When Presence Becomes the Intervention

Most approaches to Alzheimer’s care begin with what is lost. Memory. Language. Recognition. Independence.

What is spoken about far less is what remains—and what quietly responds when it is met.

When we began our healing-based observational study with people living with Alzheimer’s, we did not set out to prove anything dramatic. There were no expectations of recovery, reversal, or transformation. The intention was simple: to observe whether consistent, gentle healing sessions would make any discernible difference to comfort, distress, or well-being.

What emerged surprised us—not because it was extraordinary, but because it was subtle, repeatable, and deeply human.

Each session followed the same basic structure. The practitioner arrived without agenda. There was no attempt to direct, fix, or stimulate. The emphasis was on calm presence—attentive, respectful, and unhurried.

What became clear very early on was that how the practitioner arrived mattered as much as what they did. When the practitioner was settled, grounded, and emotionally available, the participant often responded before any physical contact occurred. Changes in breathing, softening of facial tension, or a visible easing of restlessness were sometimes observed within minutes.

This raises an important question: Is presence itself a therapeutic factor we have underestimated?

Many participants were unable to communicate verbally or to articulate how they felt before or after sessions. For this reason, standard self-reporting tools were not suitable. Instead, observations were recorded by carers and staff who knew the individuals well and were familiar with their usual patterns of behaviour, mood, and distress.

Across the study period, recurring changes were noted:

• reduced agitation during and after sessions

• longer periods of calm alertness

• softened emotional expression

• increased tolerance of touch and proximity

  
  

These were not isolated moments. They appeared consistently enough to be noticed by multiple observers across different individuals.

Importantly, these changes did not require the participant to understand what was happening, nor to “believe” in the process. The response seemed to arise at a level beneath cognition.

Alzheimer’s is often described primarily as a disease of the brain. Yet the individuals we worked with continued to respond to safety, warmth, rhythm, and presence—long after memory and language had diminished.

This suggests that connection does not disappear with cognitive decline. It simply changes its mode.

Healing, in this context, did not function as a treatment aimed at symptoms. It functioned more like a relational field—one in which the nervous system could settle, even briefly, into coherence.

None of this replaces medical care, medication, or skilled nursing. But it does invite a broader view of what supportive care might include.

If calm presence can reduce distress, even temporarily, then it becomes more than a kindness—it becomes a practical contribution to quality of life.

Perhaps the most important finding was not measurable improvement, but this:the person was still reachable.

Not through memory.

Not through explanation.

But through presence.

This is the space this book explores further—not as theory, but as lived observation.

I share occasional reflections like this when new pieces are published.