By: Elizabeth A. Jackson, BS, Graduate Student Committee Member

At 4:15 a.m., my alarm goes off. Coffee is brewing. I jump on my Peloton and spin for 45 minutes while my mind begins its checklist: SOAP notes, therapy bag, my son’s lunch, his backpack—Does he have therapy today?—his therapy bag, my backpack, textbooks. The list repeats itself until my second alarm rings at 5:10 a.m. It’s time to get ready.

A life lived in layers. As a nontraditional graduate student, I carry many roles, many challenges, and many checklists.

My journey to graduate school did not follow a traditional path. In 2018, after 13 years of active military service, I had to decide what my next career would be. I had always planned to serve 20 years and retire, but life had other plans. I considered nursing. Then the COVID-19 pandemic hit. Soon after, my son was diagnosed with autism. Life kept throwing curveballs—one after another.

As I sat in the therapy rooms, slowly learning about my son's challenges and needs and learning how to advocate for him, I began to see my future more clearly. What once felt overwhelming began to feel purposeful. I started researching universities, knowing that every program was at least 45 minutes to two hours away. The commute was never going to be convenient, no matter where I applied.

At the time, I was studying nursing at Texas Woman’s University (TWU). I had chosen nursing because I wanted to help people, but as I progressed through the program, I realized something did not feel aligned. I took a year off to reflect, and during that time, everything became clearer. Speech-language pathology was not just an interest; it was personal. It was rooted in my lived experience as a mother learning to navigate systems, ask questions, and advocate fiercely.

When I explored Texas Christian University (TCU) and saw the clinical opportunities, I knew I had to apply. It wasn’t the 45-minute commute that influenced my decision because realistically I knew that 45 minutes could easily turn into over an hour with traffic. What made me bite the bullet on the commute was the depth and quality of the clinical experiences. Many other programs did not offer the same level of early, hands-on clinical exposure.

TCU’s research labs especially captured my interest—the language lab, the integration of technology for articulation such as ultrasound visual biofeedback (UVB), and the bilingual lab. Although I am not fully fluent in Spanish, seeing a program intentionally invest in serving the bilingual community aligned deeply with my core values and commitment to advocacy. The smaller class sizes and the overall success of the program reassured me that the commute would be worth it.

I was accepted to the TCU undergraduate program. In January 2023, I began this new journey as a transfer student—nervous and at least 20 years older than many of my classmates. I remember thinking, “What are you doing?” But deep down, I knew I was finally exactly where I was meant to be.

By January 2024, I joined a research lab and discovered that I love research. I applied to the McNair Scholars Program. Again, the questions surfaced: Can I handle this? The workload did not get lighter. Four semesters passed. My son still was not speaking. My stress levels rose as graduate school applications loomed. Undergraduate studies flew by, but what I gained was immeasurable—communication skills, mentorship, lifelong friendships, and a deep love for this field. TCU gave me opportunities that affirmed I had made one of the best decisions of my life.

When acceptance letters arrived from my top graduate programs, I had a decision to make. Ultimately, I chose to stay at TCU. Graduation day arrived quickly, and I had finally done it—I became a first-generation college graduate and the first and only in my family to earn a degree, a Bachelor of Science in Communication Sciences and Disorders. And then, a new chapter began.

I am now a first-year graduate student and a member of the Graduate Student Committee with the Texas Speech-Language-Hearing Association (TSHA). I once thought undergraduate studies were stressful. Graduate school redefined that word. I now juggle classes, clinic, documentation, studying, thesis work, my son’s needs (and now—we have words!), his therapy schedule, and being a wife. The commute is longer. Construction adds delays. Days stretch later into the evening. Sometimes I wonder, “How, am I managing this?”

The answer is simple: support. My husband. My son. My professors. My peers. My supervisors. I am not alone. There are other mothers, another veteran, and fellow nontraditional students who understand the weight of these responsibilities. In my lowest moments, I lean on them.

I often think about something a Senior Chief once told me in 2008: “Life doesn’t get easier. Communication is paramount. Stay true to yourself. Integrity goes a long way. Depend on your support system, and you will be successful.” Those words stayed with me.

Throughout my undergraduate and graduate journey, I quickly realized that success required more than just hard work; it required a strong, reliable support system and careful organization. At home, my husband was indispensable. He took on extra responsibilities, managing drop-offs and pick-ups, preparing dinners, and helping create dedicated one-on-one time for my son so I could focus on schoolwork. He also supported me in navigating my son’s sensory needs and cheering me on when challenges felt overwhelming. My parents played a vital role too, coming up on weekends to help me study for exams or work on papers. Their presence gave me the time and space I needed to dedicate myself fully to my studies while knowing my family was cared for. I also made sure to give equal attention to my son and husband on weekends and early evenings, because while school was important, family time was equally critical. I maximized every moment I could for learning. I listened to chapters while driving or sitting through traffic, created podcasts of my textbooks and notes to review on-the-go, and used these strategies to stay motivated and ensure no time was wasted.

At school, building and leaning on a network of support was important. As a veteran, connecting with the Veteran Center and other student veterans helped me navigate the challenges of being in classes with much younger students or those who hadn’t experienced the same life events. My professors and mentors were invaluable; they guided me not only through coursework but also through the decisions that would shape my path toward graduate school. More than just an academic advisor, my mentor helped me understand what to prioritize, how to prepare for the next steps, and provided encouragement when I questioned my own abilities. These mentors and professors offered guidance during conflicts, helped me troubleshoot challenges with peers or classes, and served as listening ears when I felt like giving up.

My peers were another essential part of my support system. Finding a cohort group I could relate to allowed us to share strengths and compensate for weaknesses, whether studying together, exchanging notes, tackling group projects, or simply having someone to vent to who understood exactly what I was experiencing. Their companionship provided both academic and emotional support.

Organization was the backbone that held everything together. Using a calendar to schedule study sessions, family time, and even breaks for myself helped me maintain balance. I learned to study in focused increments of 45 minutes followed by short breaks rather than cramming, which allowed my brain to retain more information. Scheduling time with my cohort or study groups ensured I could tackle challenging content effectively. By keeping my life, notes, and schedule organized, I kept my mind clear and my priorities in order, allowing me to persevere despite the many competing responsibilities.

Together, the combination of home support, school resources, mentors, peers, and careful organization created an environment in which I could thrive. While the journey was demanding, knowing where to seek guidance, how to lean on others, and how to structure my time made all the difference in reaching my goals.

For anyone balancing family and school, my advice is to know your resources (your program resources, your University’s resources, etc.), lean on mentors and peers, create structure, maximize every available moment, and prioritize both your academic goals and your family. With planning, support, and organization, it is possible to succeed without losing sight of what matters most.

This journey was never meant to be easy. But once I set my determination in drive, I knew I would not stop until I reached the end of this chapter. There will be moments when you want to quit, give up, cry, scream, or all of the above. Those moments are real and inevitable. There are weeks with two exams and reports due. Weeks where I spend 10 to 12 hours commuting. Weeks when I miss my son’s bedtime once or twice. Nights where I am awake longer than I sleep. In those moments, I look at his picture on my laptop and remind myself why I am here. What makes the difference is having a support system, organization, and strategies in place to help you push through. Lean on mentors, peers, family, and resources. Celebrate small wins and remind yourself why you started. With planning, encouragement, and persistence, those overwhelming moments become challenges you can overcome rather than reasons to stop.

To other parents navigating higher education: find your support system. I found other moms. Other nontraditional students balancing work and caregiving. Fellow veterans—my sisters in arms.

We need more speech-language pathologists.

We need more advocates for those who cannot yet speak.

We need more researchers.

We need more to specialize in geriatric care, more in swallowing!

I push forward.

Sometimes I see my husband brewing another pot of coffee and saying, “You’ve got this, love.” And in that moment, I believe him.

If there is one skill my Naval service refined, it is organization. Systems matter. Structure matters. Clear communication matters. I maintain open communication with my professors and supervisors. TCU has been a blessing—professors whose passion and knowledge I aspire to embody. Mentors in research and clinical work who have invested deeply in my growth. Their understanding is not abstract; it is personal. When schedules conflict because we have children—some with special needs—they see our dedication. When childcare plans fall through and a child needs to sit in class briefly, they show grace. I will never forget the moment a peer had a schedule conflict and a professor said, “I’ll watch her until your mom gets here.” In that instant, you pause and think, “How did I get so fortunate to be part of this program?”

So, to anyone walking a similar road: Keep pushing. Keep moving forward. Be transparent about your needs. Find your support system. Success is rarely solitary.

At 41 years old, I have no fallback plan. I refuse to fail; I choose to succeed. My goals are high—earn my PhD, become a researcher and professor, and continue advocating for individuals and families who need their voices heard.

This is not just a degree. It is purpose. It is service—reimagined.