, and your capacity to manage between sessions before moving into active processing. If a therapist is not having this conversation with you — if they move immediately into trauma material without establishing this foundation — that is information about their training and their approach, and it is appropriate to raise it directly.

If you are not yet ready for active EMDR or somatic processing, that is not a failure. It is information — and it points you toward the preparatory work that will make the deeper work possible. Establishing physical and psychological safety, rebuilding a support network, developing basic nervous system regulation skills — this is the foundation, and it is not less important than the processing work. It is the work.

Practical Recovery: Grounding Exercises and Window of Tolerance Work

Whether you are in the preparatory phase of trauma treatment or actively doing EMDR or SE work, there are evidence-informed practices you can cultivate outside of sessions that support recovery. These are not replacements for skilled trauma therapy — they are the between-session scaffolding that makes the in-session work possible.

Window of tolerance work. The window of tolerance — a concept developed by Daniel Siegel and central to most trauma-informed approaches — refers to the zone of nervous system activation in which you can function effectively: aroused enough to be present and engaged, calm enough to think clearly. Below the window is hypoarousal: numbness, shutdown, dissociation, flatness. Above it is hyperarousal: panic, flooding, hypervigilance, reactivity. Much of trauma recovery involves gradually expanding this window — so that you can tolerate a wider range of activation without tipping into crisis in either direction.

Practical window of tolerance work includes learning to recognize your own arousal states — to identify, in real time, whether you are moving toward hyper- or hypoarousal — and developing a personal toolkit of regulation strategies for each direction. For hyperarousal, this typically involves downregulating practices: slow exhalations (the exhale activates the parasympathetic nervous system), cold water on the face or wrists, grounding through the five senses, or bilateral stimulation (tapping alternately on knees or crossing the arms and tapping the shoulders). For hypoarousal, activating practices: movement, rhythmic exercise, cold water, or mild physical challenge that brings the nervous system back online without overwhelming it.

The 5-4-3-2-1 grounding exercise. One of the simplest and most reliable tools for interrupting a trauma response — particularly hyperarousal or early dissociation — is the 5-4-3-2-1 sensory grounding technique. When you notice a triggered response beginning, pause and identify: five things you can see, four things you can touch (and actually feel the texture of), three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. The purpose is to orient the nervous system to the present moment — to the evidence, processed through the senses, that you are here, not there; now, not then. This is a ventral vagal intervention: it works by activating the sensory channels that signal safety to the nervous system.

Orienting practice. Borrowing from somatic experiencing, orienting is a deliberate, slow scanning of the immediate environment — turning the head slowly, taking in what is actually present in the room, allowing the eyes to rest on neutral or pleasant objects. Animals orient spontaneously after a threat has passed, as part of the completion of the stress cycle. Practicing conscious orienting regularly — particularly after a triggering event — helps train the nervous system to register safety when it is actually present, rather than continuing to scan for threat that is no longer there.

Pendulation. Another SE-derived practice, pendulation involves deliberately moving attention between a difficult somatic experience and a resource — a neutral or pleasant sensation in the body, an area that feels relatively calm or comfortable. The purpose is to demonstrate to the nervous system that it can move toward difficulty and return to safety — that activation is not permanent, that the wave breaks. Over time, this increases the nervous system’s tolerance for difficult material and reduces the all-or-nothing quality of trauma responses.

Journaling prompts for somatic recovery. These prompts are designed to build the somatic awareness and self-compassion that support trauma processing. Use them slowly, with attention to what arises in the body as you write:

• Where do I carry this relationship in my body? What does that place feel like right now?
• What does safety feel like — in my body, not in my mind? Where do I notice it?
• What does my nervous system need today that it didn’t get enough of during those years?
• If the part of me that froze could speak, what would it want me to know?
• What has my body learned to protect me from — and is that protection still serving me?

These questions can feel disorienting at first, particularly if you have spent years being praised for your cognitive precision and have learned to lead with analysis rather than sensation. That is not a deficit. It is simply where you are starting from — and somatic recovery, by definition, meets you there.

If you are wondering whether what you are experiencing rises to the level of emotional flashbacks, or whether the rumination loops that characterize the post-abuse period are a symptom or a personality trait, these are exactly the questions to bring to a trauma-informed therapist. They are also questions this body of work is designed to help you navigate.

How to Choose the Right Modality for You

The three modalities described above — EMDR, somatic experiencing, and IFS — are not mutually exclusive. Many skilled trauma therapists integrate elements of all three, adapting their approach to the specific needs of the individual client. But if you are choosing where to start, the following general guidance may be useful.

EMDR is particularly well-suited for: specific traumatic memories that remain intrusive and emotionally charged; specific triggers that produce disproportionate physiological responses; and negative core beliefs about self that feel stuck despite cognitive work. It requires a degree of window of tolerance — the capacity to hold the traumatic material in awareness without being overwhelmed — that may need to be developed before active processing begins. If you are dealing with persistent betrayal trauma or the kind of identity-level wounding that follows systematic devaluation, EMDR’s installation phase — which targets and replaces the negative core beliefs directly — is one of the most powerful interventions available. Also consider how EMDR works for relational trauma recovery more broadly.

Somatic experiencing is particularly well-suited for: the somatic symptoms of the post-abuse nervous system; the chronic hypervigilance and tension; and the freeze response that many survivors experience. It is a gentler approach than EMDR in some respects — working more indirectly with traumatic content — and may be a better starting point for those who find direct trauma processing overwhelming. If you recognize yourself in the description of somatic symptoms after prolonged stress, SE may offer particular relief.

IFS is particularly well-suited for: the identity fragmentation and self-doubt that characterize recovery from sociopathic abuse; the specific shame and self-blame that many survivors carry; and the internal conflict between the part that wants to heal and the part that is still protecting against the pain. It can be used as a standalone approach or in combination with EMDR or SE. If you find yourself thinking “am I the narcissist?” or questioning whether you somehow caused what happened, IFS’s non-pathologizing framework can be particularly clarifying.

A note on integration: the most skilled trauma therapists I know do not think in terms of single modalities. They think in terms of what a particular client’s nervous system needs, at this moment, in this session — and they move fluidly between body-based and relational interventions. If you are evaluating prospective therapists, asking how they integrate different approaches and how they think about pacing is often more revealing than asking whether they are “certified” in any single modality.

What to Look for in a Trauma Therapist

Finding the right therapist for sociopathic abuse recovery is one of the most important decisions in the process — and it is worth being specific about what to look for.

First: specific training in trauma. Not all therapists are trauma therapists. Look for a therapist who has specific training in at least one of the evidence-based trauma modalities described above — EMDR certification, SE training, or IFS Level 1 or above. General therapy training is not sufficient for the complexity of sociopathic abuse recovery. If you are a physician, attorney, or executive — someone whose professional identity has been shaped by precision and expertise — you may find it particularly helpful to work with a therapist who understands your professional context as well as your trauma history.

Second: familiarity with personality disorders and coercive control. A therapist who does not understand ASPD, psychopathy, or the specific dynamics of coercive control may inadvertently reinforce the self-blame and confusion that the abuse produced — by treating the relationship as a mutual dynamic rather than a targeted harm. Ask prospective therapists directly about their experience with sociopathic abuse and coercive control. Their answer will tell you a great deal about whether they are the right fit.

Third: a therapist who does not rush. The stabilization phase of trauma treatment — building safety, developing coping resources, establishing the therapeutic relationship — is not a preamble to the real work. It is the real work. A therapist who moves too quickly into active trauma processing before the foundation is stable can destabilize rather than heal. Trust your instincts about pace. And if you are rebuilding trust in your own judgment after years of having it systematically undermined, know that this instinct — the felt sense that something is moving too fast — is worth honoring.

Fourth: a therapist who can hold the complexity. Recovery from sociopathic abuse is not a linear process, and it is not a simple one. You may need to grieve a relationship that was also genuinely harmful. You may find yourself missing the person who hurt you — which is not a sign of weakness or pathology; it is a feature of trauma bonding and attachment, and it deserves to be held with care rather than dismissed. The right therapist will not rush you past the complexity. They will sit with you in it.

Miriam, eighteen months after starting EMDR, described what had changed: “The raised voice thing — it still registers. But it doesn’t take me out anymore. I can notice it, name it, and stay present. That’s not nothing. That’s actually everything.” She had also, she noted, started dating again — cautiously, intentionally, with a much clearer sense of what her body was telling her and a new willingness to listen to it. That is what recovery looks like: not the absence of response, but the return of choice.

About the Author

Annie Wright

LMFT  ·  Relational Trauma Specialist  ·  W.W. Norton Author

Helping ambitious women finally feel as good as their résumé looks.

As a licensed psychotherapist, trauma-informed executive coach, and relational trauma specialist with over 15,000 clinical hours, she guides 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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