Hi Reader,
I used to believe personalized care meant manually doing everything. Every email personally crafted. Every follow-up uniquely designed. Every process carefully individualized. I thought automation was reserved for big, fancy clinics with lots of staff—not small independent practices like mine.
Then came the breaking point: a Sunday afternoon when I found myself hunched over my laptop, manually typing the same basic follow-up information for the tenth time that weekend. My coffee had gone cold, my back ached, and a voice in my head kept whispering, "These are quick tasks. Just power through." But these "quick" tasks had eaten my entire weekend—again.
The First Revelation
My first step toward change was almost embarrassingly simple: I looked at how I was handling follow-up emails after discovery calls. Each prospective patient got a "personal" message that, if I'm honest, was 90% the same information rewritten slightly differently. After sending that initial email with information about my new patient package, I rarely followed up if they didn't book right away. Part of me felt like I'd be annoying them, and another part was simply overwhelmed by keeping track of who needed follow-up when.
When I finally created a carefully crafted automated sequence of three emails, something unexpected happened. Not only did booking rates improve by over 30%, but patients repeatedly commented on how warm and helpful the communications felt. Many even thanked me for the reminders, as they'd been meaning to book but got distracted.
The automation was handling the basic information exchange, freeing me to pour my energy into actual patient interactions.
The Paradox That Changed Everything
This small success revealed something bigger: systematizing the predictable parts of my practice wasn't making it more mechanical—it was making it more human. Every automated task meant more mental space for real connection. For example, when I created standardized treatment protocols pre-outlined in my EHR, I wasn't starting from scratch with every patient. Instead of spending precious mental energy recreating similar plans repeatedly, I could focus on the nuances of each case and make thoughtful modifications based on the individual's specific needs. Patients received more tailored care, not less. Every standardized process meant less decision fatigue when a patient needed my full attention.
When you're not drowning in administrative tasks, you can actually listen to the subtle tremor in a patient's voice. When you're not mentally exhausted from reinventing basic processes, you can notice the unspoken question in their eyes.
The Art of Working Soft
As I continued to explore this approach, I discovered I wasn't alone. This shift aligned perfectly with a concept my friend Hester (of Rest with Hester) calls "working soft." While my journey began with practical automation, Hester's framework helped me understand the deeper philosophy behind these changes. I'm still learning to embody it—some days flow with ease, others battle old habits. But as I build systems that support spaciousness and presence, I glimpse the healer I want to become: someone who moves through each day intentionally, preserving energy for what truly matters.
Clinicians make countless daily decisions. Some are routine (scheduling, charting, common patient education). Others demand our deepest attention (diagnosing complex cases, tailoring personalized treatment plans). The accumulated weight of countless small daily decisions drains our mental reserves, depleting us when we need our diagnostic reasoning most.
Working soft means creating clear systems for routine tasks:
- Discovery call follow-up: Automated email sequences that nurture prospective patients and remind them to book when ready
- New patient onboarding: Welcome emails and intake materials that set clear expectations and prepare patients for their journey
- Treatment protocols: Standardized starting points that can be thoughtfully customized for each patient's needs
- Patient feedback: Automated requests for Google reviews and feedback after key treatment milestones
This intentional structure frees mental bandwidth. When patients present unique challenges, I'm present, focused, and ready to solve complex clinical puzzles.
Building a More Sustainable Practice
The principles of working soft have rippled beyond just patient care and automated systems. They've helped me reimagine what a sustainable clinical practice looks like. Once I recognized how much mental energy I was reclaiming through automation, I started looking at my entire schedule differently. Rather than pushing through exhaustion or constantly expanding my workload, I'm learning to trust that doing less can actually serve my patients better.
I recently built intentional pauses between patient visits. I've stopped pretending that I can effectively treat patients while simultaneously managing administrative tasks. And crucially, I've designed my automated systems to protect this schedule, preventing the common problem of back-to-back bookings. These aren't indulgences—they're essential components of providing quality care.
When I share these changes with other clinicians, I often hear a familiar worry: "But my patients need me to be available all the time." The truth is, they need us to be present and clear-headed when we are available. They need us to have the energy to solve complex clinical puzzles. They need us to still love our work enough to keep showing up, year after year.
Small Changes, Deeper Healing
The changes I've made might seem small: automated emails, standardized workflows, intentional pauses between patients. But their impact runs deep. Each system I create, each boundary I set, serves a deeper purpose than mere efficiency. These aren't just time-saving measures—they're the foundation of better clinical care.
I'm still learning, still adjusting, still finding the balance between efficiency and presence. Some days I fall back into old patterns of rushing and overwork. But having tasted what's possible—having experienced the clarity that comes with working soft—I can't go back to the constant grind.
Most of us became healers because we wanted to help people, not because we were excited about administrative work. Yet ironically, the way we manage that administrative load directly impacts our ability to heal.
This is the kind of healing work I want to do. Not rushed, not stretched thin, but present and purposeful. It starts with giving ourselves permission to work differently—to create systems that serve both us and our patients, to set boundaries that protect our energy, to trust that doing less might actually help us heal more.
If you're a clinician feeling overwhelmed by the manual aspects of your practice, start small. Choose one repetitive task that drains your energy, and spend a weekend creating a system to handle it. That single change might be the first step toward rediscovering why you chose this healing path in the first place.
With care,
Katy
