For Dementia Awareness Week, we spoke to Michaela Williams, founder of Spring Bleau – a dementia cafe that brings comfort not only to those living with the condition, but also to the people who care for them
Some losses come all at once. Others take their time, quietly peeling away memories, routines, and the pieces of the people we love. That’s what dementia feels like for those living with it, and the families watching someone they love slowly slip away.
For Dementia Awareness Week, The Mirror spoke to Michaela Williams, who knows firsthand how heartbreaking it is to lose someone in pieces. But despite the pain of watching dementia change her nan, Michaela chose to create something beautiful: Spring Bleau Cafe, a welcoming space for people with dementia and their carers to find comfort, connection, and joy.
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For Michaela’s nan, the signs were subtle at first – misplacing her purse, losing her keys. Nothing that raised alarm bells. For someone elderly, that’s normal, right?
But then her cooking started to change. Her meals, once a source of pride, were no longer the same. And then something that did raise concern – she began mismatching her clothes. “To some, that might not sound like much,” Michaela said, “but my nan was prideful in how she dressed. That wasn’t like her.”
Still, the family stayed hopeful. “It can’t be that bad. She’s still going to town. She’s still cooking. She’s still doing things,” Michaela remembered thinking. But those were just the early signs. After her nan had a stroke, doctors suggested a memory test. That’s when the cracks in the system began to show. Despite it being a hospital referral, it took six months to schedule the test.
“That wait was part of the problem,” she said. Seven months later, the diagnosis came – vascular dementia. “It’s real now. You have a diagnosis,” Michaela said. “I didn’t know if I should burst into tears because I selfishly thought, ‘What am I going to do? I can’t live without her’.”
She expected someone, anyone from the NHS, to offer support. But nothing came. “There’s a letter from the Alzheimer’s Society six months down the line, but how are they going to remember where they put the letter? Half of them are not well.”
In the middle of her pain, Michaela had a realisation. “I’ve had 41 amazing years with this woman. Now it’s my turn to give her the best life possible.”
Her nan loved her freedom. She loved getting out, cooking, and seeing friends. Michaela wanted to honour that. She started searching for clubs or groups – anything that might bring her nan joy, but nothing felt right. “There was one nearby,” she said, “but it wasn’t diverse. We didn’t feel like we fitted in.”
So she created her own. “There was nothing in our area that looked like us, sounded like us, felt like us,” she said. “So I thought, okay. I’ll make one.”
She hadn’t been on Facebook in over 15 years, but she logged in and posted that she was going to open a dementia cafe. “Once I put it out there, I had to do it,” she laughed. “I said it, so now I had to show up.” Volunteers came. People offered help. And Spring Bleau Cafe was born.
The name carries legacy, Spring – her nan’s maiden name and Bleau – her daughter’s middle name. The butterfly symbol represents hope, transformation and new beginnings. “It brings the two most important people in my life together,” Michaela says.
The cafe launched in a church hall. With soup, sandwiches, crafts, laughter and music. People dancing like they did back home. Carers talking to other carers. “We do music, word searches, games, dancing, even face masks,” she said. “They feel seen again. Like life isn’t over just because they’ve got dementia.”
Michaela’s nan passed away in January 2025. “She went peacefully, surrounded by love. That was the best thing I could give her.” Now, Spring Bleau isn’t just a cafe – it’s a tribute. A space where people with dementia and their carers can feel seen, heard and celebrated.
Since opening last spring, it’s created countless memories for those who attend. One moment that stays with Michaela is a carer and her mum’s final joyful memory before she passed. “She said it was one of the best memories they ever had together.”
But some memories weigh heavier. An ex-RAF driver came to the cafe, laughed and played dominoes. A week later, he took his own life. “That’s how heavy this journey is. You never know where someone’s head is at, but at least we gave him one good moment.”
Now that she’s seen the impact, Michaela has bigger plans. She hopes to open more cafes across the UK and one in her nan’s hometown, St Vincent. And for those with dementia who struggle to get out, she wants to bring the cafe to them, with volunteers popping by to deliver treats and spend time, offering connection and relief.
But Michaela wants more than community – she wants change. “There’s so much people don’t know about dementia,” she said. “Every patient is supposed to have a purple butterfly across their bed in hospital, but not all do. And there are nurses who specifically specialise in dementia – why aren’t they in every hospital?”
She believes the care system is failing too many families. “We do training for diabetes. Why not dementia? Why aren’t we giving people a course, or even a pack to explain what’s to come?”
Her message is clear: people need people, not just paperwork. “A letter six months later is not enough. People need voices. They need real support, not just a diagnosis and silence.”
Spring Bleau is just the beginning but for Michaela, it’s a promise, a legacy. “I never loved my nan any less. I just had to learn to love her differently. And that love still had light.”
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