Wednesday 28th October 2026
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Oh, the bad head days! How I hate them. How they disrupt, disorientate and completely knock me off balance.
Having a few days away was wonderful, a chance to escape, enjoy nature and take a little break from everyday life. But sometimes, even the loveliest of weekends and then home to a full on few days always comes at a cost. The head from hell days!

The heaviness… oh, the heaviness! It’s like having a huge, dark cloud sitting inside my head that simply refuses to move. Everything feels harder. The confusion increases, and my sensitivity to noise goes through the roof. Even wearing my glasses to read feels heavy and annoyingly uncomfortable. At times, I feel nauseous, and no matter what I try, nothing seems to shift that bloody awful feeling.
It’s difficult to explain unless you’ve experienced it yourself. Imagine trying to think clearly when your head feels full of fog, every sound seems amplified, and even the simplest things take more effort than they should. You want to feel like yourself again, but you can’t simply switch it off. You have to ride it out and hope that, eventually, the cloud will begin to lift.
Trying to explain this to hubby isn’t always easy. He looks at me and asks, “You okay?”
I might just shrug my shoulders, because sometimes I haven’t got the energy to explain how I feel. Then comes the response, “Well, you don’t look it.”
And that’s the thing, isn’t it? I might look a little tired, vacant at times, but I’m not physically unwell. I can still talk, smile, walk around and try my best to function, even when my head feels anything but normal.
Sometimes I think hubby forgets that I have dementia and that a busy weekend, followed by a busy couple of days, no matter how wonderful they have been, can take its toll on me. I get tired of trying to explain how I feel. I get tired of repeating that I do have dementia, and that the effects of it aren’t always visible to the people around me.
I know it must be difficult for someone else to understand when they can’t physically see what is happening inside my head. There’s no plaster, bandage or obvious sign to show that I’m struggling. From the outside, I might look just the same as I did yesterday, but inside, everything can feel completely different.
Dementia is so much more than forgetting things. It can affect how I process information, how I cope with noise, how I manage my day and how much energy I have available. Sometimes, even the things I love doing can leave me needing time to recover.
I’m not someone who gives in easily. I keep trying, keep pushing myself and keep finding reasons to look forward. But I’m also learning that I can’t keep pushing through every difficult day as though nothing is wrong.
Sometimes, I need to stop.
I need peace and quiet. I need the noise to settle, the pressure to ease and the opportunity to let my head recover. I need time to recharge, without feeling that I have to explain myself or prove that I’m struggling.
And perhaps that’s something we all need to understand, whether we live with dementia or support someone who does. Just because someone looks okay doesn’t mean they are okay. A smile can hide a multitude of struggles, and being able to hold a conversation doesn’t mean everything is working as it should.
So, on those bad head days, I’m trying to remind myself that it’s okay to slow down. It’s okay to rest. It’s okay to give myself permission to do less.
I haven’t given up. I’m simply recognising that sometimes my head needs something that I can’t force it to give me.
A little peace, a little quiet, and a little time.
Because even a dementia rebel needs to recharge sometimes.



































