More Than a Cup of Tea
“Just put the kettle on.”
It sounds so simple.
When I became a Dementia Friends Ambassador several years ago, one of the first exercises we were asked to do was write down the steps involved in making a cup of tea.
Most of us made quick work of it:
Boil the kettle. Put a teabag in a mug. Pour the water. Add the milk.
Done. Or so we thought.
Then we were challenged to break it down properly.
First, you have to realise you’re thirsty. Then decide you’d like a cup of tea. Stand up. Remember where you’re going. Walk to the kitchen. Find the kettle. Pick it up. Carry it to the sink. Turn on the tap. Open the lid. Fill the kettle. Turn the tap off. Close the lid. Carry it back. Put it on the base. Find the switch. Turn it on. Find the mugs. Open the cupboard. Choose one. Remember where the teabags are. The list went on and on…
What we’d thought of as one simple task suddenly became dozens of tiny decisions, movements and moments of concentration.
That exercise has stayed with me ever since, and with September being World Alzheimer’s Month, it felt like a good time to share it. Dementia is an umbrella term for symptoms caused by diseases that affect the brain. Alzheimer’s disease is the most common cause of dementia in the UK.
One of the other lessons that has stayed with me is that, although dementia affects memory, our emotional responses often remain much longer. Someone living with dementia may not remember exactly who visited them that afternoon, or what you talked about, but the feeling you left them with can linger.
Spend time laughing together, and that warmth can remain.
Become frustrated or impatient, those negative feelings can linger too.
It was such a simple idea, but one that completely changed the way I thought about communication.
The first time dementia touched my family, I was a teenager.
My Nanna, on my mum’s side, slowly began to forget who people were. As the youngest in the family, I was the first to disappear from her memory. At first she’d call me by my sister’s name. Then, eventually, that faded too.
I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t really understand what dementia meant beyond forgetting things. Visits became uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure what to say, how to respond, or what was expected of me.
Years later, I became a Dementia Friends Ambassador. I delivered awareness sessions to colleagues; helping the supermarket where I worked become a dementia-friendly store, and encouraged people to think differently about what someone living with dementia might be experiencing day-to-day.
Not long after this, dementia arrived in my family again.
This time, it was my Nanna on my dad’s side.
It was still incredibly difficult. But my understanding had changed.
Instead of just seeing someone who was becoming forgetful or confused, I found myself thinking back to that cup of tea. To the effort behind everyday tasks. And to the reminder that, even if she couldn’t remember exactly what we’d done together, she would still remember how I made her feel.
It didn’t make the situation easier, but it did make me more patient. And, I hope, more compassionate.
The lesson goes beyond dementia.
I think about that exercise more often than I ever expected to. Not just when I think about dementia, but in everyday life. How often do we assume something is easy because it looks easy?
“Just ask for help.”
“Just speak up.”
“Just get on with it.”
What looks like one simple step to us might actually be twenty smaller steps for someone else. Most of us are carrying things that aren’t immediately obvious.
So perhaps the lesson was never really about making a cup of tea.
Perhaps it was about slowing down; being curious instead of judgemental; remembering that we rarely see the full picture of someone else’s experience.
Because patience is rarely wasted, and kindness often begins with understanding.
And sometimes, all it takes to become a little more compassionate is to stop and wonder what someone else’s cup of tea might look like.
