Like Any Other Day

It starts like any other day. You’ve got your routine down. Breakfast trays are being passed, morning care is underway, and you know which residents need a little extra time and who’s usually ready to go. You’ve already helped someone find their missing slipper, calmed another who was looking for her husband, and you’re halfway through assisting a resident with dressing.

Then comes the moment. 

You gently approach someone for toileting or help with clothes. Maybe you’ve done this with them a hundred times. Maybe they smiled at you earlier that morning. But today, something shifts.

They resist.
Or they shout.
Maybe they push your hand away.
They look at you like you’re a stranger.

You pause. Maybe you try again — softer this time. And they yell. Or hit. Or turn their face to the wall.

Suddenly, the calm you’d built into your shift is gone. The resident is upset. You’re upset. You still have two more people waiting, the staff phone is ringing, and the rest of your team is just as stretched. And maybe, just maybe, someone nearby says something like, “She always does this,” or “Just get it done.”

So, it started like any other day, but suddenly you come up on the moment that care gets hard.

Not Just “Challenging Behavior”

It’s tempting to label these moments as “challenging behavior.” But for the person on the receiving end — the caregiver — it’s much more than that. It’s personal. It’s exhausting. It can feel like failure, especially when you’re doing your best.

What’s often missed is that the behavior isn’t coming from nowhere. The refusal, the shouting, the pushback — it’s a response. A response to something they don’t understand. Something that doesn’t feel safe or familiar. A response to a world that no longer makes sense in the way it used to.

Why These Moments Matter

These are the moments that change how we feel about our jobs. They’re the ones we take home with us, that sit with us at the end of a long shift. When they happen again and again, they start to shape our stress levels, our morale, even how long we stay in the role.

But what if these moments could be softened? What if we could prevent them more often than not? And what if we had simple, everyday ways to turn conflict into cooperation?

A New Way to See It

Montessori-based care offers a different lens. It doesn’t make care perfect. But it helps us understand what’s behind the behavior — and make small adjustments that create trust instead of resistance.

It starts with offering choice.
Simplifying what the person sees.
Using familiar objects.
Connecting the task to a memory or identity.

It’s not magic. And it doesn’t require extra work.

It’s a shift in how we prepare, how we speak, and how we listen — even when the person doesn’t use words.

And more than anything, it’s a reminder that when care gets hard, we’re not doing something wrong. We’re being invited to see something differently.

Where Real Caregiving Begins

Because those moments — the hard ones — are where real caregiving begins.

Not just the routine care. Not just the tasks we check off. But the kind of caregiving that requires us to pause, to wonder what’s really going on, and to respond with something deeper than a script.

Real caregiving begins when we realize that behavior is communication.

» That a resident who refuses to get dressed may not be “difficult” — they may be cold, confused, or simply scared.
» And a person who pushes away food might not be defiant — they might not recognize the meal or even know it’s time to eat.
» That someone who yells during personal care may not be angry — they may not understand what’s happening to their body in that moment.

It’s in those messy, uncomfortable, emotional moments that we are invited to shift from doing for someone to being with someone.

Of course, it’s not easy. It takes patience, and grace, and a willingness to see beyond the surface.

But it’s in those moments that we move from just “providing care” to truly connecting.

That’s when we stop fighting the behavior and start understanding the person.

It’s where real caregiving begins — with a choice to slow down, see differently, and respond not with frustration, but with compassion.

And the truth is: every caregiver has this in them.
It’s not about doing more. It’s about noticing more.
Not fixing the moment, but finding meaning in it.
That’s what real caregiving is made of — and that’s what makes it matter.