As the eldest daughter and a first-generation Latina, I grew up believing family comes first. I always knew I would be there for my parents as they aged.

But I imagined building my career, raising my family and supporting my parents through their retirement years. I never imagined that in midlife, I would take on what often felt like the role of a parent to my own parent.

Caregiving changed Alma the daughter.

I became Mom’s advocate, protector and decision-maker. I learned to anticipate her needs and care for her in ways neither of us could have imagined.

But through all of that, I was still her daughter. I still needed my Mom, too.

More than a decade later, I’ve learned that being a devoted daughter isn’t about doing everything perfectly. It’s about showing up, adapting and loving someone through changes you could never have prepared for.

My life looks very different from the one I imagined.

But underneath caregiver, advocate, wife and mother, I am still Alma, her daughter.

Before my Mom was diagnosed with dementia, her sister Guille was already living with Alzheimer's. Naturally, we compared the two all the time but we focused more on their different personalities than on what those differences might actually mean.

Looking back, one of the biggest signs that something wasn't adding up was my mom's behavior. Her dementia just didn't look like my Aunt's. The personality and behavioral changes were much more noticeable and for a long time, we attributed those things to who my Mom was rather than considering that she might have a different type of dementia.

We had Alzheimer's in our family, so we thought we knew what dementia looked like. My Mom's journey taught us that dementia can look very different depending on what is happening in the brain.

Getting the FTD diagnosis helped put so many years of confusing behaviors and experiences into context. It didn't change what we had already lived through but it gave us a better understanding of why. For our family, having the correct diagnosis meant we could stop comparing her journey to Alzheimer's and start understanding and supporting my Mom for where she was.

Because I believe caregiving should be family style. I want to normalize that because, too often, as dementia progresses, family and friends slowly check out and the responsibility falls on one primary caregiver.

But our loved ones are still part of the family. They still deserve to be included in the food, the music, the art, the laughter and the everyday moments happening around them.

For us, those things aren't extras, they are part of care. Even on the hardest dementia days, putting on familiar music, sharing a meal or creating something together can bring a little connection and joy.

I don't know if there was one moment when I consciously said, "My life is about to change forever," but looking back, the beginning of the pandemic was definitely that moment.

I was laid off from my career as a technical designer and around the same time, the company I worked for filed for bankruptcy. Mom was also at a pivotal point in her dementia journey and suddenly everything shifted at once.

I knew I was being thrust into full-time caregiving. At that stage, I couldn't see how I could realistically return to a traditional job while also giving Mom the level of care and supervision she needed.

That's when my focus became figuring out how we were going to make this work. I started looking for resources, programs and ways to bring in income while caring for her.

At the time, it felt like my career had come to an abrupt stop. What I didn't realize yet was that I was stepping into an entirely different chapter of my life; one that would eventually shape my advocacy, my community and so much of who I am today.

In the beginning, I carried a lot of guilt about why I didn't catch it sooner. I replayed the signs and wondered how I could have missed them. But after years of caregiving, I stopped blaming myself. I didn't know then what I know now. The early signs of dementia can look like stress, depression, menopause, personality changes or just life. I eventually realized that I couldn't recognize something I didn't yet understand. I stopped asking, 'Why didn't I catch it sooner?' and started giving myself grace for everything I did once I knew.

I think one of the biggest cultural barriers is that, in many Latino families, we still have a difficult time talking openly about mental health, cognitive health, stress and even aging.

We're really good at talking about the everyday parts of life; working hard, making money, raising our families, planning the next party, celebrating milestones and enjoying time together. But we don't always make the same space for conversations about managing stress, taking care of our health, noticing changes in our parents or planning for what aging might look like.

There can also be this mentality of, "We take care of our own." And while there is something beautiful about that, it can sometimes keep families from asking for help or even acknowledging that they need it.

I never imagined the friendships I found through social media would become such a lifeline.

I started sharing our journey because I wanted to connect with people who understood dementia and caregiving but I didn't expect to find people who would genuinely become friends. People who check in, celebrate the small wins, sit with me through the hard days, share resources and understand things without needing a long explanation.

There are mornings when Mom needs a little extra time to get her gears going. We start slowly; some hydration, a little yogurt and then my favorite part: music.

I'll put on a song she loves and little by little, I can see her perk up. Her eyes open a little wider, her body starts moving and sometimes I'll even get some humming.

After all these years of caregiving, those are the moments that still make me smile. Dementia has changed so much about Mom but music still has a way of reaching her. And getting to witness that spark—even if it's just for a few minutes is one of my favorite parts of the day.

Learn to slow down. In the beginning, I was always trying to fix something, figure out what was coming next or get through the day. I wish I had understood sooner that dementia was going to force us to live at a different pace. Slow down. Meet Mom where she is. Pay attention to the little moments. Not everything needs to be solved or rushed. Some days, being present is enough.

Something that may cost you some time but is absolutely worth the investment, is studying your person.

Take the time to listen, observe their routines and really understand their needs. Especially when dementia is involved, try to figure out the why behind a behavior instead of immediately labeling it as stubbornness or resistance. That understanding can save you a lot of frustration and sometimes keep you from buying things you don't actually need.

As far as products, I would invest early in things that provide safety, comfort and dignity.

Security cameras were huge for us. They gave me another set of eyes and allowed me to monitor Mom without constantly hovering.

I also believe in investing in quality adult briefs and incontinence supplies. A better product can mean fewer leaks, fewer clothing and bedding changes, better sleep and more dignity for your loved one.