Everywhere you look right now, someone is talking about year-end reflection. Set your goals. Review your wins. Plan for a better you.
Meanwhile, you’re trying to remember if your loved one took their medication this morning.
When you’re caring for someone with dementia, all that “new year, new you” messaging can feel like it’s meant for someone living a completely different life. Your days aren’t built around personal milestones. They’re built around someone else’s needs, moment to moment, often with very little predictability.
So let’s talk about a different kind of reflection. One that actually fits.
The Problem with “What Did You Accomplish This Year?”
Most year-end reflection frameworks want you to list achievements. Promotions. Vacations. Projects completed. Habits formed.
Caregiving doesn’t hand out gold stars like that.
You may have spent the past twelve months managing decline, not growth. Holding things steady rather than building something new. And honestly? The days probably blurred together. You might struggle to remember what happened in March versus October.
If someone asked you what you accomplished this year, you might draw a blank. Even though you showed up every single day. Even though you made hundreds of small decisions that kept someone safe, comfortable, and loved.
That’s the disconnect. Traditional reflection wasn’t built for this.
Try These Questions Instead
Forget “What did I accomplish?” That question isn’t serving you. Here’s what might actually be worth thinking about.
What did I handle that surprised me? Maybe you navigated a new symptom, managed a crisis, or had a conversation you’d been dreading for months. Caregivers discover resilience in themselves they never knew existed. Not because they wanted to. Because they had to.
What moments felt like connection? They don’t need to be profound. Your mom laughing at something on TV. Your dad squeezing your hand during a quiet moment. A sing-along in the car that actually went well. Connection still happens. It just looks different now.
Where did help show up? A neighbor who dropped off dinner. A sibling who finally stepped up. A respite program that gave you a few hours to yourself. Noticing where support appeared, even imperfectly, matters.
What do I know now that I didn’t know in January? Maybe you learned what triggers sundowning. Maybe you figured out which battles aren’t worth fighting. Maybe you realized you can’t do this alone. All of that counts as growth.
What am I ready to stop carrying? Guilt over things outside your control. Anger at family members who didn’t help. Expectations of yourself that stopped making sense a long time ago. Reflection can be about putting things down, not just picking things up.
Intentions Instead of Resolutions
Resolutions are demanding. They come with pass/fail built in. You either stuck to the plan or you didn’t.
Intentions are softer. They’re a direction, not a destination.
Here are some that might actually work for your life:
Ask for help sooner. Not when you’re falling apart. Before that. Asking early isn’t giving up. It’s being smart.
Notice when something goes okay. Not forced gratitude. Just a small mental note when a moment isn’t terrible. Those moments exist, even on hard days.
Talk to yourself like you’d talk to a friend. You probably wouldn’t tell a friend they’re failing at caregiving. So stop saying it to yourself.
Stay connected to one person who gets it. A support group. An old friend. An online community. Someone who doesn’t need the backstory every time you vent.
Do one small thing for yourself each week. Fifteen minutes with a book. A walk around the block. A phone call that has nothing to do with caregiving. Small still counts.
Pick one. Maybe two. That’s plenty.
Grief and Hope Can Coexist
The end of the year tends to amplify loss. You might find yourself thinking about last New Year’s Eve, or five years ago, or the life you thought you’d be living by now.
Grief doesn’t need your permission to show up.
But here’s something that took me a while to understand: you can grieve what’s gone and still hope for what’s ahead. You can miss who your loved one used to be and still find meaning in who they are today. You can feel exhausted by this chapter and still want more time.
These things aren’t contradictions. They’re just the truth of loving someone through dementia.
You Got Through This Year
Before you start thinking about next year, stop for a second.
You made it through this one.
Not gracefully, maybe. Not without hard days, or mistakes, or moments you wish you could take back. But you got through. You showed up when it mattered. You made impossible decisions with incomplete information. You carried weight that most people will never understand.
That deserves acknowledgment. Not a parade, but a pause. A breath. A recognition that what you did this year was hard, and you did it anyway.
The new year is coming whether you have a plan or not. You’ll meet it the way you’ve met every other day: one moment at a time, doing the best you can with what you have.
That’s enough. You’re enough.
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Key Takeaways
- Traditional year-end reflection focuses on achievements, which often doesn’t fit the caregiving experience. Give yourself permission to measure the year differently.
- Ask questions that actually matter: What did you handle? What connection did you find? What are you ready to let go of?
- Intentions work better than resolutions. Pick one or two that feel realistic, and forget the rest.
- Grief and hope aren’t opposites. You can hold both as the year ends.
- You made it through. Before you plan for next year, take a moment to acknowledge that.
