I was down in the storage room again this weekend, feeling overwhelmed by the job ahead. My eyes came to rest on two banker’s boxes labeled ‘Client Files’ and a lightbulb came on. It’s 2024, I thought, and started counting back on my fingers. Seven. Has it actually been seven years since I closed my last client case file? Has the time come to destroy all the records from my therapy practice?
I’d thought about this moment many times over the past few years and made it into a huge ordeal. Would I have to go through and remove all the paper clips? I knew that if I had to do this, I would get caught up reading my notes; what I did, what they said. This, in turn, would remind me of all the things I wish I would have said to help my clients.
I no longer own a paper shredder, so I called the UPS Store: “If I bring in paper to shred, do I need to remove the paperclips?” They said I did not. And what’s more, they told me there was a 25% discount on shredding. This meant there was no need to go through the files. This was the encouragement I needed.
All my client records have now been shredded. Keeping records for insurance purposes was one of the more stressful aspects of my career. From the beginning, I always took notes because I found it helpful, but when I started accepting insurance, there was always the possibility of an audit or a court case. I began to fret over my choice of words, fearing they might be found inadequate. Was I using the correct language? Were my words convincing enough to show treatment was medically necessary? If I failed, what would be the consequences for my client?
Now that the records are gone, I feel both empty and free.
I know that nothing is different in my life today: I hadn’t looked at those files since writing them, years ago. But I can’t help but think of all the fears and tears those files contained. The stories and sadness of clients that I loved and cared for. I wonder how each of these people are doing in their lives now. Where are their fears and tears now?
Knowing the files are gone makes something feel different inside me as well. I want to shred the self-doubt that remains regarding my professional role. I did the best I could do at the time. It was an honor to serve so many people over the years. I learned from them. I only hope some of their suffering was alleviated by our sessions.
There are layers to letting go and I’m learning about them in our dark storage space downstairs. My reluctance to confront all of this is slowly turning into enthusiasm. I wonder what I will shred next?
IMAGE: Beauty can be found in unusual places.
