When You Finally Release What You Built With Your Whole Heart

When You Finally Release the Thing You Built With Your Whole Heart

There comes a moment when you finally finish something you have been working on for a very long time.

Something you have poured your heart into.

Something you have questioned, rebuilt, changed, protected, worried over, and probably lost sleep over more times than you would ever admit.

And when you are the person who created it, you know exactly what is inside it.

You know the thought behind every feature.

You know why every section exists.

You know the people you were thinking about when you built it.

You know the value it could bring.

But there is also a slight problem.

Everything you have created looks as though it has been painted in gold.

To you, everything is wonderful.

Everything is valuable.

Everything has a purpose.

Everything feels perfect.

But here is the uncomfortable question:

Is it actually perfect?

And perhaps an even more important question:

Does everybody else see what you see?

There is only one real way to find out.

You have to release it into the world.

That is where the nerves begin.

Because now, other people are going to see it.

People with far more experience in certain areas.

People with deeper knowledge.

People who have spent years working in dementia care, education, technology, health, social care, safeguarding, family support, or research.

We might call these people our peers, but let’s be honest.

Very few of us genuinely believe we are standing on exactly the same level as everybody else.

We are always quietly wondering whether someone knows more than us.

Whether we have missed something.

Whether we are good enough to be in the room.

Suddenly, these people are looking at your baby.

Your creation.

The thing you have protected and nurtured for so long.

And you are asking them to judge it.

Worse still, you are asking them to be honest.

Then comes the waiting.

Nobody has come back yet.

No verdict.

No detailed feedback.

No reassuring message saying, “Yes, Louise, it does everything you hoped it would do.”

Just silence.

And the fear during that silence can be extraordinary.

It is not necessarily the fear of rejection.

Rejection would at least be an answer.

It is the fear of the unknown.

Is this genuinely something that will help people?

Will other people recognise its value?

Will they understand what I have tried to create?

Will they see why I have worked so hard to keep it affordable and accessible, so that support is not reserved only for the people or organisations with the biggest budgets?

Will Hugo answer the questions properly?

Will the knowledge library stand up to scrutiny?

Will it cope with the everyday questions?

What about the complicated ones?

The emotional ones?

The serious ones?

The questions asked by someone frightened at three o’clock in the morning.

The questions asked by a professional trying to make the safest decision.

The questions asked by a family who does not know what to say next.

That is the real test.

Not whether something looks impressive on a screen.

Not whether the features sound clever.

Not whether I believe in it.

The test is whether it helps when somebody genuinely needs it.

And now, that judgement has begun.

But judgement is not a bad thing.

Good judgement helps.

Honest feedback helps.

It finds the gaps I can no longer see because I have been too close to the work for too long.

It challenges assumptions.

It tests every scenario.

It takes something built from one person’s experience and strengthens it with the combined experience of many others.

That is how every small detail gets refined.

That is how the final adjustments are made.

That is how the real creation is born.

Not when the founder says it is finished.

But when it has been tested, questioned, challenged, improved, and trusted by the people it was designed to support.

So, good luck, Hugo.

You are being tested now.

Let’s see whether you can stand up to it.

Let’s see whether you can do everything we have promised.

Do you have the information?

Can you understand the person behind the question?

Can you support families, carers, professionals, and organisations without losing the human being at the centre?

Can your knowledge stand up to the ordinary question?

The unusual question?

The difficult question?

The serious question?

I have faith in you.

The question now is whether everybody else will too.

For the moment, we wait.

But we are not going to hold our breath, because proper testing takes time.

And while we wait for the final feedback, the questions, and the small changes that may shape Version Two, my mind has already moved towards what comes next.

How can I improve it?

What else can I create?

What other families need support?

What other conversations could be made easier?

Perhaps a few more storybooks.

Perhaps a couple more comics.

Perhaps it is time to have some fun creating education for the future of dementia care.

Because finishing one thing does not mean the journey is over.

Sometimes, it simply means you have finally reached the moment when the world gets to meet it.

So here we are.

The Dementia Assistant® is out in the world.

Hugo is being tested.

And now we wait to discover whether the thing I have painted in gold can shine just as brightly through somebody else’s eyes.

Louise Donaghy
Founder, The Dementia Assistant®
Person-Centred Intelligence® in action