Your notes belong in your office.

Why this is different, told slowly.

You do not need to understand computers to follow this. It is five steps, and each one is short.

1. Every other system in this field keeps your notes on a company's computers. You type a session note, and it travels to a building you have never seen, owned by people you have never met. That is not a scandal — it is simply how nearly all of this software is built.
2. When a company holds your clients' records, the law wants that company to sign something. It is a contract that makes them responsible for protecting what they are holding. In the trade it is called a Business Associate Agreement. Your clients' privacy rests on it.
3. So we went to get one signed. And we found something. The company that hosts software like ours will only sign that contract on their expensive business plans — and they add roughly twenty percent to the bill for the privilege. The ordinary plan our product had been set up on could never be covered by that contract at all. Not for more money. Not by asking nicely. Ever.
4. We stopped trying to buy the contract. We took the records off their computers entirely and put them on yours — the machine already sitting on your desk, in the office you lock at night.
5. Now there is nothing to sign, because there is nobody to sign it with. No company is holding your clients' records, so no company needs to promise to look after them. The problem was not solved. It was removed.

Where the record goes.

A larger company cannot follow us here.

Not because they lack the talent. Because of what they are.

The Lighthouse — an EHR that is pleasant at 8am.

Your client lives on the island. You get the lighthouse. It is a clinical workspace: your day, your notes, your assessments, your telehealth — wired to what your client actually did between Tuesday and Tuesday.

The task list writes itself from real events. Sign a note and its task resolves on its own. You never manage the list; it manages itself.

These are photographs of the running software, not drawings of what it might look like. It is the same build that sits open on my desk during a clinical day.

See every screen, and how the client side works →

You should not take my word for any of this.

A promise about privacy is worth very little. So the software checks itself, every time it is built, and refuses to ship if any of these stops being true.

• It refuses to answer any other machine. We start it up and knock on every address on the network from a second device. If anything answers, the build is rejected. A locked door is only locked if somebody tries the handle.
• It tells you where it is thinking. The software works out, from its own settings, whether the words are being written on your machine or somewhere else — and says so on screen. It is not a sentence someone typed once and forgot.
• It keeps a second copy where you say. On a drive you own, and it tells you the last time that actually worked. A backup nobody has checked is a rumour.
• Your records stay readable without us. They live in ordinary files on your machine. You back them up by copying a folder. If you ever walk away, nothing is held hostage.

Two things I want you to know before you try it.

I would rather tell you this now than have you discover it later. That is the same reason the software tells you where it is thinking.