Life has a way of surprising you, especially in areas you like to think you understand.
Dementia
Freelancing
Losing a pet
Each of these, even though they are not typically related to one another, comes with unseen layers or can’t be understood until you’re living in the midst of them.
Dementia is more than two words
I was going to apply for a freelance project I recently found on Upwork that was a perfect fit for me—providing feedback on a series of elder care articles. I mean, really, it's like the project was created especially with me in mind.
But when I researched the blog, I saw a graphic similar to this, meant to “help” readers:
And I decided I didn’t want to spend my time trying to educate this person. I started to; I had ¼ of my cover letter complete, and then something just made me stop. I may have missed a great opportunity, but my strong INFJ intuition said to move along.
People often see dementia as just two words—memory loss. They think of forgetfulness, misplaced keys, and “Why did I walk into this room again?” While memory is certainly and greatly affected, it doesn’t even begin to cover what it’s been like to watch my mom’s world shift and fragment in ways I never imagined.
In addition to memory loss, because a dementia diagnosis means at least two parts of your brain are actively dying, my mom has experienced:
agitation
increased anxiety
paranoia
inability to comprehend her condition (anosognosia)
lack of personal self-care
trouble walking and balancing, multiple falls
meeting her activities of daily living (ADLs)
depression
isolation
loneliness
incontinence
loss of self-esteem and self-confidence
being treated differently because of her diagnosis
For me, caring for my mom with advanced dementia has been an education in patience, resilience, and unconditional love. It’s been a journey of witnessing her fade and change, of learning to let go of who she used to be while accepting and embracing who she is now. One moment, she’s laughing with me, and the next, she’s frustrated or confused or somewhere in a world only she knows.
I heard it described once as walking through a maze, trying to find your way through, and the walls move when you’re not looking.
In the moments when she remembers a detail, laughs at something familiar, or even uses my name, there’s a flicker of light, a reminder of the mom she was and the valuable person she still is. These small moments of poignant release keep me going, even on the days when the realization that I’m losing her bit by bit hits me.
Until you’re living it yourself, it’s hard to see beyond what most people think dementia is. But beneath the surface, its reality is a constant, changing mix of connection and loss.
Freelancing is more than a path—it’s a test
Freelancing is another path I didn’t fully understand until I was deep in it, discovering layers of challenge and fulfillment that others rarely see. People hear “freelancer” and think it’s all about having the freedom to pick and choose projects, work from cushy coffee shops, and set your own hours and rates.
The reality, though, is more like trekking up a rugged mountain—challenging, unpredictable, and exhausting—especially when you’re relying on yourself to carve the path.
Freelancing is not just about “finding gigs.” It’s about finding and then showing up for your clients, day in and day out. It’s learning how to market, negotiate, budget, and scrape by during lean times. When I left my corporate job, I traded the security of a steady paycheck for the struggles of going it alone. Long hours, working on weekends, and feeling like I'm standing in the middle of the valley, wondering if I've made the right choice.
But freelancing has also been my lifeline.
It’s given me the flexibility to care for my mom and to spend time with her each week. It’s let me build relationships with some amazing clients who trust me and to watch myself grow in ways I never expected or thought I could.
There’s a certain pride in creating a path that’s entirely yours, no matter how rocky it can get along the way. Freelancing for the past two years has been a test of my determination, learning how to build something that reflects who I am. It’s shown me that it’s what lies beneath the surface—my many moments of growth and accepting my imperfections—that define my unique journey.
Losing a pet is more than grief—it’s a quiet shift in your familiar
Just as caregiving and freelancing have shown me different sides of life, I never expected that losing my grumpy friend would change my everyday life in so many ways. As I write this, a downpour has started outside, and I stood up to go to the back porch and let Jasper Cat come inside. He’s been a constant companion to me over the past few years, following me around the house and yard like a puppy. He’s been a pragmatic presence through life’s ups and downs, with his stoic expression and no-nonsense approach to “just get on with it.”
We said goodbye to him on Halloween, which is rather appropriate, as we nicknamed him “Zombie Cat” since he went through about 14 lives instead of the typical nine. I understand that those who are not really pet people sometimes dismiss the loss of a pet. But if you’ve ever had a pet who felt like a family member or a friend you could share anything with, you know their absence isn’t simply sad.
It leaves a quiet shift in everything that once felt routine.
Now that he’s gone, it’s more than a temporary sadness—it’s the loss of small, familiar moments that now feel different.
walking up to me each morning, ready to start the day
his inquisitive conversations, meows that sounded more like a question than a statement
his love of blankets and couch time
following me out to the meditation garden to sit with me while I watched the squirrels
Missing these everyday moments has made my days feel a little emptier right now. I think that’s the thing that’s beneath the surface in this—the way I will experience the most ordinary moments each day will change a bit. Memories will resurface and hurt for a while. Then, their impact on my emotions will fade more with time and make the next day a bit easier.
I’ve learned that there’s so much more beneath the surface
Looking at each of these experiences—dementia, freelancing, losing my furry friend—I’ve been taught things I couldn’t have learned any way other than to be right in the thick of it all. Each experience has pushed me to find
a level of patience and compassion I didn’t know I had
strength and perseverance I never knew I was capable of
an even deeper appreciation for the smallest, most ordinary moments
Life has had a unique way of hiding its real lessons for me beneath the surface, only showing me what I need to see once I find myself in the depths of it.
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