He who is not everyday conquering some fear, has not learned the secret of life.
This week has been a motherfucker.
Do you know what it’s like to be on the phone with someone while they’re actively losing their grip on reality? To hear absolute terror in someone’s voice? Not confusion, but paranoia and fear. Someone pleading with you for help, begging to feel safe inside their own mind again.
That’s been my reality almost daily.
It’s heartbreaking. And it’s scary.
These episodes come like storms. The treatment she’s been on isn’t working, and the escalation in her symptoms has been fast and dramatic. When they hit, she isn’t disoriented. She’s terrified. Paranoid. Certain something awful is happening and begging for help to make it stop.
I’m coordinating with her caregiver and the medical team to find the right combination of therapeutic support. I’m doing this from across the country, quarterbacking from the sidelines, while the real hero here is the woman providing round-the-clock, in-home care. She carries the day-to-day weight of this. But when these episodes escalate, Charlie doesn’t recognize her, and nothing she says can reach her.
In those moments, I’m the only one who can.
I have the tools. I always get her back to center. But it takes everything I’ve learned over the last eight years to do it.
Every regulation practice. Every grounding skill. Every ounce of presence and discipline I’ve developed. I guide her through the episode step by step, cutting through the fear and the fog until she can anchor back into reality again. By the time the call ends, she feels safe and there’s peace.
The system works for now. But this is a progressive disease, and that may not always be the case.
This disease runs in my family. Looking back, the pattern is clear enough that pretending otherwise would be irresponsible. This isn’t just caregiving. It’s education. It’s personal.
Searching for things to be grateful for here has not been easy. This experience continues to be painful, disruptive, and frightening. But still, I’ve managed to find it. I’ve found a way to be grateful even for the most difficult phone calls, even for the moments that wreck me.
I’m grateful for the fear. Not because it feels good, but because it’s telling the truth. It’s showing me, in real time, what could be ahead of me if I don’t make changes now. This lived experience is anchoring that truth in my body in a way no abstract warning ever could.
And I know this about myself. If I weren’t having these visceral, personal experiences, if I hadn’t gone back and agreed to provide support to Charlie in this way, I wouldn’t have the drive necessary to make changes and stick to them like it’s a matter of life and death. Which it absolutely is.
Self-discipline is the highest form of self-love.
It’s been a long time since I was actively reckless with my health. But before this I had grown complacent. My holistic well-being has never been the priority. Almost everyone else came first. I took great care of other people but for myself, I was convinced that the bare minimum was good enough.
Watching this unfold in real time, and knowing this could be a potential future for me, ended that illusion.
Before I learned EFT, fear like this would have leveled me or sent me straight into avoidance. I would have dissociated. Numbed out. Stayed busy. Told myself a story about why I didn’t need to feel it. I would have called that coping.
Learning EFT changed that.
It taught me how to stay present with intense emotional charge without being overtaken by it. Not by overpowering fear or reframing it prematurely, but by actually listening to what my nervous system is saying and allowing the energy of that fear to move through instead of getting stuck.
I don’t sit in fear. I don’t bypass it. And I don’t pretend it isn’t there. Not anymore.
I meet it directly. I process it and let my body complete the stress response instead of trapping it.
The energy that would have turned into anxiety, inflammation, or paralysis becomes available. It doesn’t disappear. It mobilizes.
I’m not fighting fear or trying to get rid of it. I’m letting it do what it’s meant to do.
I’m turning it into action.
Instead of burying my head in the sand or hoping genetics don’t catch up with me, I’m treating this as clear data that demands a response. What can I control? What inputs matter? What changes actually improve my odds?
Those questions led to a hard conclusion. My health is no longer optional. It’s no longer aesthetic. It’s no longer something I negotiate with myself about.
What this has looked like in practice isn’t a single dramatic overhaul. It’s been a deliberate, incremental realignment. Last month, I added new physical practices first. I picked up Pilates. I recommitted to rowing. I’m currently in yoga teacher training. I focused on movement before changing how I ate because I know myself. I know that if I try to change everything at once, I get overwhelmed and shut down.
Adding things in stages has helped me stay consistent. It’s kept this grounded in my body instead of turning it into another all-or-nothing project. I’m building momentum by letting results motivate the next layer of change.
This month, that next layer is nutrition.
A full inventory of the habits and behaviors that influence my physical well-being has followed. Where I’m strong. Where I still need to grow. I’ve been making better decisions and gradually transitioning away from unhealthy practices for some time now. But there are still clear areas where I’ve continued to indulge, concessions I’m no longer willing to make.
Processed foods and sugar are out. That has been harder than I’d like to admit.
I used to describe myself as a trash panda, and letting go of that identity has been an adjustment. Releasing it and fully committing to a wellness-focused way of eating hasn’t been a single decision. It’s been a series of small, deliberate choices. I’m making this transition slowly and intentionally, continuing to tweak things as I learn more and listen more closely to my body.
I’m coming into a deeper understanding of metabolic function, hormone balance, fasting, and ketogenic states. That work is still unfolding. For now, I’m seven days into a sugar detox where the only options are protein, vegetables, and fats. It’s simple. It’s uncomfortable at times. And it’s showing me exactly where my edges are. (Learning how to love avocados is a process, but I’m working on it. RIP nacho cheese, we had a good run.)
I’m also becoming far more attentive to what I put into my body overall. I wouldn’t call it obsession, but I am paying attention in a way I never did before. I’m choosing organic products whenever possible. I’m avoiding toxic chemicals with increasing intention. Not perfectly. Not rigidly. Just more consistently.
What’s driving all of this is the same force that shows up on those phone calls. The fear is real. And instead of letting it calcify into anxiety or resignation, I’m transmuting it. I’m taking the raw energy of that fear and turning it into the fuel behind sustained change. Not a moment of motivation. Not a temporary cleanup. A lifelong reorientation toward health, presence, and vitality.
This isn’t about willpower. It’s about setting my optimal health and well-being as my new North Star. Once that’s clear, the daily choices organize themselves around it.
I’ve also added “learning something new” to my to-do list this month. One of the contributors to dementia and Alzheimer’s related diseases is stagnation. The brain needs challenge and novelty. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun too! So I’ve gone back to dance class. Salsa lessons every Tuesday downtown, 5:00 to 6:30.
I feel better in my body than I have in years. I’m having real fun. I had forgotten how essential that is. Fun isn’t a reward for productivity. It’s part of a healthy nervous system. For me, it’s medically necessary.
I’m also educating myself. Currently I’m reading The End of Alzheimer’s by Dr. Dale Bredesen and learning how to align with the ReCODE protocol outlined in the book. One of the more interesting elements is how it challenges the amyloid plaque hypothesis. In Charlie’s case, imaging shows no progression of plaques while symptoms clearly worsen.
It suggests this disease isn’t driven by a single cause. And complexity, in this case, is good news. Genetics are not destiny. Gene expression is influenced by lifestyle. The body responds to inputs over time.
We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then, is not an act, but a habit.
The situation is fluid and constantly evolving but my practices are holding up to the demands.
Active caregiving. Ongoing medical coordination. A full-scale recalibration of how I live inside my body. Learning in real time. Adjusting as new information becomes available.
If dementia or Alzheimer’s runs in your family, my advice is simple:
Don’t wait. Don’t assume inevitability. Learn what’s within your control and act on it.
You can surrender what you can’t change and still take responsibility for what you can.
-Sunny
Make the best use of what is in your power, and take the rest as it happens.
