When my son was born in 2022, he was diagnosed with a breathing disorder called laryngomalacia, as well as a laryngeal cleft. At the time, I was working as a registered nurse in the operating room. Because he required surgery and specialized care, I knew I couldn't leave him, so my husband and I made the difficult decision for me to put my nursing career on hold and stay home with him.

Around the same time, my husband's grandmother, Baba, was experiencing progressing dementia and could no longer safely live alone. My husband and I were both raised to believe that family takes care of family. Instead of placing Baba in a nursing home, we welcomed her into our home and committed to caring for her for as long as we safely could. The last four years have certainly been a wild and emotional journey, filled with challenges, sacrifices, love, and countless meaningful moments. Although it wasn't always easy, we wouldn't trade the time we shared with Baba, or the memories we created together, for anything.

Honestly, there was never a perfect balance, it was more about taking each day, and sometimes each moment, as it came. Raising three young children while caring for someone with dementia meant that everyone's needs often competed for my attention. I relied heavily on routines, teamwork with my husband, and giving myself grace when things didn't go as planned.

There were certainly difficult days, but there were also incredibly meaningful moments. My children learned patience, compassion, and the importance of caring for family, while Baba brought a special kind of love into our home. I often reminded myself that I didn't have to do everything perfectly, I simply had to meet each person where they were and do the best I could with what that day required.

What pushed me to start sharing was realizing there weren't many truly honest, raw videos showing what dementia caregiving actually looks like: the difficult moments, the emotional toll, and the reality behind closed doors. Caregivers need to see that they aren't alone and that other families are navigating these same challenges.

I also wanted to share the approaches that have helped us: how we respond calmly, offer reassurance, redirect difficult moments, and meet Baba where she is. If sharing our experience can help even one caregiver feel understood, less isolated, or more confident in handling a hard moment, then being vulnerable is worth it.

Living in a caregiving household has taught my children lessons I never could have taught through words alone. They've learned that love sometimes means slowing down, repeating yourself, offering reassurance, and showing patience even when things feel difficult. They saw that Baba was still worthy of dignity, kindness, and inclusion, even as dementia changed her.

I hope they carry those lessons with them throughout their lives: that they notice when someone needs help, lead with compassion instead of judgment, and understand that caring for others isn't always easy or perfect. Our home may have looked different from others, but it was filled with a kind of love that I believe will shape who they become forever.

For us, connection often came through the simplest moments. We would sit together with the kids, share a snack, look through old photos, listen to familiar music, or let her hold and interact with the baby. On difficult days, I learned not to force conversation or try to bring her into my reality. I would meet her where she was, offer reassurance, and gently redirect her toward something comforting. Even when words or memories faded, she could still feel love, safety, and presence, and sometimes quietly sitting beside her was the most meaningful connection of all.

For me, caregiver burnout looked like constantly running on empty. I became more emotional, had less patience, felt overwhelmed by small things, and sometimes found myself grieving a life that no longer felt like my own. I was caring for someone with dementia while raising three children, and I often felt guilty for not being able to give everyone the best version of me.

I've learned that self-care isn't always a spa day or an entire day away. It can be taking a shower without rushing, sitting quietly with a cup of coffee, getting outside with my children, or simply admitting, "I'm not okay today." It also means accepting help, setting boundaries, and taking respite before you reach your breaking point. I used to believe that asking for help meant I was failing her, but now I understand that caring for myself was necessary if I wanted to continue caring for the people I love.

One truth I wish more people understood is that dementia caregiving is filled with love and grief at the same time. You can be incredibly grateful to care for someone and still feel exhausted, overwhelmed, frustrated, or even resentful, and that does not make you a bad caregiver. You're constantly grieving pieces of someone while they're still physically here, yet there can still be beautiful moments of connection and joy. It's complicated, emotional, and often lonely, which is why caregivers need compassion and support, not judgment.

I've learned that joy usually isn't found in the big, perfectly planned moments, it's hidden in the tiny ones. It's hearing my children laugh in the middle of a chaotic morning, sharing a sweet moment with Baba, or simply sitting together at the end of a long day. I try to remind myself that the mess can wait and the to-do list will always be there, but these seasons won't.

Humor has also carried us through some of the hardest days. Sometimes you have to laugh at the unpredictability, not because it isn't difficult, but because laughter gives you room to breathe. Those little moments of connection are what keep me grounded and remind me why I'm doing all of this.

For new dementia caregivers, I recommend starting with practical tools that create safety, comfort, and routine: a medication organizer, door alarms or cameras, a baby monitor, a bed alarm, waterproof bedding, disposable gloves and wipes, and comfortable clothing that's easy to change. Comfort items like a robotic pet, baby doll, fidget blanket, familiar music, and favorite snacks can also be incredibly helpful during anxious moments.

But the most important "tools" aren't things you can buy, they're patience, flexibility, redirection, and a strong support system. Dementia is unpredictable, and you'll learn through trial and error. Give yourself grace, ask for help before you reach burnout, and remember that you don't have to handle every difficult moment perfectly.

First, take a deep breath. You do not have to have everything figured out today, and you are not expected to become an expert overnight. Dementia caregiving is something you learn one day, and sometimes one moment, at a time.

Give yourself permission to ask for help, accept support, and acknowledge that this is hard. There will be beautiful moments, heartbreaking moments, and days when you question whether you are doing enough. But your loved one does not need a perfect caregiver, they need someone who makes them feel safe, loved, and not alone. And please remember, caring for yourself is part of caring for them. You matter in this journey, too.