Since 2007, June Hale has worked in full-time clinical practice as a psychotherapist and hypnotherapist. She is one of the earliest practitioners of BrainWorking Recursive Therapy (BWRT), a therapeutic approach rooted in neuroscience.
Then, suddenly, she found herself on the other side of the therapy room.
In her early 40″s, Hale’s husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. At first, they adapted. He continued running his business. Life carried on. But over time, something more frightening emerged.
“He started saying strange things,” Hale recalls. “Things about what he was seeing or perceiving. He thought neighbours were pointing sniper guns at us.” As the hallucinations intensified, doctors eventually diagnosed him with Parkinson’s disease with Lewy Bodies Dementia (DLB), sometimes referred to as Parkinson’s psychosis.
For Hale, the diagnosis marked the beginning of years of full-time caregiving that would test every emotional resource she had.
Living in uncertainty
DLB is unpredictable. Some days brought moments of clarity; others were consumed by confusion, fear, and paranoia. Hale describes sleepless nights, false accusations and constant vigilance.
“There was a lot of paranoia,” Hale says. “A lot of accusations. A lot of sleepless nights. I started to get very stressed… even a bit snappy sometimes. I just reached the point where I really felt I wasn’t coping.”
As her husband’s condition worsened, Hale had to give up her therapy practice. Working from home became impossible. “He would wander around the house, phoning the police, saying we’d been burgled,” Hale explains. “That’s when I knew it was getting serious.”
“If I went shopping, I didn’t know what I’d come back to,” Hale says. “I didn’t know if he’d fallen, what he’d be like, and what would be said. It was me on my own. You feel very trapped.”
Hale’s experience mirrors what research consistently finds in Lewy body dementia caregiving. A 2010 US survey of nearly 1,000 carers found that roughly 4 in 5 reported moderate to severe burden, and over half felt isolated, spousal carers most of all. 80% felt the people around them did not understand their burden. A further study in 2016 found that 40% of caregivers for people with DLB experienced moderate or high caregiver burden, with an increased risk of psychiatric disorders.
Watching someone you love disappear
One of the most painful aspects of DLB is its emotional cruelty. Loved ones remain physically present while psychologically slipping away.
Hale describes watching her husband struggle with terrifying internal experiences. “There were some really awful things he was imagining,” Hale says. “It was distressing to see that he was having to go through that.”
Trying to correct him rarely helped. Dementia does not respond to logic. “There’s no point saying, ‘We’re already home,'” Hale explains. “Sometimes you have to take them out the door, and back in again so you can say, ‘Now we’re home.'”
Alongside compassion for her husband, Hale also faced something many carers experience but rarely voice: disappointment in herself. “I realised I wasn’t coping as well as I thought I would,” Hale says. “There was a bit of self-beating-up going on.”
When even therapists need help
By 2014, Hale knew she needed support of her own. After speaking with BWRT founder Terence Watts, she sought help from another therapist. Together, they used a protocol known as “working by association,” a technique designed for situations that cannot be changed.
The result surprised even her. “It was life-changing,” Hale says. “I was calmer. I was reacting calmly. And because I was calmer, he was calmer.”
The shift happened almost overnight. “From one day to the next, the difference in me and therefore us was incredible,” Hale says. “It felt like a switch had been switched.”
Learning to live with what cannot be fixed
The “working by association” method is designed for people who are trapped in circumstances they have consciously chosen to stay in, whether caring for a loved one, staying in a difficult job, or remaining in a complex relationship.
“It helps you connect to a future where this situation is over,” Hale explains. “And associate that future into the present.”
In her case, that future was emotionally complicated. She knew her husband’s condition was terminal. “I already knew he was going to die before me,” Hale says quietly. “And I didn’t want that.”
Yet she had lived through grief before. She knew she would survive it. “My future was beyond grieving time,” Hale explains. “I found things that would be something to look forward to.”
Those things were simple: returning to work, reclaiming independence, even getting a dog, something her husband had never wanted. “It’s not wishing for someone to die,” Hale clarifies. “It’s accepting that this will happen. And asking: how will my life be then?”
Letting go of anger
Caregiving often brings hidden emotions: resentment, frustration, rage, and guilt. Hale recognises now that anger had been part of her inner landscape. “Why me? Why is this happening? Why him?” Hale remembers.
After just one BWRT session, much of that emotional weight dissolved. “Letting go of that resentment is probably what happened in that session,” Hale reflects. “And that’s what allowed me to be with him differently.”
With her nervous system calmer, she could respond with patience instead of fear, presence instead of panic.
Protecting love at the end of life
One of the greatest gifts of this emotional shift was that Hale and her husband remained close until the end. “We were still a loving couple,” Hale says. “People could see that. We still cared deeply for each other. That meant I was able to keep that going for longer. And it mattered a lot.”
A message for other carers
Today, Hale is Head of Supervision and Assessments for The International BWRT Institute and continues to train therapists across the UK. But her most powerful teaching may come not from textbooks, but from lived experience.
Her story echoes what many carers know: love alone is not enough. Without emotional support, caregiving can quietly dismantle a person’s identity, health, and sense of self.
For carers facing long-term stress, she offers this gentle reminder: resilience is not about enduring endlessly. It is about learning how to regulate your inner world when the outer one refuses to change.
“BWRT helped my brain process things differently,” Hale says. “And that changed everything.”
If you’re caring for someone in the long term and feel overwhelmed, isolated, or close to burnout, you’re not weak, you’re human, and support isn’t a luxury in these situations. Speaking to a trained therapist or counsellor can make a profound difference. Readers curious about BWRT or looking for an accredited practitioner can find out more directly.