Handling Hurtful Words from Your Loved One with Dementia

I remember the first time my father looked me straight in the eye and said, "You've stolen my money. I want it back now." My heart shattered. After spending hours each day caring for him, this accusation felt like a slap in the face. If you're experiencing something similar, I want you to know—you're not alone in this, and there are ways through it.

What's Really Happening When They Say These Things

Few things hurt more than being accused, rejected, or misidentified by someone you're pouring your heart into caring for. The painful statements come in many forms:

"You're not my daughter. Get this stranger out of my house!" 

"Why are you poisoning me?" (when offering medication) 

"I never loved you anyway." 

"You're keeping me prisoner here." 

"You never visit me." (despite your daily presence) 

"You've stolen my money." (when they've misplaced something)

Here's what helped me: understanding that when Dad accused me of theft, it wasn't actually Dad speaking—it was him trying to make sense of a world that increasingly confused him. His brain, damaged by dementia, was creating explanations for why he couldn't find his things. And unfortunately, we caregivers are the easiest targets for these explanations.

 The Secret Pain Caregivers Rarely Discuss

Can I be vulnerable with you for a moment? The physical tasks of caregiving—the bathing, medication management, and doctor's appointments—weren't what broke me down. It was these moments of verbal aggression that sent me crying to the bathroom.

You might be experiencing:

- That gut-punch feeling when they accuse you of something you'd never do

- The grief that washes over you when your parent doesn't recognize you

- The exhaustion of constantly managing your emotional reactions

- Guilt for sometimes feeling angry, even when you know it's the disease

I've felt all of these, and I want you to know it doesn't make you a "bad" caregiver. It makes you human.

What Works (When Logic Doesn't)

Through trial and considerable error, I've found approaches that don't work (arguing, correcting, presenting evidence) and some that actually help. Let me share what's made the biggest difference:

Meet Them in Their Reality, Not Yours

When Dad accused me of stealing his money, saying "No Dad, I didn't take your money" only escalated things. Instead, I learned to say, "You're looking for your money? That's important. Let's look for it together."

The magic here? I validated his concern without confirming the accusation.

Look for the Need Behind the Words

I noticed something eye-opening: Dad's accusations often came when he was feeling something else entirely—fear, confusion, discomfort, loneliness.

When he said, "You're keeping me prisoner," what he actually meant was "I feel unsafe and confused." Addressing that underlying emotion—"You seem worried right now. I'm here with you. You're safe"—often dissolved the accusation entirely.

Your Secret Weapon: Body Language

They might not follow your words, but they absolutely read your energy. I found that kneeling at Dad's eye level, keeping my voice soft, and moving slowly communicated safety and love when my words couldn't get through.

When You Need More Than Advice

Some situations need professional intervention:

- If accusations come with physical aggression

- When verbal aggression suddenly increases (which can indicate pain or infection)

- If you're experiencing caregiver burnout (yes, it's real, and no, you can't just push through it)

Don't wait until you're drowning. I did that, and looking back, we both would have benefited if I'd reached out sooner for:

- A medication review with their doctor

- A consultation with a geriatric psychiatrist

- Home health assistance, even temporarily

- A dementia-specific support group (these people get it like no one else can)

Protecting Your Heart While Giving It Away

I've learned that compassionate caregiving requires fierce self-protection. For me, this means:

- A sticky note on Mom's bathroom mirror that says "It's the disease, not Dad."

- A code word I text to a friend when I need a 20-minute rescue call.

- Five minutes of deep breathing in my car before start the day.

- Allowing myself to feel hurt without judging that feeling

These are what allow me to show up as the caregiver I want to be.

The Truth That Keeps Me Going

On my hardest days, I remember this: somewhere inside, beneath the confusion and fear, the person I love still exists. The disease has hijacked their ability to express themselves, but it hasn't erased who they fundamentally are.

Your loved one would never choose to hurt you this way. The very fact that their accusations hurt is evidence of the deep love between you—a love that exists even when it can't be expressed in ways either of you recognize.

Things to Try This Week

 Create your emotional first-aid kit: Write down the three most hurtful things your loved one says, then create a specific response for each that you can practice and have ready. Mine includes phrases like, "I can see you're worried about your things. I'm here to help, not take anything from you."

Give yourself one guilt-free hour: I mean it. Schedule 60 minutes this week where someone else is responsible for your loved one, and do something exclusively for you. The caregiving will be there when you return, but you'll come back stronger.

Remember: When they can no longer express their love for you, how you care for yourself becomes an expression of your love for them.

We're in this together.