Fractured Glass: What Dementia Teaches Us About Fear, Caregiving, and Asking for Help

Last night, I stayed with him at the hospital.

They were running tests to rule out anything serious—his chest hurt, his body ached—but what I felt most was the weight of fear.

Not just his.

The caregiver’s too.

Because when dementia is involved, fear doesn’t always make sense. It shows up suddenly. It builds quickly. And without warning, it can escalate into something that feels like a medical emergency.

He cried for hours, overwhelmed by something he couldn’t explain. And the caregiver beside him—exhausted, sleep-deprived, running on empty—had reached her limit.

So she stepped away to rest.

And I stayed.

The room was cold. Staff came and went. And every time they left, he looked over… just to make sure I was still there.

At one point, he said, “Thank you for staying with me and taking good care of me. I love you.” You see- he knows it and he feels it.

Later, when asked who I was, he looked over and said, “She’s really nice.”

By morning, he didn’t remember my name, I am "she".

And something inside me cracked.

Not all at once—but like fractured glass, spreading quietly, only visible when the light hits it just right.

This Isn’t Just About Memory

By mid-morning, he was medically cleared.

Relief.

No heart attack. No immediate danger.

Just panic.

Just fear.

Just a mind that can no longer regulate itself the way it used to.

And that’s when it becomes clear—

this isn’t just about memory.

This is about unmanaged fear.

This is about anxiety that the brain can no longer process or regulate.

The Part We Don’t Talk About Enough

Not every hospital visit is preventable.

But many of these moments—the panic, the spiraling fear, the sleepless nights—

can be supported earlier.

We just don’t always know how.

Or who to call.

So we wait.

We push through.

We try to manage it alone.

Until it becomes too much…and the hospital feels like the only option.

What If We Didn’t Wait That Long?

What if we recognized the early signs- within them and within ourselves:

• Increased confusion, irritability, or restlessness

• Heightened anxiety, especially at night

• Repetitive fears or thoughts

• Trouble sleeping

• Emotional distress that doesn’t settle

• Repetitive complaints

These are not “just part of dementia.”

This is not just a normal part of being a caregiver.

They are signals.

And we are allowed to respond to them before they escalate.

You Are Not Alone—There Is a Team

Many caregivers don’t realize this, but there is often a full circle of support available—before things reach crisis.

Here’s who can be part of your team:

• Primary care providers – to assess changes, review medications, order labs, and guide next steps

• Care coordinators, social workers, or care managers – to help navigate services, find respite, and reduce overwhelming emotions

• Palliative care teams – not just for end-of-life, but for comfort, expert symptom management, and emotional support at any stage

• Mental health professionals – to help caregivers manage anxiety, fear, burnout, and responses to behavioral changes

• Support groups – where caregivers can learn, share, and feel understood

• Friends and family – who often want to help, but don’t know how

These resources exist.

I know… because professionally I am one. I help others with all of the above.

But no one hands you a manual when dementia begins.

So unless someone tells you…you may never know to reach for them.

The Part No One Explains: It Becomes “Us”

What I am learning…

Somewhere along the way, caregiving shifts.

It’s no longer you and them.

It becomes… us.

The relationship becomes almost symbiotic.

If they are anxious… you feel it.

If they are agitated… your body responds.

If they are sad, fearful, or overwhelmed… it moves through the room and settles into you too.

It’s similar to how a child looks to a parent for safety and regulation.

Except now, the roles have reversed.

They look to you—not just for care, but for emotional direction.

For cues on whether they are safe.

For signals on how to respond to what they’re feeling but can’t understand.

For language when they cannot find the words.

For interpretation and response when someone is speaking and they can’t process as fast.

For reassurance when nothing feels familiar.

For calm when their body feels out of control.

For grounding when their mind is racing.

For meaning when things stop making sense.

For patience when they can’t keep up.

For dignity when they begin to feel lost.

And here’s what makes it even harder:

If you are exhausted… they feel it.

If you are stressed… it can heighten their stress.

If you are overwhelmed… it can amplify their confusion.

Not because you’re doing anything wrong—

but because you’ve become their anchor.

In psychology, there’s a concept called person-in-environment—the idea that we don’t function in isolation. We are constantly influenced by the people and energy around us.

In caregiving, this becomes very real.

But this isn’t a new idea.

Scripture has been saying it all along:

“Carry each other’s burdens…” — Galatians 6:2

This Is What It Feels Like

Symbiotic relationships…

but the truth is, we already know this.

We’ve lived this before.

When we raise our children, they watch us.

They mimic us.

They respond to us.

They become little versions of us.

And as they grow, they begin to separate.

They take what fits them.

They make changes.

They become their own person.

They provide us with feedback on our parenting techniques...

With dementia… that second part doesn’t happen.

There is no separation.

There is no “I’ll take this and leave that.”

Instead…

they become a mirror of us.

They say what we say.

They feel how we feel.

They do what we do.

There is no differentiation of self.

And that is a huge responsibility.

One you may not want.

One you didn’t ask for.

Doing everything together…all day… every day…

is exhausting.

And this is why we ask for help.

Not because we can’t do it—

but because we were never meant to do it alone.

We need time to regulate ourselves.

To learn.

To process.

To come back grounded.

This isn’t clinical.

This is how it feels.

Why Self-Awareness Matters

This is where caregiving becomes a mirror.

We begin to ask:

• Why am I not asking for help?

• Why do I feel like I have to carry this alone?

• Why don't I trust others to step in?

They won’t take as good of care of him as I do.

There is no personal connection, no history, no family ties—

they won’t treat him with the same respect and dignity.

I am the expert in this situation.

But… could we be wrong?

You are right about being the expert in this situation.

You know yourself.

You know your loved one.

But being the expert doesn’t mean doing it alone.

They are still a shell of who they used to be-

funny, story tellers, helpers, playful, inquisitive.

It means learning to trust others enough to let them in—

while still trusting your own judgment.

The Teaching Moment

Teaching the caregiver matters too.

Teaching them the routine.

The expectations.

The boundaries.

The safety.

The communication styles.

The likes and dislikes.

Guiding them.

Role modeling for them.

Putting time into your caregiver—so they understand not just the tasks,

but the person.

Because when you invest in them…you get better care in return.

And maybe—just maybe—

you get a small part of yourself back.

The ability to step out of the constant role…and return to being a spouse.

 For the Caregiver — Advocate for Yourself

If you are exhausted… that makes sense.

If you are overwhelmed… that is real.

If you feel like you’re carrying too much… you probably are.

And it’s okay to say that.

You were never meant to do this alone.

But here’s the truth—

people don’t always know how to help.

So we have to show them.

We have to tell them.

We have to advocate for ourselves just as much as we advocate for the ones we love.

Ask someone to bring a meal.

Ask someone to sit for an hour.

Ask someone to take them to an appointment.

Ask someone to take them on an outing.

Ask someone to connect with them—one-on-one.

Ask someone to pick up the medications.

Ask someone to drop off groceries.

Not because you can’t do it…

but because you shouldn’t have to do it all.

And teach them this:

They don’t need perfect words.

They don’t need to correct anything.

They don’t need to fix anything.

They just need to be present.

Reframing Help: You Are Not a Burden

Giving to others is biblical.

We are called to show up for one another.

To carry each other.

To be present in times of need.

And the most precious thing we can give…

is our time.

Somewhere along the way, though, caregivers begin to believe something else.

I don’t want to burden anyone.

I shouldn’t ask.

They have their own lives.

But what if that isn’t true?

What if helping… isn’t an inconvenience?

What if it’s actually part of who we are?

The truth is—

people are already doing these things in their own lives every day.

They go to the grocery store.

They pick up prescriptions.

They cook meals.

They run errands.

So when we ask for help…

we are often not asking them to do something completely different.

We are simply asking them to bring us along in what they are already doing.

Pick up an extra prescription.

Grab a few more groceries.

Make a meal for two instead of one.

It’s not always more.

Sometimes it’s just… shared.

And maybe there’s something even deeper we don’t think about…

What if helping you gives someone else purpose?

Meaning?

Connection?

What if it helps pull someone out of their own isolation…

their own depression…

their own anxiety?

What if showing up for you…

actually helps them too?

You are not asking someone to carry your burden alone.

You are inviting them to walk alongside you.

And Scripture reminds us:

“Carry each other’s burdens…” — Galatians 6:2

Not one person carrying everything.

But all of us… carrying a little.

So maybe the question isn’t:

Am I burdening someone?

Maybe the question is:

Am I allowing others the opportunity to love, to give, to find purpose… and to show up?