The Loch Between Work and Home: Why the transition matters more than we think
There is a moment most of us move through every day without really noticing it. It arrives after the laptop is closed, somewhere between the final email and the front door, in the drive home, in doom-scrolling in your car in your driveway or the quiet walk from the train. It is the space where the version of us that has been solving problems, managing expectations, making decisions, coordinating teams and holding things together all day begins to soften, even if only slightly, into who we hope to be when we arrive home.
Brené Brown describes this transition as a psychological crossing, a “loch” in its truest sense; allowing for you to enter at one level and creating a pause space whilst the level rises or falls to meet the requirements of the next journey. When we rush it or ignore it altogether, it can have lasting impacts on our wellbeing and ability to disconnect from work and connect in with those we choose to do life with.
Why the transition home feels heavier than expected
Work asks a great deal of us, often in ways that are subtle but cumulative. It asks us to be competent, accountable, responsive, emotionally regulated, and decisive, sometimes all at once. By the end of the day, many people are still carrying the residue of conversations, unfinished thinking, and the low-level alertness that comes with being responsible for outcomes.
Then, almost immediately, we step into our home environments and expect ourselves to be present, warm, and available in different ways. The contrast between these two states can be significant (vastly different water levels, one might say). Without a deliberate pause in between, that contrast often shows up as distraction, irritability, oversharing or a sense of being physically home but mentally elsewhere. Not because we do not care, but because we have not yet allowed ourselves the chance to arrive.
Noticing my own loch
As I have begun working back in workplaces while continuing to grow my coaching business, I have become much more aware of how easily my work brain follows me home. It starts on the ferry, where I’m still working through emails, closing out work or mentally reshuffling tomorrow’s priorities, and it continues as I walk through the door, eat dinner, sit on the couch with my partner, or quietly prepare for the next day before it has even arrived.
What I have realised is that this ongoing processing, whilst familiar and often productive, slowly pulls my attention away from the environment I am actually in. The space I am meant to be resting in, connecting in, or simply inhabiting begins to compete with thoughts that belong to somewhere else.
When the loch is rushed, the energy is shared by osmosis
When I do not take time to transition through the loch, I often end up sharing the day through osmosis rather than intention. The thinking, stories, and mental load of work seep into the space I share with the people I love, not because I am consciously seeking support, but because I have not yet put the day down. It’s a fake version of connection, oversharing experiences that are still mid-processing, narrating problems that belong to the workplace, or verbally unpacking decisions that have not yet settled. The boundary between work and home blurs, and the emotional tone of the day quietly spreads into the room.
What I am beginning to understand is that this is not about emotional immaturity or poor boundaries. It is often about skipped transitions.
When the loch is rushed, that excess stimulation does not disappear; it transfers. The people around us absorb the momentum of the day, even when our intention is simply to connect. I think about working parents who come home to families and overstimulate children who are bathed, fed and ready for a slow bedtime transition… enter chaos and a raised eyebrow from a stay-at-home partner.
The loch is not the problem
This is where Brené Brown’s framing becomes particularly helpful. The loch itself is not something to avoid or minimise, it’s where the important work happens. It is where the body settles and where the nervous system downshifts.
In coaching conversations, I often hear people criticise themselves for not being able to switch off more easily. What is often missing is not discipline or gratitude, but transition. The loch is not about doing more. It is about acknowledging what is ending before something else begins, stopping to allow the water to balance.
Crossing the loch with intention
Crossing the loch does not require an elaborate ritual or a perfect routine. It requires a moment that marks the shift between contexts like switching the laptop off 20 minutes before the ferry docks so I can sit and close the box on the day or having a shower when I arrive home to wash off the day thoughtfully.
For others, it may be a physical cue such as changing clothes, washing hands, or pausing for a few steady breaths before opening the door. Even a quiet internal check-in that asks what truly needs to come inside when you’re putting the keys in the door can be enough to create space.
The practice matters less than the intention. The goal is not to arrive home fully resolved, but to arrive aware. When we honour the loch, we show up more regulated, more intentional, and more attuned to the space and people protecting our relationships, the emotional climate of our homes, and our ability to connect in ways that feel mutual rather than overwhelming.
A reflection to carry with you
As you make your way home this week, consider pausing long enough to notice what you are still carrying from the day. Ask yourself whether it truly needs to come with you, and what might help you arrive with a little more spaciousness.
Crossing the loch is not about leaving work behind completely. It is about arriving where you are.
Image credit: David Allen via Pexels