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Caregiver’s Corner: Silence and Healing for Dementia Anxiety

At my mom’s memory care community, there’s a particular resident who has a great deal of anxiety. The staff does a tremendous and compassionate job of calming her, but I still see her regularly wandering, looking like she is about to burst into tears. She will take the bottom of her shirt and rub the hem between her fingers and thumbs over and over. She paces back and forth, and you can tell she’s nervous by her tone of voice.

I gravitate toward her. I understand anxiety and loneliness. I see the look in her eyes and I know it because I have seen it in the mirror, looking back at me, so often.

She seems to like me too. She always comes over, sits beside me, and talks to me. I think it’s because I treat her like I want people to treat me when I’m suffering. I don’t try to fix anything. I don’t tell her it’s ok. I don’t tell her not to worry about things.

Instead, I become as intensely present as I’m able to be. I listen as closely as I can. Even though I don’t understand what she’s talking about, I respond to the emotion on her face and validate it with looks of understanding and compassion. I help her understand that her feelings are valid and important, and I don’t try to make them go away or tell her she shouldn’t be concerned. Her feelings are allowed and accepted.

Just like this resident, I’m concerned about plenty of things in life. Maybe you are too. For instance, I’m concerned about my mom’s journey through Alzheimer’s disease. How do you think I’d respond to someone who says “don’t worry about it”? How would you respond? I’d much rather someone gave me their attention and listened deeply.

This very human need for understanding doesn’t change because someone has dementia. Just because we don’t understand why someone feels anxious, we can understand that they feel anxious.

As she talks and I listen intensely, she starts to calm a bit. Slowly she stops fiddling with her shirt. Her face relaxes bit by bit, and her speech slows. Often, she looks at me with gratitude, says “thank you,” and sits down quietly with me or walks away more at peace.

I think it’s hard for us when we can’t solve a problem someone else has. When they describe their feelings, out of the kindness in our hearts, we want to fix things and help them. This is problem-focused, rather than person-focused, and it actually takes the person out of the process. When we can’t understand the problem because dementia interrupts communication, solving the problem often isn’t an option.

Thoughtful, validating listening becomes our best tool. I compare it to having a conversation with someone speaking a language I barely understand. I listen so much more carefully for the slightest pieces that will give me a clue to what is being said, and I’d rather not speak and reveal how little I understand.

I learned the tremendous and transformative power of profound listening on a single day in 2009. My (ex-)wife had just announced that she was leaving me. Her departure threw me into a tailspin of depression, anger, insecurity, and shame.

I’ve practiced Zen meditation since 2005, so I went to my teacher. He was unique in that he was also a Catholic priest. He was one of the quietest people I’ve known, so when he spoke his words carried great weight.

I went to his office at the Catholic retreat center and spewed. He responded with the most intense listening I have ever experienced, cultivated over his decades of silent practice. His quiet presence was so intense I almost felt like I could touch it.

I thought I could talk for hours and hours about how terribly I felt, but after 30 minutes of being truly heard I ran out of hurt. I wasn’t fixed or healed, but something shifted. Someone cared enough to really listen, even though there was no way to fix things. We retired from the stillness of his office to the stillness of our meditation cushions.

He passed away in 2012, and I still miss him dearly. 16 years after that encounter, it continues to inform my relationships, my care for others, and the care I give myself. His listening transformed something in me, and I try to give that gift to others in my own way.

Problems are held in the heart. When we can’t understand why someone with dementia is upset, can we understand what it is to be upset? Can we remember that feeling of the queasy stomach, the tight chest, or the fuming thoughts? Can we hold that person’s heart with compassion, understanding the feeling without understanding their reason? Can we sit quietly and attentively in the moment?

For most of us, this isn’t intuitive. It takes practice to be still. Listening without fixing is hard work. However, if you really want to help your loved one, this might be exactly what they need. It might be the only thing you can do.

🚶‍♀️ The 2025 Walk to End Alzheimer’s 🚶‍♂️ 

• The Dementia Newsletter’s 2025 Alzheimer’s Walk Team: would you like to do something proactive to fight Alzheimer’s disease? Please consider donating to my walk team for the Alzheimer’s Association’s Walk to End Alzheimer’s. Heck, if you’re in Tucson sign up to come walk with us! Even $1 puts your name on the list and lets the world (including the politicians who make funding decisions) know that beating this disease is important to you.

• Find a team or location for your local Walk to End Alzheimer’s: if you’d like to find a local walk to attend, visit this site for the information you’ll need. It’s a great time to bond with other people who are engaged in this fight.