http://seniorlivingadvisorsaustin.com/

Senior Living Advisors of Austin, 2006 S. Bagdad #190, Leander, Austin, TX (2026)

12/25/2025

This Christmas season, we hold close in our hearts every person living with dementia, every care partner, and every family walking this journey together.

May this season bring moments of calm, connection, and reassurance - whether found in a familiar song, a gentle touch, a shared smile, or simply being present together. Dementia may change memories, but it never diminishes worth, love, or the person still alive inside.

To care partners: may you feel seen, supported, and appreciated for the strength and compassion you give each day.

May peace meet you where you are, grace guide your days, and hope quietly remind you that you are not alone, this Christmas and always.

12/17/2025

I spend a lot of time teaching care partners how to get it right.

We talk about meeting people where they are. About honoring invitations instead of redirecting them. About seeing the person before the diagnosis. About using our hands, our posture, our tone to say I’m with you when words fall apart.

Most days, those instincts live in my body. They’re second nature.

So when a resident approached me last week, struggling through aphasia but clearly wanting to “chat” and play ‘thumb war’, I didn’t hesitate. He reached out his hand. I took it. We stood together and began to play.

In that moment, I did what we teach. I said yes. I saw his humanity. I offered purpose and presence instead of correction.

And then — quietly, without warning — my brain shifted.

If you know Teepa Snow’s “diamond brain,” you know the gear I’m talking about. Focused. Competitive. Efficient. I stopped playing with him and started playing to win.

I won.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t protest. He dropped his hand, slumped his shoulders and walked away. And suddenly, the room felt different. Empty.

In that moment, I quickly processed and saw what I had missed. I had honored his humanity, but failed to protect his vulnerability. I forgot that while his spirit was fully present, his ability to process the game was not. I played by rules he could no longer navigate — and in doing so, I unintentionally took something from him.

Eugene Vodolazkin writes in The Aviator, “Wisdom is experience more than anything else. But experience must be processed. Bruises are useless.”

That line keeps echoing for me.

Because the experience itself wasn’t the teacher. The pause afterward was. The willingness to ask: Where did my skill help, and where did it override my care?

Moving forward, this lesson lives in a very specific place for me. It reminds me that presence isn’t enough. That purpose must be protected. That sometimes the most dignified care choice is to bend the rules, slow the game, or let the win belong to the moment — not to me.

So I’m curious — where have you noticed yourself doing something “right,” only to realize later that the moment was asking for something different?

11/17/2025

A week before Thanksgiving, you can feel the shift in every community. The pace and energy changes. Families are coming and going, routines stretch a little, and everyone is trying to hold a lot at once. It’s not anyone’s fault — it’s just the season doing what it does.

Over the past week, I’ve visited a couple of communities hosting early Thanksgiving dinners. And what stayed with me wasn’t the menu or the decorations — it was the effort. Caregivers moving quickly to keep residents comfortable, greet families, solve problems in real time, and still find space for kindness. It reminded me just how much these moments depend on teamwork.

If anything, it made me think about how powerful it is when all of us — caregivers, nurses, leadership, dining, housekeeping, activities — step into the same room and shoulder it together. Holidays run smoother when no one is carrying the weight alone and when every role is visible, present, and valued.

The hopeful part? We already know what works.
Communities thrive when leaders step out of their offices and join the flow.
When teams check in with each other before the stress peaks.
When everyone shares the small tasks that make big moments possible.
When families see a united front of people working with purpose.

As we head into the holiday week, maybe the invitation is simple:
Let’s support each other in ways that make the day feel lighter for everyone — staff, residents, and families alike. Let’s show up together, not perfectly, but intentionally.

What’s one thing your team does — big or small — that helps the holidays feel more manageable and more meaningful?

11/06/2025

Most caregivers I meet don’t show up for the paycheck. They show up because they care — really care. They want to do it right. They want to feel capable. They want to know they’re making a difference.

And yet, when budgets tighten or census drops, the first thing to go is almost always the one thing that could’ve helped them do that better:

Training.

We cut the one thing that could have changed everything.

Not the snacks. Not the pizza parties. Not the marketing line item. Training.

We tell caregivers every day that they’re the “heart of the community” — and then, in the same breath, we tell them there’s no budget to help them grow.

We call them “heroes” while quietly handing them a walkie-talkie, a printout of the schedule, and expecting them to just figure it out.

And when turnover spikes or families lose trust, we scramble for new incentives and slogans instead of asking the harder question: What if the problem isn’t their attitude — it’s our lack of investment?

Cutting training doesn’t save money. It slowly bleeds a culture dry. It drains confidence, corrodes trust, and replaces purpose with survival.

And here’s the quiet part we don’t say out loud: We expect excellence from people we’ve stopped equipping to deliver it.

If we want caregivers to stay — not just in their roles but in their hearts — we have to stop treating development as a reward and start treating it as infrastructure.

Because when we invest in those who care, everything changes. This is the heart of retention.

💬 If you’re in a leadership role right now — this is the question worth asking: What’s the message you send when training is always the first thing to go? And, the last thing considered?

💬 And if you’re someone who’s tried to hold it all together with coffee, instinct, and not much else — what would’ve made a difference?

11/03/2025

When we say we support families… we mean all of them.

For the past eight years—closer to twenty-five in my career—we’ve stood beside family caregivers. The ones making impossible decisions with limited information. The ones who keep showing up, even when they’re overwhelmed, grieving, or unsure. Whether their choice was to stay home or seek support elsewhere—our job has always been to walk alongside them.

That will never change.

But here’s something we don’t say out loud often enough:

Our support of professional caregivers is because of family caregivers.

Because when a daughter finally takes a breath and says “yes” to help… She needs to know the hands she’s passing the baton to are steady. She needs to feel like the team in place is rested, trained, supported, and equipped—So she can feel a moment of relief instead of regret.

And that doesn’t happen by accident.

It happens when we build strong teams on purpose.

This National Family Caregivers Month, I want to honor both: The family who holds it all together at home—and the professional who steps in when home needs more support or is no longer enough.

The truth is, it’s not either/or.

It’s both/and.

Because trust only happens when families believe: “My person is in good hands. And I still get to be part of the circle.”

10/31/2025

What if we stopped performing care… and started practicing it?

Not just the tasks. Not just the tours. Not just the cheerful newsletters or the training certificates. I mean care as relationship. Care as presence. Care as something more than what we document and measure — something we feel when we walk into a space and know the person behind the diagnosis still matters.

Lately, I’ve found myself both hopeful and unsettled. There’s a lot of good happening in this field — truly. But there’s also a lot that we’re still getting wrong.
💔We still wheel residents out the back door when they die, quietly and quickly.
💔We still refer to families as “prospects,” like they’re part of a sales funnel instead of people navigating a massive life transition.
💔We reduce dementia to a pair of goggles and gloves, and call it an “experience”.
💔We reward speed over connection when a family inquires about our community.
💔We push caregivers into burnout, then wonder why they’re leaving.

It’s not malicious. It’s the pace. The pressure. The system. But just because something is common doesn’t make it okay.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe:
💥Real dementia education goes deeper than “how it might feel.” It helps us respond.
💥Language matters — because the words we use tell people whether we see them as a task or a person.
💥A home visit shouldn’t be a sales tactic; it’s an invitation to listen and understand.
💥Caregivers don’t need gold stars. They need someone to tell them they’re not alone. 💥And when someone dies, they deserve to leave through the same front door they entered — with dignity, not with a detour.

If we really want culture change in dementia care and senior living, then we have to ask harder questions. The ones that make us a little uncomfortable.
💡Are we performing care — or truly practicing it?
💡Are our trainings changing anything beyond what we post on social media?
💡What language are we using that quietly strips away personhood?
💡What rhythms do we repeat just because “that’s how it’s always been done”?

This work is sacred. But only if we treat it that way.

So maybe today’s the day to stop rushing. To pause, to reflect, and to return — not just to the work itself, but to the people we do it for.

Because when we pause, we don’t just do better. We see people better.

10/27/2025

I walk in on a Monday…

… And, I’m thinking about caregivers—professional team members in our Senior Living communities, home care agencies, and other allied services.

Most caregivers aren’t asking for applause. They’re not waiting for a gold star or some formal recognition. What they really want—especially in those in-between moments, when the shift is heavy and they’re holding it together with coffee, instinct and sheer determination—is to know they’re doing okay. That they’re not failing when things feel hard. That they’re not alone in the stretch of it.

They want to know: Am I on the right path? Am I doing right by my person? Is it okay that I care this much and still feel like I’m barely staying afloat sometimes? And let’s be honest: those are fair questions. Caregiving—real caregiving—isn’t just a list of tasks. It’s a relationship. It asks something different of you every day. It shifts. It surprises you. And it grows you in ways you never expected.

What most caregivers don’t need is another lecture. Or a policy update. Or a finger-wag disguised as education. They need presence. They need someone who can meet them in the middle of the mess—not to correct, but to coach. Someone who can say, “Let’s take a pause. Let’s look at what’s actually happening. Let’s name what’s working, what’s hard, and what we want to try next.”

That’s why I connect in a simple three-question coaching model. It’s not fancy. It’s not a script. But it shifts everything.
1️⃣ What’s working right now?
2️⃣ Where are you stuck?
3️⃣ What do you want to try next?

These questions assume the caregiver already brings something valuable to the table—and they do. These aren’t about performance. They’re about possibility. They open space for reflection, instead of reaction. They let the caregiver know: You are already doing more than you know. You’re allowed to learn as you go. You are not broken. You are becoming.

I think we’ve overcomplicated caregiver support and training. We’ve made it about checklists and compliance when it should have always been about connection. The best caregiver education doesn’t start with content—it starts with conversation. With the radical belief that wisdom takes time, that capacity isn’t fixed, and that people grow best in environments that believe they can.

So maybe we stop defaulting to “Did you do it right?” and start asking “What do you need to feel more confident tomorrow than you did today?” Maybe we stop assuming caregivers need more instruction—and remember what most of them really need is orientation. Reassurance. Belief.

That’s how confidence is built, how connection is made. That’s the art of retention—how people stay.

💬 What kind of check-in would’ve made you feel seen on your hardest day?

10/23/2025

I watched a caregiver the other day reach to button a resident’s sweater. She was gentle, smiling, kind. The woman she was helping had slowed, fingers fumbling for the buttonhole.

The helper’s instinct was pure love — let me save you from struggle. But the moment she stepped in, something subtle happened: the woman’s shoulders dropped. Her hands went still.

That’s learned dependency.
And it happens in seconds.

We think we’re helping, but often we’re quietly teaching helplessness. The message becomes: You can’t. I’ll do it.

In Montessori for dementia, we learn to hold the pause. To watch, to wait, to invite — not rush. Because independence isn’t about doing everything alone; it’s about preserving the space to try.

When we only step in when there’s risk — or when someone asks — we return control, pride, and rhythm to the person in front of us. We make the environment do more of the work, and ourselves a little less.

That’s how we honor the whole person:
not by finishing the task, but by celebrating the reach, the attempt, the success.

✔️What would change if we trained ourselves to pause just a little longer before helping?

✔️How do we teach our teams to pause — to hold that sacred space between helping and honoring?

10/22/2025

All forms of dementia may involve good days and bad days, but (LBD) is unique in how rapidly things can change throughout the day.

LBD also has more sleep disruptions than other forms of , making nights demanding as well as days. But we know surprisingly little about patterns of symptoms throughout the day and night. Understanding how and when symptoms change would help effectively respond to those symptoms and minimize stress. Caregivers for LBD need interventions in the moments when problems are occurring.

Researchers at the The University of Texas at Austin have received funding from the National Institutes of Health (NIH)/National Institute on Aging - NIH to study LBD caregivers’ daily experiences. By learning more about daily experiences, researchers may be able to develop more effective interventions to address challenges at the time they arise.

Learn more about the study at https://ow.ly/pgVX50XfUSW

10/21/2025

Calling all senior living referral & placement professionals in Central Texas…

We’re building something important.

On October 29, we’re coming together at Overture Domain to officially launch the Austin Chapter of NPRA – the National Placement & Referral Alliance.

Why does this matter?
Because in a field where trust, ethics, and relationships should be the standard… there’s still no formal way for many of us to gather, support one another, and raise the bar together.

NPRA is the only national trade association specifically for professionals in this space. Their Best Practices and Code of Ethics aren’t just lofty ideals—they’re practical tools for how we operate with integrity, transparency, and collaboration.

This is our moment to bring that mission home to Austin.

🗓 NPRA Austin Chapter Kickoff
📍 Overture Domain
🕒 October 29 | 3:00–5:00 PM
🥂 Light hors d’oeuvres, great conversation, and the beginning of something bigger

Whether you’re a seasoned referral agent, new to the field, a senior living provider, or an allied professional who supports families through transitions—you belong in this room.

We’ll share what NPRA is, how membership supports your credibility and growth, and how you can help shape what this chapter becomes.

Let’s create a stronger, more connected Austin community—one where we don’t just do business, we build trust.

🟡 RSVP by October 27 to Joann@SLAAustin.com
📞 Questions? Reach out directly—happy to chat.

10/21/2025

We didn’t build a three-day dementia training just to “cover more content.”

We built it because real transformation takes structure.

Each day in the Dementia Skills 2025 series serves a distinct purpose—but the impact multiplies when they’re experienced together.

🧠 Day 1 | Understanding dementia
We begin with the foundation: what dementia is (and isn’t), how to interpret changing abilities, and how to advocate in alignment with best practice.

This day shifts how we see the people we support—and how we show up for them.

🤝 Day 2 | Building skills that connect
Positive Approach to Care® brings the relational tools—body language, communication, transitions, and approach.

This is where awareness turns into presence.

🌱 Day 3 | Montessori for dementia: dignity in action
Montessori isn’t just engagement—it’s a philosophy that supports choice, purpose, and identity across every part of the day: self-care, leisure, social connection, and environment.

We close by anchoring care in what matters most: the person, not the task.

When experienced as a full arc, something shifts:
• Confidence deepens.
• Language evolves.
• Teams leave with not just strategies—but clarity of purpose.

This isn’t a CEU or credential checklist.
It’s a recalibration of how we understand and deliver care.

If you’ve ever thought: “We’ve done dementia training before…” Let us show you what happens when the curriculum is designed to build, not just inform.

Join us in the new year for Dementia Skills 2026 - reimagining dementia care!

10/20/2025

I walk in on a Monday…

…and hear a caregiver say, with the warmest smile, “Oh, you’re just the cutest little thing.”

Her tone is sweet. Her heart is kind. But something about it makes me pause. Not in judgment — in awareness.

Because this is how it happens. Not through cruelty or neglect, but through comfort. Through the words we reach for when we’re trying to be gentle, or get through a busy moment, or make a connection.

You’ve heard them, too — “sweetie,” “honey,” “little lady,” or even “grandma/grandpa.”

When we have a family visit the community, we refer to everything as “little” — “here’s our little gym,” “little activity room,” “they do the cutest little paintings,” etc.

Or that easy “we” that rolls off the tongue:
“Are we ready to go to the bathroom?”
“Let’s take our medicine now, okay?”
“We’re not going to do that, are we?”

They sound kind. Familiar. Even affectionate. But they carry weight.

Dr. G. Allen Power writes about this in Dementia Beyond Disease. He calls it ElderSpeak — language that feels caring on the surface but can quietly chip away at a person’s sense of self. It’s not just that it sounds like how we speak to children. It’s that it changes the dynamic. The speaker holds the authority, and the elder is subtly placed beneath it.

Once you start hearing it, you can’t un-hear it. It shows up when we’re tired, when we want things to go smoothly, when we’re reaching for cooperation instead of connection.

But we’re not caring for children. We’re caring for adults — people who have lived entire lives, who have loved, lost, built, fought, and contributed. People whose brains may be changing but whose dignity should never be in question.

This isn’t about blame. It’s about noticing. Because the words we choose don’t just describe someone — they shape how we see them. And how we see them shapes how we care for them and with them.

So on this Monday, I’m thinking about language — and how the smallest words sometimes tell the biggest stories about what we believe.

Have you ever caught yourself using “ElderSpeak”? What helped you notice it and shift? Or maybe there’s a phrase you still wrestle with — one that’s hard to unlearn.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Drop a comment below…

Senior Living Advisors of Austin

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