My mom says she feels lonely — forgotten — locked away from the world.
 And yet, she chooses not to leave her room. Not for meals. Not for activities. Not even when we offer to go with her.

In this episode, I talk about the complicated reality of loving someone who is safe, cared for, and still deeply isolated — and how some patterns of loneliness don’t begin with illness, but quietly precede it.

This is a conversation about ambiguous grief, boundaries, and the hard truth that we can’t want connection more than someone else is willing to accept it.

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Sometimes caregiving asks more of us than we realize — until our own bodies tap us on the shoulder and say, “It’s your turn.”

After a three-month pause, I’m back to talk about why I had to step away: navigating my own health challenges, learning what it means to stop pouring from an empty cup, and finding my way back without everything being neatly resolved.

This episode isn’t about having answers — it’s about giving ourselves permission to rest, reset, and return when we can.

If you’ve ever disappeared for a while just to survive… this one’s for you.

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Dementia isn’t just grief and red tape. Sometimes, it’s sitcoms, imaginary fish, and your mom asking why her face keeps disappearing.

In this episode, I share some of the most memorable, surreal, and unexpectedly tender things my mom has said over the last two years. These quotes—these “notes”—are fragments of her changing reality, but they still carry her voice, her humor, and her heart.

From wedding venues that don’t exist, to heartfelt confusion about whether she still has a second job, these moments are as absurd as they are emotional. They remind me (and maybe you too) that even when memory fades, love and identity find strange ways to stay present.

If you’ve ever laughed and cried in the same breath, this one’s for you.

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What do you do when your loved one with dementia has a “good day”—but it still hurts?

In this episode, I talk about the strange emotional terrain of almost. When my mom remembers something… and then forgets it 20 minutes later. When she smiles, laughs, even calls me by name—but still believes she needs to leave for work in the morning.

These are the days that look like progress from the outside, but carry a quiet grief on the inside. Because sometimes the hardest part of dementia caregiving isn’t the chaos—it’s the clarity that doesn’t last.

I also break to the present moment, over two years into our Wernicke-Korsakoff journey, to reflect on what she’s relearned, how time gets warped, and why she still believes she should be living a life that no longer exists.

This one’s for anyone who’s ever felt guilty that the “better” days still break your heart.

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What do you do when your mom calls from the nursing home and says she’s being held hostage by her ex-boyfriend from 15 years ago?

In this episode, I talk about the stage of caregiving no one prepares you for:
 👉 the daily phone calls
 👉 the delusions
 👉 and the emotional whiplash of comforting someone inside a reality you can’t share.

I also talk about what it feels like to become your parent’s emotional anchor—and the strange comfort that comes from being the person they call, even when they don’t know exactly where they are.

If you’ve ever taken a deep breath before answering the phone… this one’s for you.

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When my mom was suddenly hospitalized for confusion, delusions, and memory loss, I didn’t know what we were facing. But within days, a neurologist gave us a name:
 Wernicke Encephalopathy.
A rare, often alcohol-related brain injury caused by a severe Vitamin B1 deficiency.

I’d never heard of it. I didn’t know what it meant.
 But I did know one thing—we had 14 days to find out if she would come back to us.

In this episode, I share what those 14 days were like. The hope, the heartbreak, and the moment we realized love—and even the best care—doesn’t always lead to recovery. I also talk about the emotional whiplash of getting a diagnosis and still feeling completely lost.

If you've ever prayed for a turning point and found yourself standing in place… you're not alone.

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When someone you love is diagnosed with dementia, everything changes—fast. And one of the most urgent (and overwhelming) questions becomes: Who has the legal right to help them?

In this episode, I sit down with elder care attorney John Saccoccia to break down the three essential legal documents every family should have in place before a crisis:

1. ✅ Healthcare Power of Attorney
2. 📄 Living Will
3. 💵 Durable Financial Power of Attorney

John explains what each document does, why timing is everything, and what happens if you wait too long. We also talk about real-life challenges caregivers face when these protections aren’t in place—and how to start the conversation with your loved ones before it’s too late.

If you’ve ever thought, “We should really get that paperwork done someday…”
 This is your sign to do it now.

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Before the diagnosis, there were warning signs—only we didn’t know they were warnings yet.

In this episode, I revisit the slow unraveling that began long before my mom’s official diagnosis. From forgetting how to unlock her phone to abandoning frozen dinners and doctor follow-ups, her world was quietly changing—and I was already stepping into the caregiver role without realizing it.

If you’ve ever looked back and thought, How did I miss it?—this one’s for you.

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Before the diagnosis, before the confusion, before the daily calls from the nursing home—there was just me and my mom.

In this episode, I take you back to the before. To the childhood memories of buffet lunches, breakroom nail polish experiments, and blue retail vests three sizes too big. You'll meet my mom not as a patient, but as the strong, funny, stubborn woman who raised me—through foot surgeries, rheumatoid arthritis, and Monday Ponderosa runs with Grandma.

Because before you become a caregiver, you're just a daughter. And before dementia rewrites everything, there’s a version of the person you love that’s worth remembering.

This one’s for all of us holding onto the before.

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 The night everything changed—and I didn’t even know it yet. 

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