By Annie Wright, LMFT · Licensed Marriage & Family Therapist (#95719)Clinically reviewed May 2026

POST-EXIT FOUNDERS • May 23, 2026

Last reviewed: June 2026 by Annie Wright, LMFT

In short: Post-acquisition ambiguous loss is the founder’s grief that arrives not at the sale but in the aftermath, as the company they built is publicly dismantled, rebranded, or culturally erased while the world congratulates them.

The LinkedIn Post That Announced the Rebrand

The notification flickered across her phone screen, a small, innocuous red dot. It was a LinkedIn update from the company she’d founded, built, and sold just two years prior. Her heart gave a familiar, uncomfortable lurch. She clicked, and there it was: the new logo, stark and angular, rendered in a palette completely foreign to her original design. The tagline, a thin sans-serif font, felt hollow, a pale echo of the vibrant mission statement she’d painstakingly crafted over years. It was undeniably the acquirer’s design system, imposed with a corporate uniformity that made her feel a chill.

The post, penned by the new CEO, spoke of “fresh directions” and “synergistic opportunities.” Below it, a cascade of celebration emojis and congratulatory comments from current employees. She recognized many names. She’d hired half of them, mentored them, watched them grow. She knew, with a visceral certainty, that many of them were privately more ambivalent than their public emojis suggested. This change, so completely beyond her control, was also completely visible. It was a public performance of erasure, and she, the architect, was relegated to the audience, watching the edifice she’d built transformed into something else entirely. This wasn’t the grief of a closed door; it was the specific, unsettling grief of a door that kept opening onto a room she no longer recognized. This experience is often described as a form of “ghosting,” where the tangible presence of the company remains, but its essential spirit, its very essence, has departed, leaving behind a hollowed-out shell that still bears a resemblance to what once was. The emotional labor involved in witnessing this transformation, particularly when one has invested so deeply, can be immense and often unrecognized. It’s a form of disenfranchised grief, where the social context does not readily acknowledge the legitimacy of the loss, further isolating the founder in her experience.

What Is Post-Acquisition Ambiguous Loss?

The experience described above. The quiet, internal ache of watching your former company evolve in ways you never intended, ways that feel like a betrayal of its original spirit. Is a profound form of ambiguous loss. It’s a concept that helps us understand grief that lacks clarity or closure.

In the post-acquisition context, this manifests as grieving a company that is still very much alive, still operating, still visible on LinkedIn, but no longer truly yours. It’s a loss without a clear ending because the entity persists, yet its essence, its culture, its mission, or its product, may have fundamentally shifted. This can make the grieving process particularly challenging, as there’s no socially sanctioned way to mourn something that, to the outside world, appears to be thriving. The founder is left to process a complex set of emotions. Sadness, anger, disappointment, perhaps even a sense of betrayal. Without the usual societal cues or support systems that accompany more recognized forms of loss. This can lead to what Dr. Boss refers to as “frozen grief,” where the process is stalled due to the ongoing ambiguity and lack of validation [1]. The absence of a clear narrative for this type of grief further compounds the internal struggle, leaving the founder to navigate a labyrinth of unacknowledged feelings.

This continuing bond is a natural human response. We invest ourselves deeply in what we create, and that investment doesn’t simply vanish with a liquidity event. Understanding this phenomenon is crucial for founders navigating the complex emotional landscape after an exit. The bond can be healthy when it stems from a place of completion, curiosity, and a quiet appreciation for the legacy you left. However, it can become harmful when it devolves into a compulsive surveillance, fueled by a sense of incompletion, regret, or a desperate need to understand decisions that are no longer yours to influence. This compulsive monitoring can be a self-perpetuating cycle, where each new piece of information about the company’s changes serves to reinforce the sense of loss and the need for further monitoring, thus preventing the psychological disentanglement necessary for healing. It’s a form of rumination that keeps the founder tethered to a past that is no longer hers, often at the expense of fully engaging with her present and future. The emotional energy expended in this surveillance could otherwise be directed towards new ventures, personal growth, or deeper relationships.

The Psychology of Mourning a Living Organization

Mourning a living organization presents a unique psychological challenge. Dr. Pauline Boss, a pioneer in the study of ambiguous loss, highlights the specific clinical difficulty of grieving something that hasn’t definitively “died” [1]. There’s no clear demarcation, no widely recognized ritual, no societal permission to grieve. The company is still there, still listed on Crunchbase, still sending out press releases, but it’s not the same entity you poured your heart and soul into. This lack of clarity can leave founders feeling adrift, their grief unacknowledged and therefore, often, unresolved. The ambiguity itself becomes a source of stress, a chronic uncertainty that can erode psychological well-being over time. This sustained cognitive dissonance. The internal experience of profound loss juxtaposed with the external reality of the company’s continued existence. Can be deeply destabilizing.

William Bridges, PhD, in his seminal work on transitions, emphasizes that true transition cannot begin until an ending is fully recognized and processed [2]. When a company persists in a changed form, the ending remains incomplete. This prevents the psychological work of letting go, of moving through the neutral zone, and of beginning anew. The founder who compulsively checks LinkedIn for updates on their former company isn’t just being nostalgic; they are often unconsciously trying to complete an ending that remains frustratingly ambiguous. The “neutral zone” Bridges describes is a critical period of reorientation, a time for reflection and re-evaluation before embarking on a new beginning. However, the ambiguous nature of the loss of a former company often traps founders in a prolonged neutral zone, unable to fully disengage from the past or fully commit to the future. This can manifest as a pervasive sense of restlessness, a difficulty in finding new purpose, or even a return to unhealthy patterns of overwork in an attempt to fill the void.

In my work with post-exit founders, I often see this dynamic play out. The founder maintains a continuing bond with her former company. This can be healthy when it’s rooted in genuine curiosity about its evolution or a desire to maintain connection with former colleagues. It becomes harmful, however, when it transforms into a form of surveillance, a constant monitoring driven by a need to validate past decisions, to lament current changes, or to seek some elusive sense of closure that the external reality simply isn’t providing. This kind of monitoring can keep the wound open, preventing the natural progression of grief and the necessary psychological separation. It’s a bit like picking at a scab, preventing it from fully healing. The brain, seeking to make sense of the ambiguity, continues to process the information, attempting to construct a coherent narrative for a loss that defies easy categorization. This cognitive effort, while understandable, can be draining and ultimately counterproductive, preventing the emotional system from moving towards acceptance and integration. The founder’s nervous system can remain in a state of hyper-arousal, constantly scanning for threats or triggers related to the former company, making true rest and recovery elusive.

How This Shows Up in Women Founders

For women founders, the experience of watching a company change after an acquisition can be particularly acute. Many women entrepreneurs invest not just their capital and time, but a profound piece of their identity and emotional labor into their ventures. The company often becomes an extension of themselves, a living testament to their vision, resilience, and capacity to nurture growth. When that entity is then reshaped by an acquirer, it can feel like a profound personal affront, a dismantling of a self-object. This deep personal identification with the company means that its transformation or perceived degradation can be experienced as a direct attack on one’s own identity and self-worth. The boundaries between self and organization are often more permeable for women founders, leading to a more intense emotional response when the organization undergoes fundamental changes. This can be exacerbated by societal expectations that often scrutinize women’s leadership styles and emotional expression more critically, making it harder for them to articulate or even acknowledge their grief.

Vignette: Leila

Leila, a founder who sold her ed-tech platform for $45 million two years ago, describes the 18-month process of watching her company’s culture be dismantled under new ownership as “worse than the sale itself.” She had spent nearly a decade building a company known for its inclusive culture, its flat hierarchy, and its deep commitment to employee well-being. Her earn-out agreement meant she stayed on for the first year, witnessing the initial, subtle shifts.

“I saw the writing on the wall,” she recounted during a therapy session. “The new HR policies, the way meetings became more formal, less collaborative. My team, the people I had personally hired and trained, started to look uneasy.” The subtle shifts in HR policies and meeting structures, while seemingly minor, represented a fundamental departure from the values Leila had meticulously woven into the fabric of her organization. These were not just procedural changes; they were symbolic erosions of the trust and psychological safety she had cultivated. The uneasiness of her former team members was a direct reflection of this cultural decay, a shared experience of loss that Leila felt deeply, even as she was powerless to intervene.

After her earn-out period concluded, she continued to watch from a distance. She saw the mission statement she’d crafted, a carefully worded articulation of pedagogical philosophy, simplified into a catchy, almost generic, marketing slogan. Then came the departures. “Three of my key employees, people I had personally recruited and promised a bright future with the acquirer, left within month six after I was gone,” Leila said, her voice tight with residual guilt. “They trusted me when I said the acquirer would be different, that they’d value our culture. I felt like I had betrayed them, even though I had no control.” The simplification of the mission statement was not merely a branding exercise; it signified a loss of intellectual depth and purpose, a trivialization of the very educational philosophy that had driven Leila’s vision. The departure of her key employees triggered a complex emotional landscape of guilt, responsibility, and helplessness. Despite the logical understanding that she had no control, the emotional burden of perceived betrayal weighed heavily, further complicating her grief process. This highlights the relational aspect of founder identity, where the well-being and loyalty of the team are often deeply intertwined with the founder’s sense of self and success.

The deepest cut came when she learned that the innovative product she’d spent two years developing, the one that was the core of her company’s intellectual property, was quietly deprioritized in the acquirer’s roadmap. “It wasn’t outright killed,” she explained, “but it was starved of resources, relegated to a back burner. It felt like watching a child you love being neglected.” The metaphor of a neglected child powerfully conveys the depth of her emotional investment and the pain of witnessing the slow, deliberate sidelining of her creation. This wasn’t a sudden, decisive act, but a gradual, ambiguous fading, which can be even more agonizing as it prolongs the uncertainty and hope of a revival that never comes. This experience speaks to the “psychological parenthood” many founders feel towards their creations, where the product is not just an asset but an entity with its own potential and needs, mirroring the complexities of human attachment.

Leila admitted to a compulsive need to monitor the company’s public presence. “I kept watching because I thought at some point I would understand why they were doing it the way they were doing it. I never understood. I just kept watching.” This constant surveillance, while offering a perverse sense of connection, also perpetuated her grief, keeping her tethered to a past that was no longer hers. Her identity, so deeply interwoven with the vibrant, innovative company she created, felt fractured. She felt a profound sense of identity confusion [3], a common experience when a core attachment object, like a company, is lost or fundamentally altered. The entrepreneurial passion [4] that had once defined her now felt like a ghost limb, aching with phantom sensations. This compulsive monitoring, while offering a semblance of control or understanding, ultimately trapped Leila in a cycle of re-traumatization, preventing her from fully processing the loss and moving towards a new sense of self. The “ghost limb” sensation speaks to the neurological and psychological imprint of deep attachment, where the absence of what was once integral continues to register as a painful presence.

The NDA That Keeps You From Commenting

The ambiguous loss of watching your company change is often compounded by another significant layer of constraint: the legal silence imposed by non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) and non-disparagement clauses. These agreements, standard in most acquisition deals, legally bind you from publicly commenting on the changes, expressing your disapproval, or even offering your perspective to former employees.

You cannot write the LinkedIn post that says, “This isn’t what I built.” You cannot send an email to your former team, validating their concerns about the cultural shifts. You cannot publicly articulate your grief or disappointment. This prohibition on speaking about the loss intensifies it, creating an internal echo chamber where your feelings remain unvalidated and unexpressed. The very act of acknowledging and sharing grief is a crucial step in processing it, but the NDA effectively seals off this pathway. This forced silence can lead to a phenomenon known as “disenfranchised grief,” where the loss is not openly acknowledged, publicly mourned, or socially supported [1]. When grief is disenfranchised, individuals are left to cope in isolation, often feeling that their emotions are illegitimate or excessive, further complicating the healing process. The inability to externalize this complex emotional experience can lead to increased internal distress, including anxiety, depression, and a sense of profound loneliness.

In my work with clients navigating this kind of ambiguous loss, I often find that the absence of a clear ending makes grief harder to move through, not easier. There is nowhere to put the loss, and no cultural map for what comes next., Annie Wright, LMFT

Dr. Boss’s words resonate deeply here. When legal and social constraints prevent the acknowledgment of a loss, the grief is intensified rather than resolved. It’s a private sorrow in a public space, a silent scream amidst congratulatory noise. This inability to externalize the experience can lead to a sense of isolation, making it harder to process the emotional fallout of the acquisition. It can also contribute to a feeling of betrayal, not just by the acquirer, but by a system that demands your silence even as your legacy is reshaped. The cognitive load of holding conflicting realities. The public facade of success versus the private experience of loss. Can be immense. This internal conflict can deplete mental resources, making it difficult to focus on new ventures or even simple daily tasks. For more on the psychological impact of such legal constraints, you might find our article on NDA and non-disparagement clauses particularly relevant. The trauma of forced silence, particularly when one’s creation is undergoing a painful transformation, can leave lasting psychological imprints, impacting trust and future engagement with the entrepreneurial ecosystem.

Both/And: You Released the Company and You Are Allowed to Grieve What It’s Becoming

It’s a common internal conflict for exited founders: “I chose to sell. I signed the papers. I received the money. Why am I still feeling this way?” This line of questioning often stems from a societal expectation that once a transaction is complete, the emotional ledger should also be balanced. But human emotions rarely follow the neat logic of a cap table or a term sheet. The linear, transactional model of business often fails to account for the complex, non-linear nature of human attachment and grief. This societal pressure to quickly “move on” and be unequivocally positive about the exit can invalidate a founder’s very real emotional experience, leading to internalized shame or self-blame for not feeling “right.”

The truth is, you can simultaneously feel relief and satisfaction about the sale and experience profound grief about what your company is becoming. These are not mutually exclusive emotions; they are both valid parts of a complex post-exit experience. You released the company, yes, but that doesn’t negate the years of investment, the identity fusion, or the emotional attachment you had to it. This “both/and” perspective is crucial for allowing yourself the space to genuinely process your feelings. It’s an invitation to embrace the paradox of loss and gain, of closure and ongoing connection. This ability to hold conflicting emotions simultaneously is a sign of psychological maturity and resilience, allowing for a more nuanced and authentic processing of a multifaceted experience. Denying one part of this emotional reality in favor of another can lead to repression and a prolonged, unaddressed grief.

Vignette: Kira

Kira, who had sold her successful B2B SaaS company for a significant eight-figure sum three years prior, found herself caught in this very trap. She was financially secure, had purchased her dream home, and was actively involved in philanthropy. Yet, she couldn’t shake a persistent sense of unease. She found herself checking her former company’s LinkedIn profile multiple times a day, scrolling through news releases, employee posts, and product updates.

“It was an obsession,” Kira admitted. “I’d see a new feature launch that was completely off-brand, or a press release celebrating an initiative that felt utterly misaligned with our original values, and I’d feel this gut punch. It was like watching someone else raise your child, but doing it in a way you fundamentally disagreed with.” The “gut punch” Kira described is a somatic manifestation of her emotional distress, a physical reaction to the perceived violation of her values and vision. The analogy of “watching someone else raise your child” powerfully illustrates the depth of her proprietary feelings and the pain of witnessing a deviation from her intended path. This highlights the often parental nature of a founder’s relationship with her company, where the emotional investment transcends mere ownership.

Her therapist suggested a radical step: unfollow the company on LinkedIn. “It sounds so simple, almost silly,” Kira recounted, “but it felt like the hardest mouse-click I’ve made since I started the company. It was like severing a phantom limb.” The act itself triggered a wave of grief she hadn’t anticipated. For days, she felt an intense void, a psychological disorganization that surprised her. “I hadn’t realized how much of my psychological organization, how much of my daily routine, depended on that monitoring,” she reflected. The “phantom limb” sensation is a profound psychological experience, indicating how deeply the company had been integrated into Kira’s sense of self and daily functioning. The “psychological disorganization” she experienced after unfollowing underscores the extent to which the compulsive monitoring had become a coping mechanism, however unhealthy, for managing the ambiguous loss. This act of intentional disengagement, though painful, was a crucial step towards creating the necessary space for true grieving and reorganization of her internal world.

What she built in the space where the monitoring used to be wasn’t immediately something positive. First, there was just the grief, raw and unadulterated, which she finally allowed herself to feel without judgment or the constant re-triggering of new information. She journaled, she talked to trusted friends, and she leaned into the discomfort. Slowly, painstakingly, that space began to fill with other things: new interests, deeper connections with her family, and a renewed sense of purpose that wasn’t tied to surveillance or regret. This intentional disengagement allowed her to begin the work of identity reconstruction, moving from a work-related identity loss [5] to a more integrated sense of self. The process of allowing the “raw and unadulterated” grief to surface, rather than being constantly diluted and redirected by external stimuli, is a fundamental aspect of healthy emotional processing. This period of leaning into discomfort, rather than avoiding it, is where genuine healing begins, creating fertile ground for the emergence of new facets of identity and purpose that are not contingent on external validation or the fate of a past creation.

The Systemic Lens: Why Founders Are Expected to Cheer

The expectation that exited founders will be enthusiastic public advocates for the company under new ownership is a powerful, often unspoken, systemic pressure. It’s woven into the fabric of the acquisition process itself, from the moment the term sheet is signed to the post-close integration period. This expectation isn’t accidental; it’s a carefully constructed norm that serves multiple purposes for the acquiring entity and the broader entrepreneurial ecosystem. This systemic pressure is not merely a social nicety; it is a strategic maneuver designed to manage perceptions, mitigate risks, and ensure a smooth transition of power and narrative. Founders are implicitly, and sometimes explicitly, tasked with becoming brand ambassadors for the new regime, regardless of their internal reservations or emotional experiences.

Firstly, the NDA and non-disparagement clauses are legal instruments designed to enforce silence and, by extension, implied approval. An acquirer doesn’t want a disgruntled founder publicly criticizing their decisions, as it could damage their reputation, affect employee morale, or even impact market valuation. The threat of legal action, however subtle, creates a powerful disincentive for public dissent. These legal strictures effectively privatize the founder’s grief, forcing it underground and depriving them of the catharsis and validation that public expression might offer. The chilling effect of these clauses extends beyond overt criticism, often leading founders to self-censor even innocuous comments, out of an abundance of caution, further isolating them in their experience.

Secondly, the earn-out structure, a common component of many deals, often ties a portion of the founder’s payout to the company’s performance post-acquisition. This financial incentive creates a direct motivation for the founder to support the new ownership, at least superficially. Even if they privately disagree with strategic shifts, their financial interest compels them to cheer from the sidelines. This can lead to a profound sense of cognitive dissonance, where their internal feelings clash with their external performance. Our article on earn-out purgatory explores this further. The earn-out, while financially beneficial, can become a psychological prison, forcing founders to act against their authentic feelings and values. This sustained performance of enthusiasm, particularly when it contradicts deeply held beliefs about the company’s direction, can be incredibly draining and contribute to burnout, even after the initial stress of the acquisition is over.

Thirdly, there are strong social norms around exit. The narrative often dictates that an exit is a moment of unadulterated triumph and celebration. Founders are expected to be grateful, to be “moving on to bigger and better things,” and to publicly endorse the success of their former company. Any deviation from this narrative, any expression of grief, disappointment, or criticism, can be perceived as ungracious, ungrateful, or even unprofessional. This pressure to perform approval, even when it feels inauthentic, creates an impossible position for the founder. She cannot mourn publicly because of legal and social constraints, but the private mourning has no container, no space for acknowledgment or validation. This societal narrative, often perpetuated by media and industry peers, creates a “tyranny of positivity” that stifles genuine emotional expression. Founders are often afraid of being labeled “bitter” or “unprofessional” if they deviate from the celebratory script, leading to a profound sense of isolation and a lack of authentic connection during a period of intense emotional complexity.

This systemic pressure can lead to what psychologists call “toxic positivity,” where genuine emotions are suppressed in favor of an outwardly optimistic facade. It denies the founder the right to a complex emotional experience, forcing her into a performance that can be deeply exhausting and alienating. This is particularly true for women founders, who often face additional scrutiny regarding their emotional expression in professional contexts. The intersection of gender and entrepreneurship means that women founders may feel an even greater pressure to conform to these expectations, fearing that any display of vulnerability or negative emotion could be interpreted as a lack of leadership capability or emotional instability, further reinforcing the need for stoicism and silence.

Creating Healthy Boundaries With Your Former Company

Given the complex emotional and systemic pressures, establishing healthy boundaries with your former company isn’t just advisable; it’s a clinical imperative for your psychological well-being. The act of continually monitoring your former company’s public activity, while understandable, carries significant costs. It perpetuates the ongoing grief stimulation, constantly re-triggering the pain of loss and change. It prevents the psychological separation necessary for genuine healing and the ability to fully engage with your present and future. It keeps you stuck in the liminal space of an incomplete ending, hindering the work-related identity recovery [5] that is essential after such a significant transition. This continuous re-exposure to triggers related to the loss can prevent the nervous system from downregulating, maintaining a state of chronic stress and hyper-vigilance. The brain struggles to process and integrate the loss when new, often painful, information is constantly being fed into the system, making it difficult to move beyond the acute phase of grief.

What becomes possible when you stop this monitoring? The grief, no longer constantly agitated by new information, can finally begin to run its natural course. It allows for the space needed to integrate the experience, to process the emotions, and to begin the important work of redefining your identity outside of the company you built. As I often tell my clients, the absence of constant external stimulation doesn’t mean the absence of feeling; it means creating the quiet needed for those feelings to surface, be acknowledged, and ultimately, to dissipate. This intentional creation of psychological space allows for a crucial shift from reactive emotional responses to a more reflective and integrative process. It provides the necessary internal quiet for the founder to reconnect with her authentic self, unburdened by the constant external narrative of her former company’s evolution.

Here’s some practical guidance for setting healthy boundaries:

• Set a specific date to unfollow: Don’t just vaguely resolve to stop. Choose a specific day, mark it on your calendar, and on that day, unfollow the company’s social media accounts, unsubscribe from their newsletters, and remove any other digital touchpoints. Treat it as a deliberate act of self-care, much like Kira did. This concrete action provides a sense of agency and control, which can be empowering in a situation where much felt out of one’s hands. It also creates a clear psychological demarcation, signaling to your brain that a new phase is beginning.
• Curate your connections: Instead of monitoring the entire company, identify the two or three former employees who genuinely matter to you, those with whom you shared a deep connection and trust. Reach out to them directly, offering to stay in touch on a personal level, outside the corporate sphere. This allows for healthy continuing bonds (genuine relationships) while disengaging from unhealthy ones (surveillance). This selective engagement allows you to preserve valuable human connections that are supportive, while consciously detaching from the broader organizational entity that is a source of pain.
• Reframe your narrative: Consciously shift your internal dialogue from “my company is changing” to “the company I founded is evolving under new ownership.” This subtle linguistic shift can create psychological distance, helping you differentiate between your past creation and its current iteration. Language shapes perception, and by consciously choosing words that reflect a more objective reality, you can begin to loosen the emotional grip of identification and ownership, fostering a sense of healthy detachment.
• Engage in new purpose: Begin to redirect the energy and passion you once poured into monitoring your old company into new endeavors. This doesn’t mean immediately launching a “second act” if you’re not ready for it (a trap we explore in The Second Act Trap). It could be volunteering, exploring a new hobby, deepening existing relationships, or simply allowing for more rest and introspection. This helps to fill the void with new, self-directed meaning. The creation of new meaning and purpose is a powerful antidote to the void left by significant loss, providing a renewed sense of direction and engagement with life that is independent of past achievements.
• Seek professional support: A therapist specializing in post-exit transitions can provide a safe, confidential space to process these complex emotions. They can help you navigate the ambiguous loss, reframe your identity, and develop healthier coping mechanisms. This kind of specialized support is crucial for many women founders navigating the unique challenges of post-exit life. A skilled therapist can offer validation for your experience, help you identify and challenge unhelpful thought patterns, and guide you through the process of grieving and identity reconstruction, providing tools for self-regulation and emotional resilience.

establishing boundaries isn’t about forgetting your legacy or denying your feelings. It’s about honoring your emotional truth and creating the space for true healing and forward movement. It’s an act of self-compassion that acknowledges the depth of your investment and the validity of your grief. It’s an active process of reclaiming your emotional autonomy and directing your energy towards a future that is aligned with your evolving self, rather than being perpetually tethered to a past that no longer serves you.

References

Peer-Reviewed Research (Vancouver)

1. Boss P, Carnes D. The myth of closure. Fam Process. 2012;51(4):456-69. doi:10.1111/famp.12005. PMID: 23230978.

About the Author

Annie Wright, LMFT

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

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

Annie Wright is a licensed psychotherapist (LMFT #95719) and trauma-informed executive coach with over 15,000 clinical hours. She works with driven women. Including Silicon Valley leaders, physicians, and entrepreneurs. In repairing the psychological foundations beneath their impressive lives. Annie is the founder and former CEO of Evergreen Counseling, a multimillion-dollar trauma-informed therapy center she built, scaled, and successfully exited. A regular contributor to Psychology Today, her expert commentary has appeared in USA Today, Forbes, Business Insider, Inc., NBC, and The Information. She is currently writing her first book with W.W. Norton.

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