Blocking, Boundaries, and the Myth of the “Toxic” Caregiver

Blocking, Boundaries, and the Myth of the “Toxic” Caregiver

Dear Dazey,

Blocking and unblocking callers is the 2026 version of slamming a rotary phone receiver down in a full-body, I’m-done-with-you moment. It’s annoyance, frustration, overstimulation, and deep exhaustion, all in one ugly little package.

But in memory care? Controlling who can call isn’t drama. It’s a safety feature. When someone is living with memory loss, they’re often the one blocking numbers and deleting contacts. A phone call that doesn’t match her feelings or fit the way she remembers things can create real confusion.

Short-term memory loss is the challenge. She remembers 2016, 2005, even 1956 like it was yesterday. Five minutes ago? Not so much. Not without her trusted phone log, texts, calendar, and digital reminders. And she knows how that works better than a 16-year-old computer genius.

If someone has short-term memory loss from Alzheimer’s, or any of its charming cousins, managing their call list is less “toxic control freak” and more “parental controls for a smartphone that happens to belong to a 78-year-old.”

We’re talking safety from:

• Scammers and frauds

• “Miracle” medical honeys that cure Alzheimer’s and cancer

• Ransomware assholes who want to lock their devices and drain their bank accounts

• People who can’t tell the difference between a legit link and a deepfake hell-portal

To a clear mind, some of these scams are obviously too good to be true. To a brain under siege? They can look like hope.

So yes, we gatekeep the phone. Proudly.

No, You Weren’t Blocked. The Phone Is in the Freezer.

Calling someone with Alzheimer’s three times in one afternoon and getting no answer does not mean the caregiver blocked you.

Most of the time, the problem is much less dramatic than that. The phone is lost, silent, buried in the bedsheets, left in a random drawer, or sitting in the freezer like a tiny piece of domestic chaos.

You know where the phone usually is?

• Lost in the bedsheets

• On the bookcase

• On silent

• In the freezer

• In a random drawer no one remembers opening

Or she’s just not near it. Not in the room. Not thinking about it. Because, newsflash: the world doesn’t revolve around your missed call.

“You won’t answer my call. Dazey must have blocked me again.”

No. That doesn’t work here anymore.

You’re welcome to test that theory—but understand this: there’s no threat, only boundaries. Every time you send a link that leads us down a deepfake rabbit hole, even if you thought it was innocent, it adds risk, confusion, and chaos.

Your little digs about being blocked? They aren’t landing. And they won’t be tolerated.

The Fantasy World of Professionals Who Think Everyone Gets Along

Professionals love to imagine that all families caring for someone with dementia are united in some Hallmark-movie dynamic:

• Everyone cooperates

• Everyone communicates

• Everyone shows up

• Everyone prioritizes the loved one’s well-being

In that fantasy, there’s a harmonious rhythm where everyone works together like a well-oiled care team.

Yeah. That’s not this story.

This story is about keeping someone safe and emotionally steady while other people make everything harder than it needs to be.

As long as it doesn’t land on their doorstep of responsibility? They’re fine.

So we built boundaries.

The Boundaries That Keep Her Safe and You Uncomfortable

Here’s the unsexy, un-Instagrammable reality:

• Child-level protections on all devices. Because when certain people added spyware to “keep tabs,” what it actually did was break important accounts beyond recovery, add surveillance where care was needed, and create tech chaos we had to clean up.

• Policies like a nursing home—without the staff. Why? Because some folks are too entitled to care about the emotional cost of refusing to adapt to her changing needs. So we put policies in place as if we’re running a memory unit.

• Schedules. We keep a routine as best we can, even with surprise visits from the one person she enjoyed seeing, who occasionally showed up with the dreaded ex. The ex’s presence could make her disappear from her own home, staying off the property until she was convinced they were gone and not planning an ambush.

• Routines. Routines that repeat. Over and over. Groundhog Day, but with more plot twists and less Bill Murray.

To the Outside World, I Look Like a Psycho Bitch

My texts to the outside world often read like this:

“I do not fucking block. Accuse me again. I dare you.”

It didn’t start like that.

I used to pad everything. I used to care about their feelings. I used to explain. Defend. Explain again. Blow up my own world trying to keep the peace.

Today? I choose peace for the people who actually live on this property. “Let them” became my motto. Who knew several years later I would find a book titled #theletthemtherory? Read it. It’s legit, and I could have used it 10 years ago.

Everyone else—the “others”—gets whatever version of me their own behavior summons. And I don’t care if I blow up their morning or evening. If mine is crispy bacon, yours is the burnt ashes of the leftover slivers on a grill that’s too hot and overdue for a cleaning.

You share? I share.

You inform me? I inform you.

You go to her and claim I’m blocking you from her?

Then you meet the blunt, brick-wall version of me: don’t test me.

No retribution. No grudge. Resets here are strong.

But I remember everything. And I don’t waver.

We’re successful because we:

• Put in the effort

• Find workarounds

• Adjust and readjust

• Ask professionals

• Execute the plan

And when the plan fails, we regroup and start again.

Assess. Re-evaluate. Change the plan. Reset. Repeat.

Never forget.

I relive all 51 of my years every single day. Every decade is present through her eyes and perception. All hers. Ask anyone who is here each day to witness the miracle of what we achieve every single day she is here, and we are blessed with a visit.

The problem with the others: their accusations and storytelling don’t hold true. It’s starting to look like fiction these days—mistruths or exaggerations. Maybe, just maybe, y’all miscalculated the one thing that matters:

She chose her path. Her journey. Where and how she wanted to be protected from herself and others.

And y’all were told, warned, begged—and then we let go. There isn’t a reconciliation. That died the day we were no longer family or on the same path.

Receipts? I Have Them. All of Them.

Recently, the CPA asked how many miles I put on the car last year for taxes.

I bought the car 3 years ago, and it has 5,000 miles total—about 1,666 a year.

“No, for the year,” they replied.

“Yes. I know,” I repeated.

Just like I keep:

• Texts

• Videos

• Emails

All in a folder with her name.

We started recording videos when the accusations—fueled by hate, projection, and misdirection—needed to be balanced with facts and reality.

For her. For me.

She asked to video her own words so future-her could tell present-her what actually happened when memory didn’t match the feelings. When the story in her head didn’t line up with the conversations we’d had.

She Chose Her Journey. I’m Just Enforcing It.

She made the major care decisions herself, long before things got this messy:

• Retirement: on her terms

• Car keys: handed over on her terms

• Stove unplugged: on her terms

• Contacts blocked on her phone: on her terms, when she needed space

She used blocking as her own reset button. Her timeout.

She just eventually forgot how to unblock.

Same story then. Same story now.

Today’s version of my “test me” is simple:

I don’t show her how to reconnect.

I don’t remind her she blocked anyone.

I don’t resurrect drama she doesn’t remember.

Why? Because we all know what happens if I do:

She sees unanswered texts. Her confusion spikes. Her frustration explodes. She’s emotionally shredded over conflicts she didn’t need to re-experience.

I do not have to:

• Remind daily

• Remind hourly

• Remind weekly

• Babysit adult egos who won’t do the emotional math

That’s not my job.

“I HAVE THE ORIGINALS.”

And I mean it.

You text me? Email me? Message my devices?

Let me be very clear:

I HAVE THE ORIGINALS OF ALL COMMUNICATION FOR ALL DEVICES I OWN.

Just saying.

Test me on today’s standoff.

When professionals asked about restraining orders, I didn’t file them—for her benefit. Not yours.

But don’t confuse mercy with weakness.

The temperature had better drop. Quickly.

The Judgment Olympics: Featuring People Who Don’t Show Up

How do you lower the temperature on family drama when the loudest voices:

• Don’t live with the daily reality

• Dip in for a 10-minute video call

• Fire off a text or two

• Declare themselves amazing

• Then disappear for days

They judge from the sidelines without knowing the rules of the game.

They don’t see:

• The caregiver who tracks the last time they called

• The prompts: “Hey, it’s been a day or two. Want to call them?”

• The fact that she almost never calls them on her own—not because she doesn’t care, but because memory doesn’t always line up with intention

But sure. Tell me again how I’m the gatekeeper villain.

Loving a Spicy, Fiercely Independent Human… with a Fucked-Up Fan Base

This is the reality of caregiving for someone who is:

• Spicy

• Fiercely independent

• Clear about what she wants

• …and surrounded by a fan base that is, frankly, fucked up

My job is not to make everyone else comfortable.

My job is:

• To keep her safe

• To protect her peace

• To honor the choices she made when her mind was clearer

If that makes me the psycho bitch in your group chat, so be it.

“Block me, I don’t give a rats ass, but when you do this time, don’t unblock…I won’t be accessible.”

Just know—I’m still here doing the work while you’re composing your next “concerned” text.

Conclusion: This Isn’t Drama, It’s Strategy

This piece is one part of a bigger conversation about caregiving and boundaries—especially when the people circling the situation are louder than they are helpful.

In this chapter, it’s phone calls, blocking, and digital access. In others, it’s money, visits, medical decisions, driving, or who gets to speak for the person who can’t always speak clearly for themselves.

If you see yourself in this, you’re not crazy, cruel, or overreacting—you’re operating in a system that would rather label the active caregiver as difficult than confront the people who refuse to show up.

Call this series what it is: a toolkit for caregivers who are done apologizing for doing what’s necessary.

Why This Story Matters for the Series

The creamer post showed how a five-minute store run can turn into an emotional landmine. This chapter shows what happens behind the scenes: the policies, the tech locks, the accusations, the receipts.

It’s the infrastructure of the “villain era”—the part no one wants to see, but everyone is quick to judge.

Next up, we dig into more ways to set boundaries that:

• Keep your loved one safe

• Keep you out of jail

• Make it crystal clear that caring deeply and saying no absolutely belong in the same sentence.

Love ya mean it,
~Dazey