This Month I Reduced My Work Hours on Purpose

A few months ago, I opened my Google Calendar on a quiet Sunday evening and deliberately began deleting sessions. 

It was not because my client list had slowed down, and in fact, my 1:1 yoga practice had been steadily growing. 

But Emma has changed. Emma has always been my steady child. She is naturally sociable without being loud, kind without trying to impress anyone, and emotionally thoughtful in ways that surprise me for her age. 

Her teachers often describe her as responsible and easy to work with.

At home, she reads quietly while Claire and Jack negotiate loudly over toys, occasionally stepping in to smooth things over without being asked.

Because she does not dramatize her feelings, I pay attention to subtle changes.

One Wednesday in late April, I picked the kids up from school at 3:20 p.m., just after finishing a 1:00 p.m. private session with a client working on shoulder mobility. 

The afternoon sunlight was bright, the air mild, and everything seemed normal until Emma got into the car.

She buckled her seatbelt and stared out the window. When I asked how her day was, she said, “Fine,” without turning toward me. The word landed flat.

At home around 3:45 p.m., she walked upstairs instead of stopping in the kitchen for her usual apple slices.

That evening, during dinner at 6:00 p.m., she barely touched her grilled chicken and rice. She pushed the food around her plate and said she wasn’t very hungry.

By 8:45 p.m., after Claire and Jack were asleep, I sat beside her on her bed and asked gently what was going on. She hesitated before speaking.

“There’s a boy in my class,” she said quietly. “His name is Matthew. He keeps making comments about my hair.”

Emma’s hair is thick, slightly wavy, and full. She often wears it down or in a loose braid over one shoulder.

She told me that during recess, Matthew had said it looked messy and asked if she ever brushed it. He laughed. A couple of other boys laughed too. It had happened more than once.

“It’s not that bad,” she added quickly, as if minimizing her own hurt. “But he keeps saying it.”

“It doesn’t sound small to me,” I told her calmly. “If it makes you feel uncomfortable, it matters.”

She leaned into me then, and I realized she had been carrying it quietly for days.

What I Did First

The next morning at 7:30 a.m., after school drop-off, I wrote an email to her teacher. I described exactly what Emma had told me, including the specific language used. 

I kept my tone factual and steady. I did not accuse, and I did not demand punishment. I simply asked for awareness and support.

Her teacher replied that afternoon, acknowledging she had observed teasing behavior and would address it directly. That part felt manageable.

What felt heavier was what I saw at home during the late afternoons.

Emma seemed more withdrawn between 3:45 and 5:30 p.m., which happened to be the time I was often preparing for my 4:30 p.m. small group yoga sessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Even when I was physically in the house, my attention was divided. I was reviewing client notes, adjusting sequences, and checking music playlists.

I began to ask myself a difficult question: was my schedule serving my family at this moment?

The Decision to Reduce My Hours

At that time, I was teaching twelve sessions per week: eight private clients and two small group series. Financially, reducing hours would mean giving up approximately $600 to $700 that month, depending on attendance.

While Liam’s income covers most of our household expenses, my contribution supports savings, extracurricular activities, and flexibility.

Still, I opened my calendar. I canceled the Tuesday 4:30 p.m. group series and moved one Thursday private client to an earlier 8:00 a.m. slot, which required me to wake up earlier and plan more carefully around school drop-off. 

In total, I reduced roughly four teaching hours per week.

When Emma walked in the following Monday at 3:40 p.m., I was not transitioning mentally into teacher mode. I was slicing apples in the kitchen, fully present.

She lingered beside me. We talked about a science quiz and a reading assignment. A few minutes later, without prompting, she mentioned that Matthew had not said anything that day.

Rebuilding Her Confidence

Over the next two weeks, I made small changes. One evening, I sat behind Emma and brushed her hair slowly before bed. 

Not because it needed fixing, but because I wanted her to feel cared for and confident in it. We experimented with different braiding styles and laughed when one attempt looked uneven.

I also shared a story from my own childhood about being teased for wearing glasses. I wanted her to understand that embarrassment does not define you.

Her teacher later confirmed that the teasing had stopped after a classroom discussion about kindness and respect.

At home, I noticed Emma’s posture change first. She began eating normally again at dinner. She spoke more during car rides. The subtle heaviness that had settled around her seemed to lift.

What This Month Taught Me

Reducing my work hours did not erase what had happened at school, and it did not solve the problem alone. 

What it did was communicate something clear to Emma: when something affects you deeply, I will make room.

Years ago, I might have tried to maintain every session and convince myself that I could manage both professional consistency and emotional presence at full capacity. This time, I chose differently.

Work can expand and contract, but childhood does not.