Senior Living Advisors of Austin

09/03/2026

There’s a word we use constantly in aging care that I’m starting to think we need to retire.

Little.

“Our little activity room.”
“Her little apartment.”
“Let’s get you a little snack.”
“They’re doing a little craft this afternoon.”

Why?

Why do we make everything smaller when the people we serve get older?

We don’t usually talk this way to other adults. We don’t tell a 52-year-old colleague to “come sit in your little chair.” We don’t describe another adult’s home as “their little apartment.” We don’t take a grown adult’s interests, work, hobbies, or contributions and reduce them to “little activities.”

But add age, frailty, or dementia and suddenly our language changes. And I don’t think that’s insignificant.

Infantilization in aging care isn’t always obvious. It isn’t only baby talk, bibs, coloring pages, or calling a grown woman “good girl.”

Sometimes it’s quieter than that.

Sometimes it hides inside language we’ve used for so long that we no longer hear it — Little. Cute. Sweet. Precious.

Perhaps the intention is affection. But intention doesn’t automatically protect dignity.

Language does more than describe people. It reveals how we see them—and sometimes, how much adulthood and authority we still afford them.

A 90-year-old woman is not a “little old lady.”

A man living with dementia doesn’t need a “little activity” to keep him busy.

These are adults with histories, professions, preferences, relationships, losses, accomplishments, opinions, and identities that existed long before we entered their lives.

So maybe there’s a simple question worth asking ourselves: “Would I use these same words with an adult my own age who did not have dementia?”

If not, why are they acceptable here?

Sometimes dignity is lost in very big ways. And sometimes it disappears one little word at a time.

08/28/2026

What do you think of when you hear the term “memory care?”

It’s a term families hear all the time, and on the surface, it makes sense. But dementia is about so much more than memory.

You may be noticing changes in judgment, communication, routines, decision-making, balance, mood, problem-solving, or the ability to manage everyday tasks. Sometimes memory loss isn’t even the thing creating the biggest concern.

That’s why I wish we talked less about, “Is it time for memory care?” and more about, “What kind of support does this person need right now?”

Support may mean changing the environment. It may mean bringing in help at home. It may mean learning a different way to communicate. It may mean finding a senior living community with team members who truly understand dementia.

And sometimes, yes, it may mean a move.

But the goal should never simply be to get someone into the right setting.

The goal is to help the person continue to live with as much dignity, connection, independence, purpose, and quality of life as possible — while supporting the family walking alongside them.

That’s a much bigger conversation than memory.

08/14/2026

Yesterday, I received an email from a senior living community.

“Exciting news! For every person referred who moves in by the end of the month, we’re offering an additional $1,000 bonus.”

We won’t be accepting it. And I think we need to talk about why.

Referral compensation exists in senior living. Our company has agreements with communities, and when a family we serve chooses one of those communities, we may be compensated according to that agreement.

But an extra $1,000 if someone moves in before the end of the month? That changes the equation.

Now there is a financial incentive attached not only to where someone moves, but when they make the decision.

Imagine being the family.

You’re trying to determine whether Mom needs assisted living or memory care. You’re comparing care, staffing, location, finances, culture and whether she will actually feel at home there.

You believe the professional helping you is evaluating those options through one lens: What is best for Mom?

Now imagine discovering that one of those communities offered that professional an extra $1,000 if Mom moved in before August 31.

Would that change how you felt about the recommendation?

For me, that’s the question.

This isn’t about criticizing one salesperson or one community. (Most do this on occasion.) It’s about recognizing where conflicts of interest can quietly enter a profession built on trust.

Our company will continue accepting the referral compensation established in our agreements.

But bonuses, contests, increased commissions or other incentives tied to directing a family toward a particular community—or getting them moved in by a particular deadline?

We won’t participate.

Families deserve recommendations based on their needs, their timeline and their choice. Not ours.

And certainly not the end-of-month sales calendar.

08/11/2026

Twelve years ago today, Robin Williams died.

It wasn’t until after his death that the world learned he had been living with Lewy body dementia.

For many people, his was the first story that made them realize dementia doesn’t always look like memory loss.

Lewy body dementia can affect thinking, movement, sleep, perception, mood, attention and the autonomic nervous system. A person may appear remarkably clear one moment and profoundly changed the next.

Those fluctuations can be confusing—not only for the person living with the disease, but for the people who love and care for them.

In 2016, Susan Schneider Williams described what happened to her husband in The Terrorist Inside My Husband’s Brain. Her willingness to tell their story brought extraordinary attention to a disease most people had never heard of.

Twelve years later, we know more.

But awareness is not the same as understanding.

People living with Lewy body dementia are still misunderstood. Symptoms are still sometimes interpreted as behavior. Fluctuations can be mistaken for unwillingness or lack of effort. Hallucinations can be argued with. Changes in movement or processing can be rushed.

And families can spend months—or years—trying to understand why the person they love seems so different from one hour to the next.

That’s why education matters.

Not simply knowing the name Lewy body dementia, but understanding what the disease is changing—and then changing how we respond.

Robin Williams’ story helped shine a light.

Our responsibility is to keep that light moving forward—for the millions of people and families whose names the world will never know.

Keep talking. Keep teaching. Keep listening to people living with Lewy body dementia.

Because recognition matters.

But understanding changes care.

08/03/2026

The more I travel and work with organizations across the country, the more convinced I become of one thing.

We ask people to do one of the most difficult jobs in healthcare. Then we’re surprised when the work demands more skill than we prepared them for.

Which brings me to a question I haven’t been able to shake — “Why have we accepted so little training for such complex work?”

We would never hire a nurse and simply say, “You’ll figure it out.”

We wouldn’t expect a physical therapist to develop clinical judgment through trial and error.

We wouldn’t ask a speech-language pathologist, occupational therapist, or social worker to build expertise simply by showing up every day.

We invest in education because we recognize these professions require specialized knowledge, practiced skill, and continual development.

So why have we accepted something different for the people caring for individuals living with dementia?

Think about what’s actually being asked of them.

The person who must recognize when someone is frightened during a shower—and know how to respond.

The person who must interpret distress, understand what it may be communicating, and adjust their approach in real time.

The person who must decide whether a refusal is rooted in fear, pain, misunderstanding, the environment, timing, or an unmet need.

The person who must recognize when reasoning is no longer working—and discover a different way to communicate.

The person who must decide, in just a few seconds, whether to continue the task, change the approach, or simply wait.

Those moments require far more than good intentions — they require observation, critical thinking, communication that adapts to the person instead of expecting the person to adapt to us, emotional intelligence, clinical judgment…

And something we often overlook…

Practice.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve accepted the idea that compassion alone is enough.

Compassion is the foundation of great dementia care. Skill is what allows compassion to be felt.

Experience matters.

But experience doesn’t automatically become expertise.

Expertise is built through reflection, coaching, feedback, practice, and a willingness to keep learning.

The strongest organizations I’ve worked with don’t become exceptional because they hired extraordinary people.

They become exceptional because they continually develop the people they already have.

Culture isn’t created by the mission statement hanging in the lobby.

Culture is created by what leaders choose to practice, reinforce, and invest in every single day.

I’d love to hear from the leaders in my network — “What investment in your team’s development has most changed the culture of care in your organization?”

Approach with connection.
Support with success.

08/02/2026

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1HBw4bNcLo/?mibextid=wwXIfr

08/02/2026

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/dave-w-04b8b319b_dementiacare-specialistcare-dementiaawareness-activity-7489588591241875456-rYsM?utm_medium=ios_app&rcm=ACoAAAdfn_oBONT55DIEPAX8LDTmTUFHyv_6SL0&utm_source=social_share_video_v2&utm_campaign=copy_link

Stop Calling Yourself a Specialist Dementia Care Home: A Challenge to Providers I talk about why care homes should stop calling themselves specialist dementia care homes just because they support people living with a dementia. I challenge providers to show what they do differently, like designing en...

07/31/2026

As Karen and I continue preparing for Dementia Skills 2026, we’ve been spending a lot of time talking through ideas, challenging each other’s thinking, and refining every session.

One thing has become clear—our conversations rarely begin with the content.

We don’t sit down and ask, “What do we want people to know?”

Instead, we ask a different question. “What do we want people to be able to do when they leave?”

That one question changes everything—it shapes the stories we share, the experiences we design, the discussions we facilitate, the skills we practice.

Even the order in which we teach.

Because our hope isn’t that someone leaves saying, “That was an interesting conference.”

Our hope is that they walk into work on Monday morning and think, “I know what to try next.”

We want the nurse who encounters a frightened resident to recognize a different way to approach the interaction.

We want the CNA helping with morning care to discover one small adjustment that turns uncertainty into confidence.

We want the activity professional to see purpose where they once saw limitations.

We want the family care partner to return home with practical tools, renewed confidence, and the reassurance that they’re not alone.

Information matters.

But information by itself rarely changes practice.

Practice changes practice.

That’s why Dementia Skills 2026 is designed to be more than a series of lectures. You’ll observe. You’ll discuss. You’ll practice. You’ll ask questions. Most importantly, you’ll leave with approaches you can begin using immediately with the people you support.

Because the people we serve deserve more than professionals who understand dementia.

They deserve professionals who know how to respond when the moment arrives.

If that’s the kind of learning experience you’re looking for, we’d love to have you join us this fall.

📍 Salt Lake City: September 8–11, 2026
📍 Austin: October 13–16, 2026

Registration is now open: http://dementiaskills.com

⸻

We don’t measure success by how much information you remember.

We measure success by what you’re able to do differently when you return to the people who need you most.

Approach with connection.
Support with success.

Unlock the Future of Skills Development Dementia SKILLS 2026 Specialized Knowledge In Learning Leading Strategies Building a Complete Dementia Care Skillset: Understanding, Interacting, and Engaging REGISTER NOW Contact us Event Schedule Interactive Dementia Care Training: Where Montessori, Positive...

07/29/2026

Preparing for Dementia Skills 2026 has led to some wonderful conversations between Karen and me.

The other day, as we were planning one of our sessions, I asked her a question: “After all these years in dementia care, what’s one belief that’s changed the most?”

She didn’t talk about certifications, or books, or even a particular technique.

She said, “I used to think success meant having the right answers. Today, I believe success comes from asking better questions.”

I loved that answer because I think every experienced dementia professional eventually arrives there.

Early in our careers, we’re convinced our job is to explain, fix, redirect, and solve.

Then we spend enough time with people living with dementia to realize the better question is rarely…

“What’s the right answer?” It’s… “what might this person be trying to tell me?”

Or… “What are they experiencing that I haven’t understood yet?”

Karen went on to say something that has stayed with me.

“Curiosity has become one of the most powerful tools in dementia care.”

I couldn’t agree more.

Curiosity slows us down. It helps us notice. It keeps us from assuming.

And more often than not, it leads us to a response we never would have found if we’d stayed focused on being “right.”

That’s one of the reasons I’m so excited to teach alongside Karen this fall.

Our résumés are different.
Our philosophy isn’t.

We both believe that understanding dementia is only the beginning.

Real change happens when curiosity becomes skill.

Approach with connection.
Support with success.

What’s one belief about dementia care that’s changed during your own journey?

07/28/2026

After years of working alongside families navigating senior living, we kept seeing the same painful reality:

The house was often delaying access to care. But the house was never just a house.

It represented decades of memories, independence, identity, grief, family conflict, financial pressure—and an older adult whose needs may have reached a critical point.

That is why this work cannot be treated as simply another real estate transaction.

And frankly, it demands far more than completing an online certification, paying a fee, and deciding you are now qualified to guide families through one of the most emotional transitions of their lives.

A certificate may teach a process. It cannot manufacture empathy.

It cannot replace experience with older adults, dementia, family dynamics, caregiver exhaustion, grief, or the senior living system.

It does not automatically prepare someone to sit quietly with a daughter who feels guilty, a spouse whose world is changing, or an older adult who is losing the home and independence they have known for decades.

Too many professionals enter the senior market because they see an opportunity.

They see a property, a commission, or a new lead source.

Those of us who work in senior care see the person at the center.

The home may be part of the process, but it is never the whole story.

Serving families well requires knowledge, emotional maturity, ethical judgment, collaboration, and the humility to recognize when another professional is better equipped to help.

Certification should be the beginning of learning—not proof that someone is the right fit for every family.

Because this is not simply about transferring property.

It is about earning the trust to sit with people during one of the hardest chapters of their lives.

The person must remain at the center. Always.