I Carry the Alzheimer’s Gene — But I’m Fighting Back With Hope, Science, and Daily Habits
Panic in Yellowstone
The moment my body hit the icy water, everything changed. In July 2020, during a pandemic road trip to Yellowstone, I stood on a rocky cliff watching the other adults and kids in our “bubble” leap, laughing, thirty feet down into a lake. I’ve always been competitive and capable. I didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t jump. So I did.
The surface felt like concrete as I plunged through it. The shock stole my breath. As I sank deeper than expected, the light above me shrank. Airless, I kicked upward. Suddenly, a childhood memory rushed back—nearly drowning in a lake decades earlier. Panic flooded my body before I had words for it. My heart pounded, ears roaring, limbs flailing. For a split second, I wasn’t sure I’d make it back to the surface.
I did, gasping, shaking, stunned by the intensity of what I’d just felt. I told everyone what happened, partly because I couldn’t believe it myself. I’d always thought of myself as strong—the opposite of someone who would “lose it” like that. But panic didn’t care about the story I told myself about who I was.
The Grief That Preceded It
At the time, I didn’t yet see that moment for what it was: the overflow of grief, fear, and stress that had been building inside me for years.
My mother died of Alzheimer’s in 2019. I’d walked alongside her through each heartbreaking stage of the disease—Mild Cognitive Impairment, confusion, loss of independence, and the slow fading of the mother I knew. My grandmother had also developed Alzheimer’s in her early sixties. Watching history repeat itself was like witnessing a future I didn’t want to claim.
When the pandemic hit months later, the unresolved grief in my body collided with global uncertainty. That cliff-jump panic wasn’t just fear of drowning—it was everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel.
Learning My Genetic Risk
A year later, in 2021, a neurologist specializing in prevention ordered genetic testing. I learned I carry one copy of the APOE4 gene—the strongest known genetic risk factor for late-onset Alzheimer’s. One copy can double or triple risk; two copies can raise it up to twelvefold (actor Chris Hemsworth has publicly shared that he carries two). My grandmother and mother almost certainly carried at least one copy as well. Now I knew I carried the same letter of warning inside me.
For days, I couldn’t breathe when I thought about it. It felt like déjà vu, a letter from my future self, stamped with a question: Are you next?
Panic, Again—And a Turning Point
One month later, the panic returned. I was in Texas, going through my mother’s belongings—photos, worn shoes, her handwriting on recipe cards. The room closed in around me. My heart raced. Sweat gathered at my collarbone. I felt myself slipping into that same tunnel of terror.
But this time, something was different. I recognized what was happening. I sat down, placed a hand on my heart, splashed cold water on my face, and focused on the sensation. I breathed, slowly and intentionally, grounding myself in the present. Seconds later, the wave passed.
That moment became my turning point. Panic was no longer something happening to me—it was something my body was using to get my attention. And I finally listened.
From Fear to Control the Controllables
As an organizational psychologist, I’d spent years studying behaviour, motivation, and performance—but suddenly neuroscience was personal. I started researching how lifestyle, stress, and emotional well-being affect brain health. What I learned offered both fear and hope: our genes tell part of the story, but our daily choices write the rest.
After a visit to a prevention clinic, I began making more changes—nothing extreme or perfect, just consistent.
I moved my body every day, adding more high-intensity workouts and strength training two to three times a week. I shifted to mostly whole foods, following a MIND/Mediterranean pattern with less sugar and alcohol. I treated sleep as non-negotiable, aiming for seven to eight hours. I also practiced mindfulness, deep breathing, and gratitude—not to “be calm,” but to retrain a nervous system that had been bracing for the worst.
These habits didn’t just improve my health—they softened my anxiety, sharpened my thinking, and brought joy back.
Purpose, Community, and OptWell
Over time, that personal shift became a mission. I started volunteering with the Alzheimer’s Association and later joined its Illinois Chapter Research Committee to elevate prevention research. I saw how fragmented our healthcare system is, how alone families feel, and how many people believe cognitive decline is inevitable. I wanted to change that.
Eventually, I founded OptWell, a non-profit in Chicago’s western suburbs dedicated to making healthy habits accessible. We focus on five evidence-based pillars of brain health (also good for your heart): Eat Well, Get Moving, Mental Wellness, Quality Sleep, and Manage Health.
The Habits That Help Me — And Can Help You
My prevention plan is simple, sustainable, and grounded in research. These are the habits that calm my mind and support brain health:
Move daily.
I aim for 45 minutes of moderate exercise most days (walking, tennis, or pickleball) and strength training two to three times weekly. Movement increases blood flow to the brain and strengthens memory.
Eat for your brain.
I focus on colourful produce, whole grains, olive oil, nuts, beans, leafy greens, berries, eggs, and fish. I’ve swapped ultra-processed snacks with real food that nourishes.
Protect sleep.
A non-negotiable seven to eight hours a night. Sleep helps the brain clear waste, including beta-amyloid, the sticky protein linked to Alzheimer’s.
Support mental health.
Daily deep breathing, mindfulness, gratitude, and staying socially connected calm my nervous system and sharpen my focus in tennis. Chronic stress and isolation silently increase risk for cognitive decline.
Build cognitive reserve.
I pursue new, effortful learning: re-learning Spanish and piano. Newness strengthens neural pathways that support memory and cognitive resilience.
These aren’t just my habits; they’re acts of prevention anyone can adopt. Start small: swap a sugary drink for water, walk with a friend after dinner, or put your phone away before bed. Each choice strengthens the neural pathways supporting memory and mood.
A Legacy Reframed
I often think about what Alzheimer’s took from my mother and grandmother. But I also think about what their journeys gave me: purpose, compassion, and urgency.
I can’t rewrite my genetic code, but I can shape how it’s expressed with every meal, every walk, every mindful breath.
If sharing my story encourages even one person to care for their brain a little more—to move more, eat with intention, or tend to their mental well-being—then my family’s legacy becomes one of prevention and hope, not loss.
- I Carry the Alzheimer’s Gene — But I’m Fighting Back - 9th December 2025
