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In my devotion time today with Lisa Brenninkmeyer’s writings, she mentioned the little hidden steps we take toward humility and Christ-like behavior. They are the changes we make that no one sees, yet they make us kinder and more forgiving. They are bits of will—little denials of self, little inward victories.

My journey with Alzheimer’s in 2025 feels very similar. At first, there were big, noticeable steps: changing my diet, adding vitamins I had not normally taken, becoming much more conscious of exercise, putting legal affairs in order, and, of course, spending more time in the medical community than I ever thought I would. But as the year progressed and those things became part of my new lifestyle, it was the little changes that became more frequent—and often unnoticed.

It’s the number of notes I write to myself, not just to remember something the next day, but to remember it in the next two seconds: a security code that has to be transferred from a text into a web page within minutes or it expires; a question I want to ask during a phone conversation while the other person is talking; remembering why I even dialed a phone number; or a note reminding myself that I already called in prescription refills so I can avoid that embarrassing conversation again. When duplicates started showing up—identical bottles of coffee creamer, a birthday gift ordered twice, enough dog food for a herd—I began keeping a written log. I set alarms to remind myself to stop and sit down to rest throughout the day so I don’t become frustrated or confused. I use phone alerts to take and log my medications, and I write down what I’ve asked my friends in hopes I don’t ask them the same thing for the umpteenth time.

And what is probably a small thing for many people is a real biggie for me: learning to budget my energy based on what I hope to accomplish in a day. As a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, pack-as-much-into-a-day-as-possible kind of person, planning rest, meals, driving directions, or even what to wear is exhausting. Over the course of a few months, I now find myself planning the “lead-up” to time for home maintenance, sewing, writing, visiting, going to play Mahjong, grocery shopping, volunteering, or attending Bible study and appointments. Yes, some of these things could be left undone (and sometimes they are), but they are things I enjoy, things that need attention, activities that help keep my stress level down—so very important in the dementia game—or simply things I want to accomplish within this undetermined time frame I’ve been given.

It has also become very important to me to spend more time cultivating small spiritual changes: working to be kinder and more forgiving, focusing more on gratitude, and putting greater effort into purposeful prayer. And the hardest for me—being still. The struggle continues, as I have never been a settled soul and now feel as though I am racing against the Alzheimer’s clock.

So why am I writing all of this? It is my hope that by sharing these moments, it will help others—caregivers, friends or neighbors of dementia patients, medical professionals, and others—better understand the rather manic mind that zaps energy, spurs restlessness, or sparks anxiety or lethargy in dementia patients, even those with mild symptoms. I know it is hard to answer the same question over and over, or to understand why a loved one zones out or seems frantic about getting things accomplished, but perhaps a bit of insight will make it easier.

My prayer tonight is one of gratitude: that I am surrounded by loved ones who accept me where I am each day. And I pray that anyone else walking this path is comforted in knowing they are not alone in feeling that these small, hidden steps can be overwhelming.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts or experiences in the comments.