When Your Mind Stays at the Office

Some days, the workday doesn’t end when you close your laptop. You carry it with you—into the commute, dinner, and the moment you finally lie down at night. Your body’s home, but your mind is still answering emails, rethinking that meeting, or worrying about tomorrow’s deadlines.

It’s a quiet kind of exhaustion. Not the dramatic, burn-out level stress you see in headlines, but the steady hum that keeps you from feeling fully present. I know it well, and I’ve learned that if I don’t address it, it slowly builds until it feels like I’m living two lives at once: the one I’m in, and the one in my head.

For a long time, I tried to ignore it. I thought it would eventually fade if I just worked harder and kept pushing. But it doesn’t. Stress left alone tends to multiply. One busy day turns into a week, a week into a month, until its weight becomes part of your life's background noise.

One evening, without much planning, I sat at my desk after work and opened a notebook instead of my laptop. I started writing—everything I could think of, unfinished tasks, small frustrations, thoughts that had been on repeat all day. I didn’t aim for neatness or clarity, just space.

The effect was immediate. On paper, my thoughts looked smaller, easier to manage. An overwhelming worry in my head was a single five-minute task. Others were vague anxieties taking up far more space than they deserved. That night, I slept better than I had in weeks.

Since then, journaling has become my main tool for preventing stress from building up. I write most evenings—sometimes a page, sometimes just a few sentences. I don’t force insights; they often come on their own. I notice which meetings leave me tense, which tasks drain me, and which I enjoy. That awareness means I can prepare for the stressful parts of my week instead of being blindsided by them.

It’s not a magic fix. Writing down your worries doesn’t erase them. But it makes them visible, which is the first step in loosening their grip. And when I can see them clearly, I’m better at putting boundaries in place—closing my laptop when the day is done, not checking messages late at night, keeping my weekends as time to recharge rather than “catch up.”

I still have stressful days, of course. But I’m quicker now to pause before the pressure piles up. Sometimes that’s a short walk without my phone. Sometimes it’s making a cup of tea and just sitting quietly for a few minutes. Small, ordinary things that create a bit of space between me and whatever’s weighing on my mind.

Most nights end the same way: a warm drink, a lamp casting a soft glow, and a pen moving across paper. Some nights I fill pages; other nights I write a single sentence. Either way, I can feel the difference. My mind is quieter. My shoulders drop. The day finally feels like it’s ended.

And the day feels clearer in the morning, because I’ve already sorted through the noise.

See Tou Soon!