This Might Feel Familiar...

There was a daughter I worked with, Shirley, who loved her mom deeply.

She was doing everything she could.
Showing up every day, managing appointments, making sure things were taken care of, all while working full time.
And she was exhausted.

Her mom would ask the same question again and again, and each time, you could see the tension rise.

She would try to explain, gently at first, then a little more firmly, and eventually, frustration would take over.

And almost immediately… came the guilt.

She said to me,
“I know this isn’t her fault. I just don’t know what to do differently.
I am becoming someone I don’t want to be.”

I hear a version of this story so often.
Not because people don’t care, but because they care so much.

When Shirley and I worked together, we didn’t start with techniques to change things, we started with understanding.

What was happening in her mom’s brain.
What her mom was experiencing in those moments.
What was still working, and what was no longer accessible.

And something began to shift.

The questions didn’t stop overnight.
The disease didn’t change.

But Shirley’s response did.

Instead of trying to correct or explain, she began to meet her mom where she was.

Her tone softened.
Her approach changed.
The tension in the room began to lift.

And one day she said,
“It feels different now. I’m not fighting it anymore.
And I feel like I can be me again, and Mom can be who she is.”

That’s what Dementia Caring with Kerry is about.

Not controlling the disease.
Not doing everything perfectly.

But learning how to meet your loved one in a new way,
so that even in the middle of this…
there can still be connection.

A Different Kind of Connection Is Still Possible

Ed, a client of mine, had been married to his wife Ginger for over 40 years.

He would often say,
“We’ve been through everything together.”

And now… this.

At first, it was small things.
Misplaced items.
Forgetting conversations.

But over time, it became harder.

His wife would become upset over things that didn’t seem to make sense.
She would question him, resist help, or withdraw altogether.

And he found himself trying to hold everything together.

He would explain.
He would reason.
He would try to remind her of what was true.

And when that didn’t work…
he would push a little harder.

Not out of frustration, but out of love.

But it wasn’t helping.

One day he said to me,
“I feel like I’m losing her… and I don’t know how to reach her anymore.”

That moment carries so much weight.

Because for a spouse, this isn’t just about caregiving.
It’s about the relationship, the history, the life you’ve built together.

During our first conversation, we spoke very little about how to reach his wife that day.
Instead, we stayed with what he was experiencing, the grief of the many small losses he had felt over the past few months.

As he talked through this, something shifted.
He felt more steady, more grounded.

From there, we began to look at things differently.

We talked about what his wife needed.
How her brain was working.
How she might be perceiving, or not perceiving, his reminders and explanations.

He began to see something clearly.

He had lost some of his loving tone,
and realized that she was responding to that far more than the words themselves.

He started to understand.

What was happening in his wife’s brain.
What she was experiencing in those moments.
What she still needed, even if she couldn’t express it clearly.

And slowly, something began to change.

He stopped trying to pull her back into his reality,
and began to step into hers.

He adjusted how he approached her.
How he spoke.
How he responded in those difficult moments.

He became more affectionate.

And the tension between them began to soften.

Not every moment.
Not perfectly.
But enough.

And one day he said,
“We are becoming more one than I thought was possible.
I can’t explain it, but I know it is happening because she feels safe and loving with me.”

That’s what this work is about.

Not going back to what was.
Not fixing what cannot be fixed.

But learning how to stay connected,
in a way that still feels real, and meaningful, and full of care.

This is the kind of shift the program was created to support — not by offering quick fixes, but by helping you see the person, the disease, and the moment differently.