Decathexis

On the floor of my closet is a beat-up wooden box I’ve been ignoring since June. June 1^st to be exact, the day I retired from practicing psychotherapy and psychoanalysis. The box is brown, beat up, uneven bottoms let the light through. It is heavy to lift. The contents are basic enough:  a dozen thick gray files with the names of my most recent patients written  in black sharpie on the tabs, notes on sessions inside the files, a paperback book on psychotropic medications, a copy of the abbreviated DSM III, a stapler, scotch tape, a box of paper clips, my license in a 5x7 inch frame and various pens and pencils. That’s all.

The box takes up room in my crowded, limited-space closet. Every day I think I should move it upstairs to our attic. But I don’t. The files would join the three huge steel file drawers already stuffed with hundreds of patient notes collected over decades. New York State law requires I keep notes for 7 years. I keep most of them longer, especially the files of patients who moved me. Many.

There’s a wonderful concept in psychoanalysis called decathexis. It’s when one loses a valuable object, or an animal or person they love, and then slowly (often painfully) withdraws attachment psychically. It’s healthy and normal to decathex. To put it poetically, life is one loss after another and without mourning and decathexis we’d be too weighted down to enable one live and love. I feel I am letting go slowly of my role, and my affection for the people who trusted me so deeply. And I know I must embrace my new identity as a “retiree” and older person.

What comes after retirement? Memoir writing! Pickleball! Caring for grandkids! Travel! And eventually…well you know.

I’m hoping that one day I’ll trip on the box for the last time, and while I rub my shin I’ll realize it’s time to move the box upstairs. For now, though, I’ll tell you a secret: I smile when I see the box. The work was hard, but it made me happy to be of use to so many people. Degrees, license, training didn’t come easy for me. I’m ok letting that all go. But saying goodbye to the last of them not so easy at all.