When Sundowning Turns Aggressive: A Real Evening with Dementia

Hello, and welcome to another moment of clarity.

Evenings can be unpredictable when you care for someone with dementia. Some days end quietly, with familiar routines guiding us through, and other days turn quickly, leaving you unsure how to respond. Friday reminded me just how quickly the mood in a house can shift, and how small adjustments can make a difference when sundowning sets in.

I Knew Before She Said a Word

Mum came home from her day centre on Friday in what I can only describe as a foul mood. There was no explanation. No warning.

The taxi pulled up and before she even stepped out, I knew I was in for a bad evening.

No words were spoken. Her eyes gave it away. She looked at me in a way that made my stomach drop. I remember thinking, here we go.

I got her safely into the house. The shift had already begun.

When It Escalates

I tried to help her change into something more comfortable, just the usual routine. That was when everything tipped over.

She became aggressive almost instantly. Agitated. She screamed. She kicked me. She resisted every small movement. It was like trying to calm a storm that had already decided to rage.

Then the words came.

“I hate you.”

“Leave me alone.”

Insult after insult.

I know it’s the illness. I know she doesn’t mean it.

But it still hurts. More than I like to admit.

I can tell myself all the right things. I can remind myself this is dementia, not her. That does not stop the words from landing like a punch to my stomach.

The Part People Don’t See

What people often see is the practical side of care. Making meals. Keeping routines. Getting through appointments.

They do not always see moments like this.

They do not see how quickly an ordinary task can turn into something physical and emotional. They do not see how you steady your voice while being shouted at. How you carry on even when you feel small.

There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes after evenings like that. Not just physical tiredness. Something heavier.

You start bracing for the next one without meaning to.

Small Things That Help

I cannot stop sundowning. I cannot control what mood she comes home in. I have stopped trying to solve it.

What I do now is focus on what I can soften.

I turn the lights on earlier so the house does not suddenly feel dark. I keep the evening simple. I avoid too much noise. If she is pacing, sometimes I just walk with her instead of stopping her.

None of it is magic. It does not prevent every difficult evening. But it takes the edge off when it can.

And on nights when it does not help, I remind myself that I am allowed to feel shaken by it.

After It Passes

Eventually the storm burns itself out.

She grows tired. The shouting stops. The house goes quiet again.

When I finally sit down, I can feel how tense I have been. My shoulders ache. My head feels heavy. The silence feels strange after so much noise.

We made it through another one.

Sundowning is unpredictable. It can turn an ordinary Friday into something you have to endure rather than enjoy. It can make you question yourself. It can leave you carrying words you wish you had never heard.

But it does not mean I am failing her. And it does not mean she has stopped being my mum.

It means the day changed. The light faded. And we are still learning how to move through that part together.

If you are caring for someone with dementia, you are not alone in evenings like this. I would love to hear how you navigate sundowning or difficult evenings in your own home. You can leave a comment below or share your story via the contact page.

Until next time,

James