Welcome to the SeriesWelcome to the Me with Dementia Talking About… weekly series.
Each Wednesday, I share an excerpt from my book—Me With Dementia Talking About—where I share reflections from the perspective of someone living with dementia. These gentle reflections are designed to help caregivers, family members, friends, and healthcare professionals better understand what dementia may feel like from the inside.
Whether you’re joining us for the first time or have been following along from the beginning, I’m glad you’re here.
The Different Neighborhoods of the Brain
“Come take a little walk with me through my brain. Don’t worry — it’s not as scary as it sounds. Think of it like a small town where every neighborhood has its own personality.
When everything’s working, the lights are bright, traffic flows, and the citizens (my neurons) know exactly where they’re going. But dementia doesn’t hit every brain the same way. It’s a little like a storm that floods one neighborhood, knocks out the power in another, and leaves the rest mostly untouched — at least for a while.
Let me show you around.
The Frontal Lobe: The Mayor’s Office
This is where decisions are made, manners are managed, and plans are organized. It’s the part of my brain that says,
“Don’t eat dessert before dinner,” or “Wait your turn to speak.”
When dementia storms this office — like in Frontotemporal Dementia (FTD) — the mayor starts saying whatever pops into their head. Filters disappear. Impulse control vanishes. I might say something wildly inappropriate or act out of character. It’s not rudeness — it’s just that the “social manager” clocked out early.
The Temporal Lobe: Memory Lane & Language Row
This is the neighborhood where my memories live — the long-term ones tucked in cozy little houses, and the short-term ones racing in and out like delivery drivers.
Alzheimer’s disease loves to start here, especially in the hippocampus, my memory librarian. When those neurons die, the new memories don’t get filed away properly. That’s why I can remember my childhood perfectly but forget what I had for breakfast.
As the damage spreads deeper, the words I want might slip away too — I can picture what I mean, but the right words are hiding in the back room.
The Parietal Lobe: The Map and the Hands
This neighborhood helps me judge space, direction, and how to move through the world.
When dementia damages this area, I may misjudge steps, reach for something that isn’t there, or get lost in a familiar room. Rugs may look like holes, shiny floors like puddles. That’s why you’ll see me hesitate, shuffle, or refuse to cross the line between tiles — my map’s GPS is on the fritz.
The Occipital Lobe: The Visual District
Here’s where my brain makes sense of what my eyes see.
In Lewy Body Dementia, this neighborhood gets especially noisy. The messages between my eyes and my brain get scrambled, so I might see things that aren’t really there — people, animals, or patterns in the wallpaper that come alive. It’s not imagination; it’s my neurons misreading the light.
The Basal Ganglia & Motor Circuits: The Body’s Dance Studio
These deep inner neighborhoods control movement, balance, and coordination.
When dementia hits here — like in Parkinson’s Disease Dementia or Lewy Body Dementia — my movements become stiff or slow, my hands tremble, and my steps get shorter. Sometimes I freeze mid-step, not because I’m afraid, but because my brain forgot to cue the next move.
The Limbic System: The Heart of Emotion
This neighborhood sits in the center — full of memory, emotion, and connection. It’s where love, fear, joy, and comfort all live side by side.
As dementia spreads here, my emotions might swing without warning. I might cry for no reason or laugh at something that isn’t funny. My mood isn’t my choice — it’s my limbic system reacting to scrambled signals.
But here’s the miracle: even when the higher thinking fades, this part of me — the emotional core — often stays active the longest. That’s why I might not remember your name but still light up when you walk in. My brain may forget who you are, but my heart remembers how you make me feel.
When the Whole Town Feels It
Eventually, if dementia continues, the damage spreads across neighborhoods. It becomes a citywide brownout — not total darkness, but flickering lights and quiet streets where communication slows to a whisper.
But please don’t mistake silence for emptiness. There are still sparks glowing inside, waiting for a smile, a song, a gentle hand, or a familiar voice to bring a little light back.
So even if the roads in my brain-town are twisted and torn, I’m still here — maybe not where you expect, but always somewhere within reach.”
Continue the Journey
Thank you for reading this week’s chapter from Me with Dementia Talking About…
This series follows the book in order, one chapter each week, making it easy to read from beginning to end.
