This was probably the most often cited caregiving principle in my support group. We came back to it time and again. Each new person who joined the group needed to learn this lesson. We all did–often the hard way, by NOT employing it, and creating emotional havoc in our loved ones. And feeling terrible about ourselves in the process.
Taking “It’s Better to Be Kind Than Correct” as the title of the fifth chapter in my teaching memoir, I illustrate it with stories of financial issues I encountered with my husband. I could have illustrated it with any number of my failures and successes at employing it.
Here’s a successful one. One day I came home from work to find Harvey dressed in two shirts, a sweater, a vest, and a blazer. Also a baseball cap and one glove. Instead of admonishing him for his choice of clothes, I asked, “Are you cold?” He replied, “No, are you?” Some things are just not worth being correct about. Clothing choice is one. Imagine if I had laughed and said, “Harvey! You look ridiculous in that get-up!”
As you approach many of the trying moments with your loved one, this principle can be your compass. Ask yourself, “Is the ‘correct’ response kind?”
You may wonder if it’s right to lie to your loved one. If truth-telling has been a moral imperative for you, as I hope it is for all of us, then not giving the correct response will seem deeply wrong. In the dementia caregiving world, we use the word “fiblet.” Better yet, “therapeutic non-truth.”
Giving a correct response may trigger confusion, anger, or anxiety in your loved one. It’s not worth it! Their emotional equanimity is vital to their overall well-being. And YOURS! There is no call to rock their boat for the sake of being correct. Telling a “therapeutic non-truth” will make for smoother sailing for both of you.
Let’s look at a few examples.
Your loved one may deny doing something that you know they did. They truly don’t remember doing it! So calling her out on it will only lead to her digging in her heels. Instead of pointing it out by saying something like, “Mom, I watched you eat the last cookie,” for example, how much better to say, “Oh, I’m sorry! There are no more cookies. Would you like an orange?”
Or, conversely, they may state some complete untruth or accusation about something they think YOU did. Rather than arguing and getting defensive, how much better to agree or even apologize. Instead of saying, “What?! You know I would never take your glasses,” you could say, “Oh my goodness, I just borrowed them for a bit and forgot to put them back. I’ll go look for them.”
Many persons living with Alzheimer’s disease or another dementia will talk about people from their past as if they are still alive, even asking after them. As a caregiver, your immediate response might be to point out that this person is no longer living, “Dad, your mother passed away twenty years ago!” This is the correct answer, but it’s not very kind, and he will likely respond with confusion and/or deep grief. How much better to say something like, “Oh, she’s a wonderful woman. Tell me a story about her.” If your loved one persists, then having knowledge about the person they are asking after can help. “Well, she can’t come visit right now, she’s working her shift at the hospital.” It makes the fiblet more believable, and he will be more likely to trust you.
This is so hard for us to do. Our brains just find it so difficult to live with obvious untruths. We are wired to give accurate information about our world. This principle, if it becomes a caregiving mantra for you, will bring you and your loved one much greater peace.
4 Responses
Dr Renee just love reading what you have been though and while I’m reading it’s gives me peace as if you’re reading to me
Awww, thanks!
I am learning not to correct my husband, but it is so difficult when something seems so outrageous. I remember you saying that our loved ones with Alzheimer’s still have their emotions. My husband is so good and kind even with this illness; the last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings. Thank you for taking the time to share your experience. It means a lot to know that someone else has been down this road and cares enough to help others.
It is SO hard not to correct. And I’ve been known to correct the grammar of strangers! Harvey was kind throughout his illness, too—except when he was resisting care, which I understood was a reflection of his confusion.
Thank you for the kind words!