MY PERSONAL JOURNEY
As I look back on my journey as a speech-language therapist, I realise it began long before any formal training. Becoming a neuroaffirming practitioner has been a path of deep transformation — not an easy one, but one filled with purpose. It’s meant letting go of outdated ideas, unlearning what I once thought was right, and slowly embracing a whole new way of seeing and supporting people. With each step, I move closer to what I truly believe in — creating spaces that uplift and amplify neurodivergent voices.
This is the story of a life that changed in ways I never anticipated. A journey that transformed my heart, my purpose, and the way I see the world. Guided by faith and love, this path shaped who I am today.
A HEART KINDLED BY THE FLAMES OF LOVE
“Amma, I want you here. Please don’t leave me alone.” The overnight transition from splashing paints at a craft lesson to lying crouched for a biopsy, surrounded by medical personnel, was truly overwhelming for my eleven-year-old self. The anguish on my mother’s face as she forcibly unclasped my hand from hers is not something I want to relive again. A bolus of ketamine and a saline flush into my cubital veins temporarily hushed raging fears of the unknown, and I quietly drifted into a slumber. Waking up groggy and feeling worn out, I was bewildered and terrified by the avalanche of changes my world had undergone within a week. A non-specific pain in the left shoulder which took a rather long time to respond to the usual analgesics was ultimately diagnosed as osteosarcoma. The nerve-racking CT scans and radiographs that followed revealed that the tumor had eaten away into my left humerus. Before I could process the nightmare unfolding before me, sheer exhaustion lulled me back to sleep.
An anchor in secure love; a love that endures, a love that soothes searing wounds, can be our strength in the desolate wilderness and the thrust to fight adversities with valor. My sustenance to survive the battle was far beyond the nutritional supplements. It was the love lavished by my parents who waged war with me and a brother who remained unfazed by the glaring looks of medical professors who granted him leave to be at my bedside. Without them, I would have undoubtedly succumbed to the clawing malignancy. It is a daunting task to find the right words to thank my oncologist whose reassuring presence instilled hope and calmed the raging storms of fear and despair. The excruciating pokes of needles were numbed by the gentle embrace of nurses who tirelessly worked through the wee hours of the night. These flames of love ignited within me an anchor of endurance that propelled me to stumble through this dark tunnel slowly yet fearlessly.
Enjoying a tiny morsel of food or the ability to strut and sprint around seemed like the height of luxury to me. The cramps of tetany that throttled my finger joints and my dire gasps for oxygen were reminders that I had never fully appreciated the precious gift of life bestowed upon me.
After a year of intense battle in the grey, drab, and lusterless chambers of an oncology ward, I stepped out, hesitantly, into the bright sunlight of liberation on April 29th, 2010, with a prosthesis in my left arm and my being purged of the taint of the vicious malignant cells.
The transition from captivity to emancipation was far from smooth. Returning to school in the 8th grade, with a pink hat over my bald head and purple-stained nails due to the chemotherapeutic drugs, made me feel alienated. A baby pink wide-brimmed hat gave me cover from curious eyes that scrutinized my emaciated frame. Friendships that seemed fulfilling a year back now seemed vacuous. The fiery furnace of suffering did not entirely scourge away the frivolity of a teenager. But within the deep caverns of my soul resonated a vision to soar higher from the trivialities of human life to illuminate the path of compassion for a world in need. While my youthful companions beheld beauty as being caked with layers of makeup and eyeliner, my sole adornment was a serene smile that mirrored my gratitude for the gift of life. Enjoyment and luxury in life are not when you are scaling the zenith of triumph, with all the riches of the world at your feet. It is in the unfolding of the magic in the simple pleasures of life. The scars on my arm serve as a testament to a divine deliverance from death’s grasp, ordaining me to be a channel of solace and empathy for those writhing in pain.
The heart of every child, privileged to be swathed in a mother’s loving embrace and care, sprouts forth passionate dreams and ambitions. And home is the nurturing soil from which those aspirations unfurl. Born into a family of doctors, it wasn’t surprising that gloves, masks, and stethoscopes were my cherished playthings. Witnessing the sweat, toil, and sleepless nights that my parents and brother endured, often led me to ponder whether embarking on a medical career would genuinely be rewarding. But the immense outpouring of compassion, empathy, love, and patience of every doctor who eased my agony and torment during that one year of imprisonment ousted every trace of lingering doubt. Their resolute dedication and commitment to offer the best, even in the face of physical and mental fatigue, ignited in me an ardent desire to serve suffering humanity. Being an industrious and diligent student, I received the full support of my teachers to enroll for the fiercely competitive entrance exam coaching. After an arduous journey spanning over two years, I stood before a closed doorway to my aspirations of being a doctor. But God opened an entirely different world for me.
Reflecting on my decision to be a speech-language pathologist fills me with unwavering contentment. Witnessing the tears of joy of a mother seeing her child hear again, speak his first word, and watch him take his first steps in the world of learning is a delightful experience that no shimmering gold can buy. The sheer relief and immense gratitude on the faces of parents who never expected their child to graduate to a higher grade in school is an experience that I would never trade for any amount of wealth. The warmth in the clasp of their hands is reward enough.
My undergraduate years at the National Institute of Speech and Hearing (NISH) were far from easy. I was dealing with unilateral Graves’ disease, fluctuating thyroid levels, constant exhaustion, and anxiety attacks that often left me struggling just to get through the day. Not long after, I developed migratory arthralgia following a viral infection—weeks of pain and inflammation that moved from one joint to another.
There were days I could barely walk into college, my mother holding my hand as I tried to make it to another class. Giving up felt easier than continuing—but a few passionate teachers, who believed in me when I couldn’t, offered the support that kept me going. What carried me through was not determination alone, but divine strength and grace, alongside the unwavering support of a loving family. I never dreamt of accolades or achievements. All I wanted was to somehow finish what I had started. And yet, I graduated as a rank holder from the University of Kerala, and later went on to pursue my Master’s degree at the University of Sheffield. Every opportunity that followed, every door that opened, felt like a quiet testament to God’s unending grace.
Throughout this odyssey, I have realised that if there is one thing that has the power to soften even the most obstinate soul, it would be a heart kindled by the flames of love.