Late-stage founders often face a unique loneliness that stems from running a successful company with fewer peers who truly understand their experience. This silence can feel isolating as they grapple with the emotional challenges of sustaining success and redefining purpose beyond growth. Annie Wright offers insight into this specific wound, helping founders recognize and address the emotional complexities tied to their leadership journey.
- Camille Is Alone in a Fourteen-Person Boardroom
- Why Late-Stage Founder Loneliness Is a Different Animal From CEO Loneliness at Series A
- The “Won the Game” Phenomenon — When Success Removes the Last Confidants You Had
- The Three Specific Patterns — The Banker Drift, the Family Distance, and the Old-Founder-Friend Asymmetry
- What Happens in the Body When You Stop Being Able to Tell Anyone Anything Real
- Both/And: You Have Won AND You Have Lost the Architecture That Held You
- The Architecture of Witnessed Lateness — How Founders Build Confidants at the Top
- The Late-Stage Founders Who Did Not Become Strangers to Themselves — What They Did
- Frequently Asked Questions
Camille Is Alone in a Fourteen-Person Boardroom
It’s Thursday, 4:22 p.m., and the bankers have just left the midtown Manhattan boardroom after a 90-minute session about S-1 timing. The lingering scent of cedar and lime cologne from the youngest banker hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the city beyond the glass walls. At the long table meant for fourteen, only Camille remains, the surface wiped clean except for a half-full bottle of Pellegrino wrapped with a black napkin tied neatly around its neck—the napkin’s shade an exact match to the dress she’s wearing. Her phone, face down, vibrates softly with 47 unread messages; the most recent notification is from her twelve-year-old daughter, sent 41 minutes ago: “Mom can you pick me up I have a stomach ache.” The thought crosses Camille’s mind: I am about to take a company public. I cannot remember the last time I was in a room with a person who is not transacting with me. My daughter is the only person who texts me without a deliverable. She has a stomach ache. I should call her.
In that quiet moment, the boardroom feels less like a command center and more like a container emptied of connection. The conversations that filled the room just an hour ago revolved around metrics, deadlines, and legal compliance—each participant a stakeholder with expectations and agendas. Camille’s role as founder and CEO has evolved beyond the scrappy startup days; now at $58 million ARR and preparing for an IPO, the nature of her interactions has shifted, too. The people around her are partners in a transaction, not companions in a shared journey.
Her daughter’s text lingers in the space between the business world and her personal life, highlighting a fracture that many late-stage founders experience. Unlike earlier phases where the intensity of building demanded all-in focus but still allowed for moments of genuine interpersonal exchange, the late-stage founder often inhabits a singular axis of responsibility. The boardroom table, designed for fourteen voices, paradoxically amplifies the silence of authentic presence. Camille’s internal reckoning reveals a profound dissonance: success has brought visibility and validation, but it has also ushered in a specific kind of isolation, one not characterized by absence but by the transactional nature of every interaction.
This is a distinct experience from the loneliness that surfaces during early-stage struggles or Series A crunches. It’s a silence born not of scarcity but of surplus—surplus meetings, surplus advisors, surplus opinions—yet a scarcity of unguarded human connection. Camille’s moment alone is a threshold, a quiet before the public debut that will further redefine her relationship to the company, her board, and herself. The tension between the company’s external triumphs and the internal void is palpable.
Why Late-Stage Founder Loneliness Is a Different Animal From CEO Loneliness at Series A
The bankers have just left the midtown Manhattan boardroom, their footsteps fading down the hallway. The lingering scent of cedar and lime cologne from the youngest banker hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the city outside. Camille’s eyes rest on the half-full bottle of Pellegrino before her, its black napkin tied neatly around the neck—a shade matching the black of her dress. Her phone screen glows with 47 unread messages; the most recent, from her twelve-year-old daughter, arrived 41 minutes ago: “Mom can you pick me up I have a stomach ache.” Camille’s mind turns inward: “I am about to take a company public. I cannot remember the last time I was in a room with a person who is not transacting with me. My daughter is the only person who texts me without a deliverable. She has a stomach ache. I should call her.”
Late-stage founder loneliness unfolds in a terrain far removed from the raw intensity of CEO loneliness at Series A. Early-stage CEO loneliness often stems from the acute vulnerability of proving product-market fit, courting investors, and managing a skeleton crew where every relationship is steeped in survival urgency. At Series A, the founder’s identity is still tightly fused with the company’s nascent potential, and the loneliness often manifests as anxiety over proving worth and securing runway.
In contrast, late-stage founder loneliness is shaped by the paradox of success itself. Camille’s company, now at $58 million ARR and on the cusp of an IPO, occupies a rarified space where external validation is abundant but genuine emotional connection is scarce. The boardroom, once a place of collaborative strategy, becomes a transactional arena where every interaction is measured, guarded, and filtered through fiduciary duty and optics. This environment breeds a unique isolation—one marked not by the absence of people but by the absence of real presence.
Moreover, the emotional architecture that supported Camille during earlier stages—close-knit co-founders, empathetic early investors, a small team sharing the same existential stakes—has transformed or dissolved. What remains are formal relationships, often buffered by legal counsel and PR teams, which constrict the possibility of authentic vulnerability. This shift intensifies a sense of structural isolation, a concept sociologist Robert Putnam, PhD, describes as the erosion of social networks that sustain meaningful belonging.
Understanding this distinction is crucial for post-success founders who may mistake their profound isolation for a personal failing rather than a systemic consequence of growth and role transformation. The loneliness that accompanies late-stage leadership demands new frameworks and resources—like those found in the Founders hub—to navigate the subtle, often silent, emotional terrain of having won yet feeling profoundly alone.
Late-stage loneliness refers to the unique experience of isolation felt by founders who have already achieved significant success and are managing the ongoing challenges of sustaining their company.
In plain terms: Late-stage loneliness means feeling alone even after your business has done well, because running a successful company brings its own kind of silence and isolation.
The “Won the Game” Phenomenon — When Success Removes the Last Confidants You Had
It’s Thursday, 4:22 p.m., and the bankers have just left the midtown Manhattan boardroom after a 90-minute session about S-1 timing. The lingering scent of cedar and lime cologne from the youngest banker hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the city outside. Camille’s gaze falls on the half-full bottle of Pellegrino in front of her, the black napkin tied around its neck exactly matching the shade of her dress. Her phone buzzes silently on the table—47 unread messages, the most recent from her daughter, who texted 41 minutes ago: “Mom can you pick me up I have a stomach ache.” She thinks, I am about to take a company public. I cannot remember the last time I was in a room with a person who is not transacting with me. My daughter is the only person who texts me without a deliverable. She has a stomach ache. I should call her.
This moment crystallizes a phenomenon many late-stage founders experience but rarely name: winning the game can paradoxically strip away the very relationships that once offered genuine connection. The transactional nature of board meetings, investor calls, and strategic sessions creates an atmosphere where emotional safety is scarce. At this stage, every interaction is filtered through fiduciary duty, performance metrics, or strategic alignment, leaving little room for vulnerability or personal disclosure.
For Camille, the shift from early-stage scrappiness to late-stage institutional rigor means that the confidants who understood her fears, doubts, and hopes have either moved on or transformed into roles that require professional distance. The people around her now hold stakes, expectations, and agendas that don’t easily accommodate the messy humanity beneath the CEO facade. This aligns with Robert Putnam, PhD’s research on structural isolation, which illustrates how social bonds erode as institutional roles solidify, creating a vacuum in personal connection despite outward success.
What remains is a silence that is not just about being alone but about the absence of anyone who can witness the real, unfiltered self. Camille’s daughter’s text is a rare crack in this armor—a reminder that outside the boardroom’s polished veneer, there is a world where she is simply “Mom,” not a CEO managing a $58M ARR company preparing for IPO. This specific silence—born from having won—is a unique form of founder loneliness after winning that calls for new kinds of confidants and support structures, such as those offered in the Post-exit founders community.
Witness Architecture refers to the intentional design of environments or systems that facilitate observation and reflection, enabling individuals to process experiences with clarity and support. This concept was defined in-house and is cross-referenced from FC3.
In plain terms: Witness Architecture means creating spaces or setups that help people notice and think about what’s happening around them in a clear and supportive way.
The Three Specific Patterns — The Banker Drift, the Family Distance, and the Old-Founder-Friend Asymmetry
It’s Thursday, 4:22 p.m., and the bankers have just left the midtown Manhattan boardroom. The lingering scent of cedar and lime cologne from the youngest banker hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the overhead lights. Camille’s eyes fall on the half-full bottle of Pellegrino, its black napkin tied neatly around the neck—the same shade as her dress. Her phone buzzes with 47 unread messages; the most recent, from her twelve-year-old daughter, arrived 41 minutes ago: “Mom can you pick me up I have a stomach ache.” The thought presses on her mind: she is about to take a company public, yet she can’t remember the last time she was in a room with a person who wasn’t transacting with her. Her daughter is the only one who texts without an agenda. She should call her.
This scene embodies the three distinct patterns that shape late-stage founder loneliness: the Banker Drift, the Family Distance, and the Old-Founder-Friend Asymmetry. The Banker Drift is the gradual erosion of genuine connection within the financial ecosystem. Bankers, investors, and advisors become transactional agents rather than trusted confidants, their interactions governed by fiduciary duty and market metrics rather than emotional attunement. Camille’s boardroom, once a place for strategic dialogue, now feels like a chamber of guarded exchanges where vulnerability is a liability.
Parallel to this is the Family Distance—an invisible widening gap between the founder and their closest kin. The relentless demands of scaling to $58 million ARR and preparing for an IPO mean that family relationships often become collateral damage. Camille’s unread message from her daughter is a stark reminder of the emotional toll this distance exacts. The daughter’s text, devoid of professional urgency, contrasts sharply with the calculated communications filling Camille’s inbox. This pattern echoes the findings of Carol Levine, MA, who highlights the strain caregiving and leadership roles place on family dynamics.
The third pattern, the Old-Founder-Friend Asymmetry, captures the shift in peer relationships over time. Early-stage founders share a camaraderie rooted in shared struggle and aspiration. But as companies grow and trajectories diverge, those friendships often become unbalanced. Camille’s peers may no longer understand the unique pressures of late-stage leadership or the isolation that accompanies “winning” the game. The asymmetry breeds a quiet estrangement, where the founder’s inner world remains unshared and unrecognized.
These patterns intertwine to create a specific silence around late-stage founder loneliness, one that resists the usual narratives of hustle or burnout. Recognizing them is the first step toward building a network of witnessed presence, a topic explored further in the Founders hub.
What Happens in the Body When You Stop Being Able to Tell Anyone Anything Real
It’s Thursday, 4:22 p.m., and the bankers have just left the midtown Manhattan boardroom where Camille sits alone at a fourteen-person table. The lingering scent of cedar and lime cologne from the youngest banker hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the city outside. Before her, a half-full bottle of Pellegrino stands with a black napkin tied around its neck—the same shade of black as her dress.
When a founder reaches this stage of isolation, the body’s nervous system begins to register a profound disconnection. The constant need to perform, to negotiate, and to manage transactional relationships activates the sympathetic nervous system, keeping the body in a state of heightened vigilance. This chronic activation exhausts the parasympathetic pathways that regulate rest and social engagement, often leaving the ventral vagal complex—the neural circuit that supports connection and safety—dampened or inaccessible.
Stephen Porges, PhD, neuroscientist and originator of Polyvagal Theory, explains how this shutdown of social engagement circuits deprives individuals of the calming feedback loop necessary for emotional regulation. Without the ability to express vulnerability or receive attuned responses, the body remains trapped in a defensive posture. This is compounded by the relational dynamics of late-stage companies, where every interaction is transactional, leaving no space for genuine emotional attunement. The founder’s body becomes a repository for unspoken fears, unresolved grief, and the relentless pressure to maintain appearances.
Julianne Holt-Lunstad, PhD, an epidemiologist specializing in loneliness, has demonstrated that sustained social disconnection correlates with increased allostatic load—the wear and tear on the body’s systems caused by chronic stress. For Camille, this translates to a physiological state where the immune system weakens, sleep becomes fragmented, and cognitive function diminishes, even as the demands on her decision-making intensify. The paradox is stark: the very success that should confer security instead deepens a somatic silence that isolates and exhausts.
This embodied experience is why many late-stage founders find themselves unable to “tell anyone anything real.” The architecture of trust and witness that once held them unravels, leaving a body that both signals distress and numbs itself to it. Recognizing this somatic reality opens a pathway to understanding how therapeutic support or executive coaching can re-establish channels of authentic connection, vital for sustaining leadership and well-being in the moments before a company’s next chapter unfolds. For resources tailored to this phase, see the Post-exit founders hub.
“I felt a Cleaving in my Mind — / As if my Brain had split — / I tried to match it — Seam by Seam — / But could not make them fit.”
Emily Dickinson, “I felt a Cleaving in my Mind”
Asymmetric relationships occur when one party holds significantly more power, influence, or information than the other, creating an imbalance that affects communication and decision-making.
In plain terms: An asymmetric relationship happens when one person has much more control or knowledge than the other, which can make it hard for both to connect or work together equally.
Both/And: You Have Won AND You Have Lost the Architecture That Held You
It’s Thursday, 4:22 p.m., and the bankers have just left the midtown Manhattan boardroom after their ninety-minute session about S-1 timing. The lingering scent of cedar and lime cologne from the youngest banker hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the city outside. Camille sits alone at the fourteen-person table, her fingers brushing the neck of a half-full bottle of Pellegrino wrapped in a black napkin—the same shade as her dress.
Camille’s moment captures the paradox at the heart of late-stage founder loneliness: the simultaneous experience of having achieved monumental success while losing the relational architecture that once supported her. The milestones—$58 million ARR, an impending IPO—are undeniable markers of victory. Yet the very structures that once held space for vulnerability, trust, and authentic connection have eroded. The boardroom, once a place for strategic collaboration, now feels transactional and sterile. Investors and bankers engage with Camille as a CEO, not as a person.
This “both/and” reality is a critical distinction from earlier stages of founder loneliness. It’s not just about lacking company; it’s about the loss of the relational scaffolding that made the journey bearable. Sociologist Robert Putnam, PhD, highlights how structural isolation can quietly deepen as social roles shift and networks thin. Camille’s unread messages and the black napkin matching her dress become symbols of that loss: a reminder that the personal and the professional have become sharply divided. Her daughter’s text pierces through the transactional silence, a tether to a world where connection isn’t measured in deliverables or cap tables.
In this stage, the founder’s nervous system is left to regulate these conflicting realities without the usual relational buffers. The absence of witnessed vulnerability can intensify allostatic load, as described by Bessel van der Kolk, MD, and Stephen Porges, PhD. Camille’s interior tension is not just about the company’s future but about the quiet unraveling of the interpersonal architecture that once held her steady. Recognizing this both/and—winning the company and losing the relational foundation—is essential for founders seeking to rebuild meaningful connections beyond the transactional boardroom.
This recognition also opens a door to new possibilities for connection and support, such as executive coaching or therapy tailored for women founders navigating post-success identity shifts. Camille’s experience echoes many in the post-exit founders community who face the challenge of reconstructing their inner and outer relational worlds after the company has “won.”
Structural isolation refers to a condition where an individual experiences limited social connections and reduced participation in community or group activities, leading to a sense of separation from others. This concept draws on Robert Putnam’s work in Bowling Alone, highlighting how social structures influence personal interactions.
In plain terms: Structural isolation happens when someone has fewer social ties and takes part less in groups or communities, making them feel cut off from others.
The Architecture of Witnessed Lateness — How Founders Build Confidants at the Top
It’s Thursday, 4:22 p.m., and the bankers have just left the midtown Manhattan boardroom. The lingering scent of cedar and lime cologne from the youngest banker hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the city beyond the glass. Camille’s gaze falls on the half-full bottle of Pellegrino before her, the black napkin tied around its neck the same shade as her dress.
At this stage, the architecture of companionship for founders like Camille has transformed. The confidants who once shared the rawness of early struggles have thinned out, replaced by transactional relationships calibrated around fiduciary duty, growth metrics, and legal compliance. The boardroom, designed for decision-making and oversight, seldom serves as a space for vulnerability or witnessing the founder’s interior life. To counter this structural scarcity, late-stage founders often cultivate a different kind of architecture—one built intentionally with a small circle of trusted individuals who can bear witness to the paradox of winning and losing simultaneously.
These confidants are not just advisors or investors; they are chosen for their capacity to hold presence without agenda, to listen beyond the pitch, and to validate the founder’s complex emotional landscape. This architecture is fragile and requires deliberate maintenance. It often includes peers who have crossed the same threshold, executive coaches attuned to the founder’s nervous system cues, and therapists skilled in navigating the interplay between identity fusion and leadership demands.
Camille’s moment in that boardroom is emblematic: surrounded by fourteen empty seats, she carries the weight of a company’s future and the quiet ache of a daughter’s stomach pain. The architecture she builds around her—those rare, witnessed connections—becomes the scaffold that holds her through the silence at the top. For founders who have won, these relationships are not a luxury; they are an existential necessity.
For those interested in exploring how to cultivate this architecture, the Founders hub offers resources that address both the operational and emotional dimensions of late-stage leadership.
Hedonic adaptation refers to the psychological process where individuals return to a baseline level of happiness despite positive or negative changes in their life circumstances, as defined in-house and informed by Sonja Lyubomirsky, PhD.
In plain terms: Hedonic adaptation means that people tend to get used to good or bad events over time, so their overall happiness stays about the same.
“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence. It is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
Audre Lorde, A Burst of Light / Sister Outsider
The Late-Stage Founders Who Did Not Become Strangers to Themselves — What They Did
It’s Thursday, 4:22 p.m., and the bankers have just left the midtown Manhattan boardroom. The lingering scent of cedar and lime cologne from the youngest banker hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the city outside. A half-full bottle of Pellegrino sits before Camille, its black napkin matching the shade of her dress. Her phone buzzes silently with 47 unread messages; the most recent, from her twelve-year-old daughter, arrived 41 minutes ago: “Mom can you pick me up I have a stomach ache.” She thinks, “I am about to take a company public.
Camille’s moment of solitude in that vast boardroom captures the essence of what separates late-stage founders who maintain connection to themselves from those who become strangers in their own skin. These founders cultivate a deliberate architecture of witnessing and vulnerability that withstands the isolating forces of success. They do not wait for someone to breach the silence; instead, they actively create spaces where their unvarnished selves can be recognized and held. This requires a conscious expansion beyond transactional relationships, an intentional reclamation of emotional presence amid the relentless metrics and fiduciary demands.
In my work with women founders at this stage, I observe that those who resist the erasure of their internal lives engage in practices that honor complexity rather than simplify it. They schedule time not just for business but for embodied reflection, often through therapy or executive coaching, which provides a confidential container for the parts of themselves that the boardroom cannot hold. This is not about “staying grounded” but about recognizing the nervous system’s signals and responding with compassionate curiosity, as Stephen Porges, PhD, describes in Polyvagal Theory.
Moreover, these founders lean into the paradox of both/and: they acknowledge the achievement of reaching late-stage scale while grieving the loss of earlier confidants and simpler relational architectures. They build new alliances deliberately—whether with trusted advisors, peers in the Founders hub, or family members who can meet them without agenda—thus countering the structural isolation Robert Putnam, PhD, delineates in his research. In doing so, they reconstruct a relational ecosystem that supports authenticity and resilience.
Camille’s recognition of her daughter’s text is a quiet act of reclaiming that ecosystem. It is a reminder that the post-success founder’s loneliness is not an inevitable endpoint but a signal to re-engage with the self and others on new terms. The founders who do this do not become strangers to themselves; they become witnesses to their own late-stage narrative, holding space for both the triumph and the loss embedded in that story.
Q: Is late-stage founder loneliness real or am I confusing it with general life loneliness?
A: Late-stage founder loneliness is a distinct experience that differs from general life loneliness. It stems from the unique position of leading a company that has already achieved significant success, where the usual challenges shift and the social dynamics around you change. Unlike broader loneliness, this silence often comes from a sense of isolation in decision-making and a lack of peers who fully understand the nuances of sustaining and evolving a thriving business. The emotional weight can feel heavier because the usual sources of support may not relate to the specific pressures or the subtle sense of disconnection that arises when the external validation that once fueled motivation starts to fade. Recognizing this form of loneliness can open the door to seeking tailored support that addresses both the personal and professional layers of this experience.
Q: Why do my old founder friends feel different now that I’m at $50M+ ARR?
A: When your company reaches $50M+ ARR, the dynamics with fellow founders often shift. Early-stage challenges and shared uncertainties gave way to different priorities and pressures. Your peers might still be in the hustle of scaling or searching for product-market fit, while you’re managing operational complexities, leadership depth, and sustaining growth. This divergence can create a subtle distance, as conversations and concerns no longer align as closely. Additionally, the emotional experience changes—success brings its own kind of isolation, where the stakes feel different and fewer people truly understand what that means. This evolution in relationships is natural but can feel lonely. Recognizing this shift allows space to seek new connections who resonate with your current phase and to honor the unique emotional landscape that comes with sustained success.
Q: What’s the “banker drift” pattern and how do I name it?
A: The “banker drift” pattern describes a subtle shift where founders, after their company has achieved significant success, begin to isolate themselves emotionally and socially, much like a banker who gradually becomes detached from personal connections due to the demands of their role. This drift often involves withdrawing from candid conversations and avoiding vulnerability, leading to a quiet loneliness that’s hard to name. Recognizing this pattern starts with acknowledging the specific silence that follows major accomplishments—when external pressures lessen but internal support diminishes. Naming it as “banker drift” helps founders identify this gradual distancing and encourages intentional reconnection with trusted peers or mental health professionals to counterbalance the isolation.
Q: Should I tell my board I’m structurally isolated?
A: Sharing feelings of structural isolation with your board can be a courageous and constructive step. Founders often face unique emotional challenges as their companies mature, and boards can provide valuable perspective and support when they understand these dynamics. Being transparent about your experience fosters trust and may open conversations about additional resources, mentorship, or adjustments in communication that better suit your needs. It’s helpful to frame this not as a sign of weakness, but as an honest reflection of the evolving leadership role. This openness can create space for collaboration and shared problem-solving, reducing the silent burden that often accompanies late-stage leadership. Approaching the conversation with clarity about what support you seek can make it more effective and affirm your commitment to the company’s continued success.
Q: Can my marriage actually hold this stage of loneliness?
A: Marriage can endure the unique loneliness that comes with leading a company in its later stages, but it requires intentional connection and communication. The silence felt by founders at this point often stems from a sense that few truly understand the nuances of sustaining success beyond the initial growth phase. Partners may struggle to grasp the emotional isolation or the complex decisions involved. Creating space for honest conversations about these feelings, seeking mutual support, and sometimes involving a therapist familiar with entrepreneurial challenges can help bridge this gap. While the journey is demanding, couples who actively engage with these dynamics often find their relationship deepens, fostering resilience and shared understanding amid the quiet struggles of leadership.
Q: How do I build new confidants when everyone is asymmetric to me now?
A: Building new confidants when you feel asymmetrically positioned can be challenging but deeply rewarding. Start by seeking out peers who have experienced similar transitions, even if their industries or company sizes differ. Shared understanding often comes from parallel emotional experiences rather than identical circumstances. Consider joining founder groups focused on later-stage leadership or executive coaching circles where vulnerability is encouraged. Cultivating relationships with trusted therapists or mentors who grasp the unique emotional landscape of sustained success can also provide a safe space to express complexities. Patience and intentionality matter—trust develops over time through consistent, authentic exchanges. Recognizing that connection is less about matching titles or achievements and more about mutual empathy can open doors to meaningful support.
Q: Does therapy specifically help with late-stage loneliness?
A: Therapy offers a valuable space to address the unique loneliness that can emerge when leading a company that has already achieved significant success. At this stage, founders often face a distinct silence—fewer peers who truly understand their experience and a sense of isolation despite external accomplishments. Therapy provides a confidential environment to process these feelings, explore underlying emotions, and develop strategies for connection and self-compassion. It supports founders in recognizing that their experience is valid and complex, helping to reduce the weight of isolation. Through compassionate dialogue, therapy can restore a sense of groundedness and foster resilience, making the journey of late-stage leadership more manageable and emotionally sustainable.
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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.
