I used to think ‘hustle’ was a virtue.
For two years, I answered emails at 2 a.m. because someone in Singapore was awake. I ate lunch at my desk while hopping on a Zoom call. I told myself, ‘I’m just being dedicated.’ But my body had other plans.
Burnout didn’t announce itself with a bang. It whispered: the insomnia, the panic attacks before Monday mornings, the way I’d stare blankly at my laptop screen, unable to remember why I’d even opened it.
When I finally stopped—and I mean really stopped—it wasn’t because I quit my job. It was because I realized: my home had become my prison. My couch was my desk, my laptop was my tether, and my sense of self was eroding with every unread message notification.
That’s when I created the 6 PM Rule.
No exceptions.
No ‘just one more thing.’
At exactly 6 PM, I shut my laptop. I unplug my charger. I walk into the kitchen, pour a cup of chamomile tea, and turn on the single lamp by the window—the one that doesn’t cast the harsh blue glow of a screen. Sometimes I sit in silence. Sometimes I text my best friend: ‘I logged off. Today, I won’t check again.’
It sounds simple. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Because here’s the truth no one tells you about remote work: when your office is also your bedroom, your kitchen, your sanctuary… there are no physical boundaries left. If you don’t build time boundaries, your work will consume your life.
And yes, I feel the guilt.
I see Slack pings from Tokyo at 7:30 p.m. my time. I know my colleague in Berlin is still grinding. I wonder if I’m ‘falling behind.’
But I’ve learned this: being present in your own life isn’t laziness. It’s resistance.
Every time I log off at 6 PM, I am refusing to normalize exhaustion as a career strategy. I am choosing my breath over my inbox. My sleep over my KPIs.
Here are my three non-negotiable rituals for closing the workday when your couch is your cubicle:
1. **The Physical Disconnect**—I place my laptop in a drawer (yes, even if it’s just the coffee table drawer). No ‘working from bed’ after 6. The bed is for sleep. The couch is for rest. The keyboard? Only when daylight is still on the wall.
2. **The 5-Minute Wind-Down**—I write three things I’m proud of today—not accomplishments, but moments: ‘I took a real lunch.’ ‘I said no to a meeting.’ ‘I laughed at my cat.’ This doesn’t ‘fix’ the day, but it reminds me I’m human.
3. **The Ritual Signal**—I light a candle. A single beeswax one. I don’t need to meditate or journal. I just sit with the flame. It says, ‘This is where work ends. You are safe now.’
I won’t lie—there are days when I break the rule. Days I open my laptop because I’m anxious, or bored, or afraid. But I always close it again. And then I apologize to myself—not with words, but with a cup of tea held in both hands, slow sips, until the tension leaves my shoulders.
Remote work gave us freedom. But freedom without boundaries is chaos.
My 6 PM Rule isn’t about productivity. It’s about preservation.
It’s how I learned to live again—without the constant hum of ‘just one more thing.’
And honestly? It’s the most radical self-care I’ve ever practiced.
You don’t have to be perfect.
Just consistent.
Turn off the screen.
Breathe.
You are more than your output.