Dementia changed the way I listen—not just to words, but to feelings, silences, and moments that often go unnoticed. Before dementia touched my life, listening was something I did with half an ear while thinking about what to say next. But as I watched someone close struggle with memory loss and confusion, I realized that listening had to become deeper and more patient.
When a person has dementia, their words might come out jumbled or repetitive. They may forget what they just said or lose track of conversations entirely. At first, this was frustrating for me because it felt like communication was breaking down. But over time, I learned that the real message isn’t always in the exact words—they’re trying to express emotions like fear, loneliness, or confusion beneath those broken sentences.
This made me slow down and focus on *how* things were said rather than just *what*. A glance held too long might mean anxiety; a sudden silence could be sadness; repeated questions often came from a need for reassurance rather than impatience. Dementia taught me that listening is as much about reading between the lines as it is about hearing them.
I also discovered the power of presence—just being there without rushing in with answers or corrections. Sometimes people with dementia don’t need solutions; they need someone who listens without judgment or interruption. This kind of listening creates trust and comfort when everything else feels uncertain.
Music therapy showed me another side of listening too. Even when words fail, melodies can reach places where memory cannot—sparking smiles or calming distress through familiar tunes shared together quietly in a room filled with gentle sounds.
In learning how dementia reshapes communication challenges into opportunities for empathy and connection, my ears opened wider—not only hearing but truly understanding others better than before this journey began.
