Breaking Free from the Old Story
The Story We've Been Told
There's a narrative about Alzheimer's Disease and memory loss that's been handed down through generations. It's the story we see in movies, hear whispered in doctors' offices, and absorb from well-meaning friends who don't know what else to say.
It goes something like this: Memory loss is the end. It's a slow erasure. It's losing yourself piece by piece until nothing remains. It's a tragedy with only one possible ending.
I know this story intimately because I believed it. When my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, that narrative wrapped around me like a vice. I thought I knew exactly what was coming—the inevitable decline, the loss of who she was, the helpless watching as the disease took everything.
But here's what I've learned after six years as her study partner through Leqembi clinical trials, after countless hours in infusion centers and research facilities, after witnessing her journey firsthand:
That old story? It's not the only one anymore.
And it's time we all started writing new ones.
The Weight of Outdated Narratives
The stories we tell ourselves about Alzheimer's and memory loss carry enormous power. They shape how we see ourselves, how we plan for the future, and whether we believe there's any hope at all.
The traditional narrative says:
You are your diagnosis
Memory loss means the person you were is already gone
There's nothing you can do except wait
Your life is essentially over
You become a burden
Your value diminishes as your memory fades
These beliefs don't just hurt—they prevent people from seeking treatment, from finding community, from continuing to live fully in whatever time they have.
I've watched people receive an Alzheimer's diagnosis and immediately retreat from life. They stop making plans. They stop trying new things. They start referring to themselves in the past tense, as if the person they are today has already disappeared.
And I get it. I understand that impulse, because the fear is real and the unknowns are terrifying.
But what if we're giving the disease more power than it deserves? What if, by accepting that old narrative, we're robbing ourselves of years that could still be meaningful, connected, and even joyful?
When the Story Started to Change
The moment that shifted everything for me was sitting in a clinical research center in 2019, listening to a doctor explain anti-amyloid therapy to my mother and me.
He said something I'll never forget: "This is not about giving up. This is about fighting back."
At the time, Leqembi wasn't even FDA approved yet. We were in uncharted territory. But here was a treatment that could actually remove the amyloid plaques from her brain—not just slow the disease down, but potentially alter its course.
That's when I realized the old story was already obsolete. Science had moved forward while the cultural narrative stayed stuck in the past.
Yes, Alzheimer's is still a devastating disease. Yes, there are challenges and losses and grief along the way. But the story isn't just tragedy anymore. There are plot twists now. There are possibilities that didn't exist five years ago.
Challenging the Stigma
One of the cruelest parts of the old narrative is the stigma that comes with it.
People with memory loss are often treated as if they've already ceased to exist. Conversations happen around them instead of with them. Decisions are made for them without asking what they want. Their preferences, opinions, and autonomy get dismissed because "they won't remember anyway."
I've seen this happen to my mother, and it infuriates me every single time.
She has Alzheimer's Disease. She is also still here. She still has thoughts, feelings, preferences, and agency. She still deserves to be treated with dignity and respect.
The stigma says: Once you have memory loss, you're no longer fully human.
That is a lie we need to stop telling.
People living with Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia are not empty shells. They are not already gone. They are living, breathing human beings who deserve compassion, connection, and choice—not pity or dismissal.
Challenging this stigma means:
Speaking to people with memory loss, not just about them
Including them in decisions about their own care
Recognizing that memory isn't the only measure of a person's value
Celebrating what they can do, not just mourning what they can't
Treating every interaction as an opportunity for connection, not proof of decline
Creating Space for a New Identity
Here's the hardest truth I've had to face: an Alzheimer's diagnosis changes things. It does alter the trajectory of a life. But it doesn't have to define the entirety of who someone is.
My mother is not "an Alzheimer's patient." She is a woman who has Alzheimer's Disease—and also a thousand other things.
She is still funny. She still loves her crafts. She still lights up when her grandchildren visit. She still has opinions about politics and strong feelings about what she wants for dinner.
Alzheimer's is part of her story now, but it's not the whole story.
Creating space for a new identity means recognizing that a diagnosis is not an ending—it's a plot development. The story continues, even if it looks different what you expected.
This is true whether you're the person with memory loss or the person walking alongside them.
For Those Living with Memory Loss:
You are allowed to grieve what's changing. You're also allowed to keep living, keep trying, keep hoping. You're allowed to define yourself by more than your diagnosis.
You can still:
Pursue treatment options that might change your trajectory
Build new routines that support your brain health
Find joy in the things that still bring you pleasure
Form meaningful connections with people who see you—really see you
Make choices about how you want to spend your days
Write your own story instead of letting the disease write it for you
For Caregivers and Loved Ones:
Your role is not to become the sole author of their story. Your role is to be a supporting character—someone who helps them continue writing their own narrative for as long as possible.
That means:
Asking what they want instead of assuming you know
Protecting their autonomy even when it's inconvenient
Celebrating small wins instead of dwelling on losses
Creating opportunities for them to still contribute, still matter, still be seen
Remembering that your grief is valid, but it shouldn't eclipse their remaining life
The New Narrative: Hope Without Denial
Let me be clear: I'm not suggesting we ignore reality or pretend Alzheimer's isn't serious. I'm not peddling toxic positivity or false hope.
But I am saying we can hold two truths at once:
Alzheimer's is hard. And there is still hope.
The new narrative acknowledges the challenges while making space for possibility. It says:
Yes, this is a difficult diagnosis—and there are treatments now that can make a real difference
Yes, there will be losses—and there can still be meaningful moments of connection
Yes, the future is uncertain—and you still have agency in how you face it
Yes, this disease is bigger than any one person—and you are not powerless
This is the story I want us to start telling. Not because it's easier or more comfortable, but because it's truer to what's actually possible now.
What Science Has Made Possible
When my mother started Leqembi infusions in 2019, we didn't know what would happen. The clinical trial was a leap of faith into uncharted territory.
Now, years later, here's what I can tell you: she's still here. She's not the same as she was before Alzheimer's—but she's also not the worst-case scenario we were told to expect.
The treatment didn't cure her. But it gave us more time. Better time. Time where she's still present, still engaged, still Mom.
That's not a miracle. It's science. And it's available now to people who are newly diagnosed, who get biomarker testing, who pursue anti-amyloid therapy early enough.
This is the plot twist the old narrative couldn't account for: treatment exists now that actually removes the disease process from the brain.
Not everyone will have access to it. Not everyone will respond the same way. There are still barriers—insurance coverage, infusion availability, and eligibility criteria.
But the possibility exists. And that changes everything about how we should be telling the Alzheimer's story.
Rewriting Your Future Starts Today
If you're reading this and you've been carrying the old narrative—the one that says memory loss is only tragedy, only decline, only loss—I want to invite you to set it down.
You don't have to carry that story anymore.
You can pick up a new one. One that includes struggle, yes, but also strength. One that makes space for grief while leaving room for hope. One that acknowledges what's changing while celebrating what remains.
This isn't about denial. It's about defiance.
It's about refusing to let a diagnosis become your entire identity. It's about challenging the stigma that says people with memory loss have already disappeared. It's about recognizing that the story isn't over until it's over—and even then, the impact of a life continues.
An Invitation
Breaking free from the old story doesn't happen in a single moment. It's a daily practice, a constant choice to see beyond the diagnosis to the person who's still there.
But it starts with this: believing that a different story is possible.
If you're newly diagnosed, if you're caring for someone with memory loss, if you're terrified of what's coming—I see you. I know that fear. I've lived in it.
And I'm here to tell you: there's another way to walk this path. One that doesn't require you to pretend everything is fine, but also doesn't demand you surrender to hopelessness.
At Memory Treatment Advisors, I help people navigate this new narrative. Together, we explore treatment options, create care plans, and build a vision for the future that's grounded in reality but not limited by outdated assumptions.
You don't have to stay stuck in the old story. You can start writing a new one today.
Ready to rewrite your story?
👉 Schedule an appointment and let's create a roadmap that honors where you are while opening up new possibilities for where you're going.
Because memory loss doesn't get to be the only author of your future. You still get a say in how this story unfolds.
