Senior Living Advisors of Austin

06/26/2026

Have you ever watched a truly exceptional dementia care partner at work?

Not the person with the most letters behind their name. Not necessarily the person with the most years of experience.

The person who seems to walk into a room and somehow create calm.

The person who can help someone through a difficult moment without escalating it.

The person who gets participation when others get resistance.

The person families naturally gravitate toward and coworkers seek out for advice.

From a distance, it can look effortless.

That’s the illusion.

What appears effortless is often the result of dozens of small skills being used simultaneously.

They notice body language before words are spoken; they recognize when someone is becoming overwhelmed; they adjust their pace; they change their approach, they offer support without taking over, they know when to validate, simplify, and step back.

Most of these skills are nearly invisible to the casual observer.

That’s why we sometimes mistake them for personality traits.

We say things like, “She’s just a natural.”

But the best dementia care partners I’ve known weren’t relying on instinct—they were relying on skills they had learned, practiced, refined, and repeated thousands of times.

The encouraging part is this: if great dementia care were simply a gift, there would be little we could do to teach it. But if it is built on skills, then those skills can be learned by others.

Perhaps that’s why dementia education and training matter so much—not because it changes who we are, because it changes what we are able to do.


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06/24/2026

Imagine hiring a nurse and never teaching them how to take a blood pressure.

Imagine hiring a physical therapist and never teaching them how to transfer a patient safely.

Imagine hiring a teacher and never teaching them how to manage a classroom.

It sounds absurd because we recognize those tasks as skills. We understand that they require education, practice, coaching, and ongoing development. We would never assume someone should simply “figure it out” through observation, experience, or good intentions.

Yet in dementia care, we do this all the time.

Every day, family care partners, home care aides, activity professionals, nurses, dining staff, housekeepers, and senior living team members are expected to navigate resistance, distress, communication changes, cognitive decline, changing abilities, and complex care situations. We ask them to support people through some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives.

And then we are surprised when they struggle.

Not because they lack commitment. Not because they don’t care. But because we often treat dementia care as though it is intuitive rather than learned.

The reality is that great dementia care is built on hundreds of small skills—knowing how to approach someone without creating fear, how to offer help without taking over, how to communicate without correcting, how to adapt a task so that success remains possible, how to recognize abilities that are still present instead of focusing solely on what has been lost.

Which leads me to a question I’ve been wrestling with lately: Why have we accepted so little training for such complex work?

Perhaps the better question isn’t why caregivers struggle, but why we’ve come to expect them not to.

The more I teach, the more convinced I become that the future of dementia care will not be determined by how much we care.

It will be determined by how committed we are to building skill.

06/18/2026

Last week, my husband and I moved into a new home in a new city.

What a wonderful move; one we’re grateful for; one we chose. And yet, I’ve found myself surprisingly unsettled. Not distressed or unhappy. Just… working harder than usual.

Every morning requires more thought than it did a few weeks ago. Where did we put the coffee or the plates? What route am I taking to work? Where is the nearest grocery store? What day is trash day? None of these tasks are difficult. They’re just unfamiliar.

And unfamiliarity is exhausting.

What has struck me is how much of our daily competence depends on familiarity. Our brains rely on thousands of environmental cues that quietly guide us through the day. We don’t think about where the light switch is, which drawer holds the silverware, or how to get from one room to another. We simply know, until suddenly, we don’t.

As I’ve unpacked boxes and settled into new routines, I keep thinking about the older adults I work with who move into senior living communities.

Unlike me, many of them aren’t moving because they are excited about a new chapter. They’re moving after a hospitalization, a fall, a diagnosis, the loss of a spouse, or the realization that home is no longer as safe as it once was. Then, almost overnight, everything changes. The chair they’ve sat in for years is gone; the view from the kitchen window is gone; the routines that quietly shaped their days are gone.

We often think of a move as changing locations, yet for many older adults, a move is actually a loss of familiarity.

And familiarity matters far more than we sometimes realize.

For someone living with dementia, that loss can be especially significant. The brain is already having difficulty creating and retaining new memories and routines. Now we’re asking it to learn a new apartment, new hallways, new neighbors, new schedules, and new expectations—all while trying to make sense of an environment that no longer provides the cues and comfort it once did.

Then we wonder why someone repeatedly asks to go home, why they seem more confused, why they are distressed, why they withdraw.

What if those aren’t signs that the move was wrong? What if they’re signs that the person is still trying to find solid ground?

This is why I encourage families and professionals to think differently about transitions. The goal isn’t simply a successful move-in. The goal is helping someone rebuild a sense of safety, familiarity, purpose, and belonging.

That takes time.

As I continue unpacking this week, I find myself reflecting on how mentally tiring it can be to relearn everything. If those small changes require effort from me, how much harder must it be to leave a home you’ve known for 20-50 years?

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can offer during a transition isn’t efficiency. It’s patience.

Because while a move can happen in a single day, feeling at home often takes much longer.

06/09/2026

Over the past few years as we’ve become more aligned with our mission, I’ve been asked a lot of questions about what exactly we do.

Are we placement advisors? Trainers? Dementia educators? Consultants? Coaches?

The answer is yes… but those are really just tools.

At the heart of our work is a simple mission: We enable people in understanding dementia, building skills, and navigating care.

Everything we do falls into one of those three areas.

Understand Dementia
Because fear, frustration, and uncertainty often grow in the absence of understanding.

Whether we’re teaching a family why a loved one is changing, helping a care team understand distress as communication, or speaking to a community group about dementia, our goal is to replace confusion with clarity.

Understanding changes everything.

Build Skills
Knowledge alone is not enough. Families and professionals need practical, usable skills that help them communicate more effectively, respond with confidence, reduce distress, and create moments of connection.

Caregiving is not simply a role. It is a skill set. And skills can be learned, practiced, and strengthened.

Navigate Care
Even when people understand dementia and have better skills, they still face difficult decisions.

What type of care is needed? When is it needed? What resources are available? How do we build a care team? What comes next?

Through Senior Living Advisors of Austin, we help families navigate care options and make informed decisions that align with their goals, values, and circumstances.

Through Collaborators in Care, we help families, care teams, and organizations develop the knowledge and skills that make those journeys better.

Different services. One mission.

Understand Dementia
Build Skills
Navigate Care

Because hope doesn’t come from pretending the journey is easy.

Hope comes from knowing what you’re facing, having the skills to respond, and knowing you don’t have to navigate it alone.

06/06/2026

06/06/2026

06/04/2026

I’ve spent the last several years talking about language in dementia care.

Not because I’m interested in policing words.

Because words reveal beliefs.

Recently, there has been important conversation in senior living about ElderSpeak (https://lnkd.in/gcn5GSXS) use of terms like “honey,” “sweetie,” and “dear,” as well as industry language that can unintentionally diminish older adults.

That’s an important conversation. But I think we have to go one step further. The challenge isn’t simply the words. The challenge is what those words tell us about how we see people.

When we refer to Montessori engagement as “playing with toys.”

When we talk about “little crafts.”

When we describe a person as “combative,” “non-compliant,” or “a wanderer.”

When referral professionals reduce a human being to a diagnosis, a care level, or a budget.

Language doesn’t just describe reality. It reveals the reality we believe exists.

If I call someone a “wanderer”, I’ve already decided they are lost.

If I call them “resistant”, I’ve already decided the problem is them.

If I describe an engagement activity as “cute” or “adorable”, I’ve already lowered the bar for what I believe they’re capable of.

If I reduce a family to a budget, a diagnosis, or a care level, I’ve already stopped seeing the complexity of their story.

And perhaps that’s why this matters so much in dementia care.

What we call people matters because it influences how we approach them.

How we approach them influences what opportunities we offer.

And those opportunities often determine what remains possible.

The brain changes. The need for meaning does not. The need for purpose does not. The need to belong does not. The need to be respected does not.

This conversation isn’t just for caregivers—it’s for sales directors, executive directors, referral agents, marketers, and anyone whose words shape the experience of aging.

Because every time we speak, we are doing one of two things: Building someone up. Or unintentionally diminishing them.

Language is not simply about respect.

Language is communication about what we believe is still possible for the person standing right in front of us.

And if we’re serious about creating dignity in dementia care, senior living, and aging services, we have to pay attention to the beliefs hiding inside the words we choose.

What is one word or phrase you’ve heard in aging services that deserves a second look?

This link will take you to a page that’s not on LinkedIn

06/03/2026

I saw a referral request on Facebook recently that simply asked for recommendations for an assisted living community - specifically, a personal care home. There was little information provided beyond a budget.

Within minutes, recommendations began pouring in.

And I found myself wondering when our profession became so comfortable making recommendations before understanding the problem.

Perhaps that’s a provocative question. But I think it’s one worth asking.

Because a community is not a solution; a building is not a solution; availability is not a solution.

A solution begins with understanding.

Before we talk about where someone should live, shouldn’t we first understand who they are? What is happening medically? Functionally? Cognitively? Financially? Socially?

What abilities remain?

What support is needed?

What risks exist?

What matters most to the person and family making the decision?

What are they hoping for?

What are they afraid of?

The longer I work with older adults and families, the more convinced I become that placement is often the smallest part of the work.

The real work is helping people make sense of uncertainty.

The real work is helping families distinguish between what is urgent and what is important.

The real work is understanding whether the question being asked is even the right question.

A family may call asking for assisted living when what they truly need is memory care.

They may ask for memory care when what they need is skilled nursing.

They may ask for a community when what they need is education, coaching, home care, Medicaid guidance, hospice support, or simply a clearer understanding of what is happening.

When we skip that process and move directly to recommendations, we run the risk of solving the wrong problem.

And when a profession becomes focused on vacancies instead of people, it begins to lose its way.

I worry sometimes that our industry has unintentionally trained itself to think in terms of inventory.

Who has availability?

Who has a move-in special?

Who has an open bed?

But families are not inventory problems to be solved! They are humans in transition—often exhausted, often overwhelmed, often making one of the most emotionally and financially significant decisions of their lives.

They deserve more than a list.

They deserve guidance.

They deserve professionals willing to slow down long enough to understand the whole picture before offering an answer.

Because the goal was never to fill a bed—the goal was always to help a person find the right next step.

Those are not the same thing.

I’m curious how others think about this.

At what point does a recommendation become ethical? What information do you believe we should understand before suggesting where someone should live?

06/02/2026

I’ve spent the last two decades educating professionals, supporting families, and walking alongside people living with dementia across senior living communities, hospitals, home care, hospice, and beyond.

What I’ve noticed is this:

Churches are deeply impacted by dementia… but many Senior Care Ministries still feel under-equipped to respond to it.

Not because they don’t care. Because dementia changes the way people experience conversation, worship, routine, connection, sound, crowds, memory, and even their sense of belonging. And most faith communities were never taught how to recognize those changes compassionately or practically.

Yet the opportunity in front of the church is extraordinary.

The church can become one of the last places where a person living with dementia still feels seen, still feels safe, still feels spiritually connected, still feels like they belong.

At Dementia SKILLS 2026, we are inviting Senior Care Ministers, faith leaders, visitation teams, and church volunteers into a different kind of dementia education experience.

Not just awareness, not just information, but hands-on understanding.

Together, we explore:
• how dementia changes the brain and nervous system
• how communication shifts as the disease progresses
• how environments and approach impact distress or calm
• how to create moments of dignity, connection, and spiritual inclusion
• how churches can support not only the person living with dementia, but the exhausted family walking beside them

Because ministry does not stop at diagnosis.

In many ways, this is where ministry becomes even more important.

Dementia SKILLS 2026 will be held in:

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

If your church desires to better support aging adults, care partners, and those living with dementia in your congregation and community, we would love to have you in the room.

Because understanding changes everything. And sometimes the greatest ministry is helping someone continue to belong.

06/01/2026

This past weekend, nearly 50 individuals gathered to watch “Facing the Wind” and participate in a heartfelt conversation about Lewy Body Dementia.

Before anything else, we would like to express our sincere gratitude to the organizations and individuals whose time, talent, resources, and commitment made this event possible.

Thank you to AGE of Central Texas, the Central Texas Lewy Body Dementia Support Groups, Memory Care & Hospice, Saint John’s United Methodist Church, and University of Texas Lewy Body Dementia Study under the direction of . Karen Fingerman, for believing that education, awareness, and community matter.

Following the film, attendees participated in an honest and meaningful panel discussion. Together, we explored the realities of living with Lewy Body Dementia, recognized signs and symptoms, discussed advances in research, shared hopes for improving the lives of those living with LBD, and heard directly from care partners who are navigating this journey every day.

What made the afternoon especially meaningful was the diversity of experiences represented in the room. Families, care partners, professionals, advocates, and community members came together from across Central Texas and beyond with a shared purpose: to better understand Lewy Body Dementia and support those affected by it.

The impact of events like this extends far beyond a single afternoon. Nearly 50 people will now carry these conversations back to their families, workplaces, faith communities, and neighborhoods. Awareness grows one conversation at a time, one story at a time, and one person at a time.

Thank you to everyone who attended, shared, listened, asked questions, and helped create a space where learning, compassion, and hope could thrive.

Together, we continue to bring Lewy Body Dementia out of the shadows and into the conversation.

*A special acknowledgement to Body Dementia Resource Center for making this film available for public viewings such as this.

*If you attended, we’d love to hear your biggest takeaway from the film or panel discussion. Share it below…