The Power of a Hard Stop

There’s a particular tension that lives in the hours between late afternoon and early evening — the moment where your professional self is supposed to hand the day over to your mother self. It sounds simple, but it rarely feels that way. Even when you want to say, “My work for today is done,” there’s a familiar guilt that creeps in: everyone else is still online, messages are still coming in, and there’s always one more thing you could finish. That quiet pressure to stay available never really disappears; it just shifts shape.

Before motherhood, I never questioned the blur between “work time” and “home time.” I stayed longer, said yes to more, checked messages after dinner, finished things at night. It never felt like a problem because the only person I was stealing time from was myself. But when you return to work as a mother, everything changes. Suddenly, stretching the day by an hour means taking something away from someone who actually needs you. And that’s when the truth becomes impossible to ignore: if you don’t create an end to your workday, there will never be one.

My first months of motherhood were a humbling lesson in this. I felt as if I was giving 33% to every role — 33% to work, 33% to my son, 33% to myself — and not feeling whole in any of them. I wasn’t underperforming; I was overspread. Trying to be accessible to colleagues while calming a baby. Trying to answer a message while rushing to bath time. Trying to “stay on top of things” while feeling my energy drain from every side. At the end of each day, I wasn’t proud — I was guilty, stretched, and mentally scattered in all directions.

It took time to understand that switching off isn’t about being perfect at time management; it’s about giving yourself the psychological permission to end one chapter before beginning the next. And that doesn’t just happen — you have to set up the day so that ending feels possible. For me, that meant working differently. Not harder. Not longer. Just cleaner.

When I have a deadline now, I strip the day down to what actually matters: deep-focus time for the deliverable, and the removal of everything that dilutes it. Low-value tasks get shifted. Background noise gets shut down. Calls that offer little return get shortened or moved. The work expands to fill whatever boundaries you give it — so give it better boundaries.

And when your work is dependent on others, the solution isn’t to stay late; it’s to talk early. Ask for what you need before the pressure hits. Mothers already operate with an instinct for planning and anticipating — use that ability professionally. Ask for inputs sooner. Share blockers sooner. No one wins when you carry the burden silently until 4:59 p.m.

Then comes the moment we all avoid admitting: sometimes you genuinely do need one more hour. And on those days, the strongest thing you can do is ask for help. Not because you’re failing, but because you’re human. Sometimes you call in your partner. Sometimes a grandparent. Sometimes childcare. Sometimes a neighbour. Your village isn’t a sign of weakness — it’s the infrastructure that allows you to be whole in both worlds. One focused hour now is better than three distracted hours spread thinly across the evening.

Even with all of this, I still have days where I struggle to disconnect. Days where I feel the itch to check messages after bedtime or mentally rehearse tomorrow’s tasks while trying to be present. But one thing remains constant: the time I spend with my son is the one part of my day I protect without negotiation. When I pick him up, I want to arrive as his mother — not as a tired employee trying to keep up with her inbox. He deserves my attention, and I deserve the peace that comes with truly switching roles.

You can’t be everywhere at once. You can’t give 100% to two worlds simultaneously. But you can create a life where each part gets a whole version of you at the right time. It starts with a simple sentence — said calmly, confidently, and without apology:
“Thank you. My work for today is done.”

The more often you say it, the truer it becomes.