It has been a long time since I last posted. I’ve been going through a major transition, and life has been a bit upside down lately—but I am doing okay.

In fact, I wanted to share a beautiful moment from my job today.

On Sundays, I work exclusively in the memory care unit at a senior living community. It is always a full, busy day. But every now and then, something sparks, I get the chills, and I witness a truly magical day. Today was one of those days.

We made “Mayan Worry Dolls” in our art therapy program.

First, we looked at a worksheet about the history of the dolls. Then, I asked the residents to reflect and write down one or more of their worries. This mindful step helps them see the purpose behind the doll—giving their worries away so they can carry less.

What kind of worries would you expect from seniors with cognitive deficits?

At first, the majority reported they had “no worries.” But with a little gentle prompting, the real answers began to surface.

• The physical: One resident shouted out, “I’m worried about my knees.” Physical ailments are a massive daily reality for this population.
• The structural: Another resident admitted she was worried about “falling.” (Which, honestly, is a major worry for us as staff, too!)
• The emotional: But my favorite—and most profound—answer came from a resident who recently moved into our unit. He said, “I’m worried that a person isn’t being honest with me.”

That last answer stopped me in my tracks.

The paranoia that comes with dementia is incredibly real. When the brain is damaged, it struggles to process reality. As professionals, we walk a delicate tightrope trying to explain things with adult dignity without causing unnecessary trauma.

For example, memory residents often say, “I want to go home.” They don’t recognize that this community is now their home.

Why agitate someone with blunt, harsh facts when you can pivot and provide comfort instead? Yes, we sometimes rely on “therapeutic white lies.” How do you tell someone with Alzheimer’s or vascular dementia that they are too much of a risk to live independently anymore?

Every professional has their stock answer to redirect the confusion. Mine is usually: “You can’t go home just yet, you have a dinner reservation here tonight!” It almost always shifts the mood from panic to excitement.

But when this new resident said he worried people weren’t being honest, it caught me off guard. He was expressing pure, valid frustration. He felt that the staff—and likely his family—were hiding things.

He isn’t just paranoid. He is observant.

His statement was a massive gift to me. It reminded me that he doesn’t feel safe or trusting yet. Adjustment to memory care can take weeks or months, and he is still in the thick of it. It challenged me to find a better, more nuanced way to communicate with him. [1]

(Thankfully, his daughter arrived right as we were finishing. He proudly worked with her to put the final touches on his worry doll, and they left together to visit privately.)

By the end of the session, the worry dolls were a massive hit. Residents were completely charmed, tucking their custom creations into their pockets or holding them tight.

That is the raw power of art therapy.

I feel incredibly privileged to do this work. It is an absolute honor to spend time with this population, and they give back so much more joy than I could ever give them. Today, there was magic in the air, and the smiles were just a little bit bigger.

I wish I could show the faces of my residents, but I am not allowed. I had to show you the big smile on this last resident who said, “she needs a matching hat!” If I tell you this is the most engaged she has been in 11 months! She loved this project and owned her creation in a way I’ve never seen before.

Thanks for listening. Today the fabric feeling was extra special and I just wanted to share the day with you.