Personal statement: self-presentation and narrative

Personal Statement of Purpose for Speech-Language Pathology

If you believe -- as I do -- that education is a journey, then I have been on a journey of a lifetime in my quest to become a speech-language pathologist.

And if you believe -- as I do -- that education is a matter of painting a portrait rather than filling in a paint-by-number sketch, then you will understand why I am still in awe of the canvas, the oils and what I have left to learn -- and create.

And if you believe -- as I do -- that people are drawn to a career path not only because of their personality but because of deeper forces of nature, then you will understand why my deep and abiding need to help others and improve their quality of life is what makes this journey, and creating my portrait of hope and inspiration, so rewarding.

Part dreamer, part advocate. I believe this is what the very best speech-language pathologists are made of, deep down. At least, this describes me.

I began my educational journey probably like a lot of students -- gravitating toward one field of study but wisely "keeping my options open." As children and teenagers, we are asked thousands of times, "So what do you want to be when you grow up?" And probably like a lot of students, I always knew that I wanted to pursue a line of work in which I could help others and add value to their lives. A teacher? A nurse? Time would tell, so I hoped that my studies would lead to some answers.

And here is where the paint-by-number part comes into play, or taking the "required" courses, no matter what your major. This is not supposed to be the "fun" part of education. After all, paint-by-numbers rarely are; they can be too regimented. Still, students shouldn't knock paint-by-number courses; among other things, they teach you to follow directions, understand parameters and accept responsibility and consequences. At their conclusion, you may not have a portrait, but who can impugn a picture created from sheer discipline?

For me, the real artistry began when I began taking courses such as anatomy, phonetics, acoustics, physiology, audiology, language development, the nature of disorders and the treatment of disorders. To be honest, these were sometimes difficult subject matters to master, but they were always fascinating and always challenging, appealing to both the dreamer and advocate within me.

But what about the human component -- the vital personal characteristics that typify most speech-language pathologists? At about this juncture, my instructors began to plant this all-important seed of thought. Perhaps relying on a description from the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association, we were told that speech-language pathologists must (and note that word: "must"):

"have a sincere interest in helping people, an above average intellectual aptitude and the sensitivity, personal warmth and perspective to be able to interact with the person who has a communication problem. Scientific aptitude, patience, emotional stability, tolerance and persistence are necessary, as well as resourcefulness and imagination. Other essential traits include a commitment to work cooperatively with others and the ability to communicate effectively both orally and in writing."

We were also told that speech-language pathologists ought to exhibit:

sensitivity and concern for the problems of other people; warmth, caring and empathy for people; the need to help others realize their potential; the ability to accept new ideas; and the willingness to do research and to contribute new information.

Did this sound like me? I certainly think so, otherwise the aforementioned "deeper forces of nature" probably wouldn't have assured me that I was pursuing not only a fulfilling journey, but also the correct one, too.

Looking back, I realize that I reached a turning point in my education when I was able to participate in clinical observations. I observed patients with voice disorders. I observed patients who stammered and stuttered. I observed patients with foreign accents so thick that you could barely distinguish their words. I observed patients who struggled mightily with autism. And in all of them, I observed the strength of the human spirit to persevere.

These patients didn't realize they were being observed. I observed them and their clinician undetected, from another room. And in every case, I wanted to reach beyond that barrier and say, "Here I am. I am ready to help."

Instead, I could only quietly observe. I watched as the patients followed directions and completed their exercises. I listened carefully as the clinician gave gentle guidance and consistent encouragement. I watched both of them -- a delicate partnership forged partly from need and partly from a need to help. Someday, I thought, that clinician will be me.

And that's when I knew for certain: I am in the right place, creating my own portrait.