Yesterday I Needed to Talk. Today I Don’t.

Earlier in the week, you needed your friend.

You and your husband had just come home from an appointment.

There was new information.

A medication change.

A conversation about driving.

A few things the doctor said that you were still trying to make sense of.

Your husband went into the living room and turned on the television.

You stood in the kitchen with your purse still over your shoulder and called your friend.

“I need to talk this through with somebody.”

And you did.

You went back over the appointment.

What the doctor said.

What your husband said.

What you wished you had asked.

What you were worried about.

At one point your friend asked, “Do you want me to just listen, or do you want to think through this with me?”

“Think it through with me.”

By the time you hung up, nothing was solved.

But your head felt a little quieter.

You had somewhere to begin.

Talking helped.

A few days later, she calls again.

“How are you doing?”

Today has been hard too.

Your husband was awake several times during the night.

Which means you were awake several times during the night.

He has been restless all morning.

You have answered the same questions.

Looked for the same things.

Started three different things and finished none of them.

You are tired.

Really tired.

Your friend asks:

“Do you want to talk?”

For a second, you almost say yes.

She helped the other day.

And she is offering.

But even the thought of explaining the morning feels like work.

You picture yourself going through it.

What happened overnight.

What he said this morning.

Why you are so tired.

How things have been lately.

And you realize:

I don’t want to talk about this.

So you say it.

“Actually, I don’t think I do.”

There’s a pause.

Then you add, “I think I’m just done talking about dementia today.”

“Okay.”

And somehow, saying that feels good too.

She doesn’t take it personally.

She doesn’t ask if you’re sure.

She starts telling you about something that happened at her house.

You listen.

You add your opinion.

At some point, you laugh.

Not because your day has suddenly gotten easier.

It hasn’t.

But for ten minutes, you are somewhere else.

When you hang up, you notice something.

On Monday, you needed to talk until your thoughts made a little more sense.

Today, talking would have taken more out of you.

Same friend.

Same person on the other end of the phone.

But you were coming into the conversation with something different available.

That matters.

Because sometimes when something helps, we turn it into an answer.

Talking helps me.

I need time alone.

I feel better when someone gives me advice.

I need people around me.

And maybe all of those things are true.

Sometimes.

But your life is changing.

The situation is changing.

How tired you are changes.

What you are carrying changes.

What you have room for changes.

So what helped before may not be what helps today.

That doesn’t mean you got it wrong the first time.

And it doesn’t mean you are inconsistent now.

It may simply mean you checked in again.

Instead of asking yourself to know once and for all what kind of support you need, maybe the question can stay smaller:

What would actually help me right now?

Right now, with this day.

With this much energy.

With what I’m carrying.

Sometimes the answer will be:

I need to talk.

And sometimes:

I really don’t.

Both can be true.

And noticing the difference is part of learning how to include yourself in the picture.

Before You Go

If this brought something up for you, you don’t have to figure it all out right now. Sometimes just noticing what is happening is enough to give you a little more room.

Want to stay connected?

Join the private Emotions & Dementia Facebook group — a place to share, connect, and be around others who understand. → Join the group

Want more consistent support?

Grieving the Diagnosis is a guided support experience for adult children and partners navigating the emotional side of dementia. → Learn more