Episode 6: Alzheimer's Awarness Month - Are We Aware?

Full Transcript: English

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Okay — so maybe you noticed there was no episode last Sunday. I didn’t post anything, and I didn’t record either. And that’s alright. This isn’t a podcast that rushes itself. It’s not meant to keep up with content or perform consistency just for the sake of it. It’s a slow podcast. Reflective. And sometimes that means… pausing. Or stepping back. Just to recharge,
to reload your inner batteries

But now I’m here again. And it’s still September — which, as I only recently realized, is World Alzheimer’s Awareness Month….

And yes — the 21st was World Alzheimer’s Day.

I’m not usually someone who gets caught up in all these awareness days or themed months. I’m a little skeptical sometimes… But, with something like Alzheimer’s… I actually think it makes sense. Because the more people talk about it, the more visible it becomes. You see more documentaries, hear more voices, more stories, more memories being shared — even if they’re painful. And that visibility matters.

So I thought, after our sensory pause in the last episode, I’d come back now with a full reflection — one that picks up the thread again, not just from my story, but from a deeper question… And it’s right there, in the title:

Are we aware?

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It’s a word we use all the time — stay aware, raise awareness, become more aware… but what does it actually mean? What does it mean to be aware?

So I went down one of my little language rabbit holes again — you know me — and looked at the roots of the word. And what I found was actually very telling.

In Old English, the word gewær meant watchful, or vigilant. In Proto-Germanic: ga-waraz. But if we go even deeper, to the Proto-Indo-European root — the very old one — it’s wer-: to perceive, to watch out for.

So awareness, at its root, is not a passive state. It’s something active. It means noticing. It means perceiving. It means being alert to what is actually there — even if it’s subtle, even if it’s uncomfortable, even if it doesn’t show itself right away…. Which is pretty much the case when we’re talking about Azheimer’s ….

And when I researched that — when I really dug into the root of the word,
it struck me:

how strange that we use this word so often in relation to Alzheimer’s… and yet, what this disease does — slowly, silently — is exactly the opposite.
It slips under the radar. It becomes invisible.

…. So, here are The things we don’t see …. Or often just turn a blind eye to them ….

Right now, there are more than 55 million people living with Alzheimer’s or other forms of dementia. That’s the diagnosed cases. But it’s estimated that only about one in four people with symptoms actually receive a proper diagnosis.

That means there’s a huge grey zone — an unspoken number of people who are living with it, or just starting to — and no one sees it. Not their families. Not their doctors. Not even themselves….which, if you think about it, is actually quite understandable. Because to even begin to notice it in yourself, it takes a high level of self-awareness. A willingness to look inward, to really see what's changing — and to acknowledge it. And that’s not something most of us are taught to do.

And the projections? By 2050, that number is expected to triple. We’re talking over 150 million. And that’s just the people diagnosed. If you add the families, the caregivers, the ripple effects — you’re talking about hundreds of millions of lives affected.

So why don’t we talk about it more? Why do so many people — maybe even people we know — fall through the cracks?

I think …. part of the reason is this: we don’t want to notice. We don’t want to believe that something is slipping. Especially when it’s someone we love. Especially when they’ve always been the strong one. Or the reliable one. Or the quiet one.

And even when we do notice, it’s easy to explain it away,

“Oh, she’s just getting older.”

“He’s been like that for years.”…. “She just has bad days sometimes.”

But if awareness means noticing — if it really means perceiving — then we need to get better at seeing what’s underneath. Not just behavior, but… patterns. sensory shifts — changes in how someone reacts to scent, to sound, to touch. Things left unsaid. Things once loved now forgotten.

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Another thing I’ve learned — and this is something I care deeply about —
is that perception isn’t just about seeing. We tend to trust our eyes too much. But real awareness includes other senses.

Touch. Sound. Scent. …. Even silence

And most of all — emotional intuition. That quiet gut sense that something’s off. That something’s changing.

When it comes to Alzheimer’s, one of the earliest signs — one that’s so often missed — is a change in the sense of smell. People either lose it, or start reacting differently to scents they once loved. Sometimes they find them unpleasant, or don’t register them at all.
… It’s actually worth keeping in mind that the olfactory system is closely linked to both the limbic system and cognitive areas of the brain — the very parts responsible for processing emotion and memory. So scent doesn’t just trigger memories — it can influence emotions, both pleasant and difficult, and sometimes in ways that are hard to predict….

And this is something I’ve seen up close. My mother — who I’ve spoken about in other episodes — started withdrawing long before we named it.
She stopped calling. She stopped using the small aromatherapy products I had made for her. I later found them — untouched, tucked away at the back of a cupboard.

At the time, I thought maybe she just didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

Or maybe she didn’t like them.

But now I wonder: did she stop noticing their scent altogether?

Did it confuse her? …. Did she just forget?

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So …. What did I miss and why …. ?

To be honest — I missed the signs. And I don’t say that to punish myself.
I say it because it’s true.

We live far apart — more than a thousand kilometers. And we have a complicated family history. There’s closeness, but also pain.

My mother had her own struggles, her own long history with depression.

So when she started pulling away, I thought, okay — she’s just going back into herself again. Like she used to.

And I was going through my own difficult time, too. So I welcomed the quiet, to be honest. I didn’t have the energy to always be cheerful, or positive.

I didn’t want to perform normality for her.

But looking back — that silence was saying something.

And I wasn’t listening.

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So here’s the question, right? Are we really able to notice?

The truth is: even if you want to be aware, it’s not always easy. Alzheimer’s symptoms overlap with other conditions — depression, Parkinson’s, burnout. Even trained professionals struggle to name it.

So no, we’re not always going to get it right. But that’s not the point.

The point is to stay attuned. To keep trying. To be willing to pause —

to not look away.

And sometimes, that means listening not just with our ears, but with our whole presence. Watching for shifts in language.

In energy. In tone.

In the way someone reaches for a familiar object, or doesn’t.

Even in the way someone’s skin responds to touch — or doesn’t.

The way the body communicates subtly, through the senses, long before words are lost.

To me, that’s what awareness really means. It’s not about knowing everything.

It’s more about being vigilant. Vigilant in an unobtrusive way.

Being willing to notice, to watch out for — even the things that scare us.

So — this is what I’ve been sitting with.

Alzheimer’s Awareness Month is coming to an end. But awareness itself doesn’t belong to a date. It begins at home — in how we speak. How we notice. How we listen. How we stay present, even when things get blurry.

And even if we miss things — and we will — we can still try again.

We can still tune in. We can still love in the not-knowing.

Thank you for being here.

And for staying with me — in this quiet thread we’re weaving together.

And maybe one last thing:

I don’t think we should talk about fighting Alzheimer’s. Not really.

Just like with depression, or even cancer, we often use that word — fight.

But how can you come to terms with something if you’re at war with it?

Personally I deeply sense that awareness and healing don’t begin in battle.

.. that they begin in understanding, not in war.

Maybe being aware, perceiving begins in willingness —

In willingness to understand, to stay close, to see what’s changing without needing to defeat it.