The room was full of nurses, coordinators and other staff from one of Adelaide’s leading nursing homes; I had spoken to other staff from the same group earlier in the week, as well as another group working in the Adelaide Hills a few weeks ago. Presenting my deeply personal story, making sure it suits the audience I am in front of is not only demanding, but very confronting. Delving into my own story, as if it is about someone else, written by someone else, as if I have plagiarised myself, is a peculiar experience. My memory of working the words into sentences and paragraphs, to tell the story, is faint at best. Then to make sure I have matched it up with images and appropriate text for a power point presentation to run concurrently, is a challenge. The technology works, the presentation is eventually over, my sense of embarrassment at having to read it as I can’t remember it is gone, and it seems to reach into the hearts of my audience. They don’t appear to mind I occasionally stumble with my words, get my papers in a flurry, or can’t give them the amount of eye contact a room full of people who have taken time out of their busy day to listen to me, deserve. Their responses, questions and feedback, are full of love and appreciation for my honesty and willingness to speak out about what it is truly like living with dementia. They give me strength and courage to go on, to keep striving to break down the barriers of stigma, myths and misconceptions about this hideous disease. Together, I hope we can change and improve the care and outcomes of people living with dementia, that we can improve the experience not only of the sufferer, but of the brave and amazingly resilient and caring workers who remain in the health care system regardless of being underpaid, under loved, and with little hope of any change to the under resourced system they are working in. I salute them all with love, and thank them for caring enough to listen to me, and to want to make a difference too.