A little like Roberta Flack singing "Killing me softly," Jane Edwards' essay was certainly "singing my life with [her] words." As a clinician with more than 20 years experience, the journey into my PhD has required not just a new knowledge, but the need to re-assess my formation of knowledge. This is not a simple matter of learning more because that is an obvious and attractive aspect of doing research. It's the realisation that my clinical abilities are not intrinsically valued in the formation of research. I agree that it seems that clinical knowledge and ability is not always applicable in the research process.
Jane's essay made me ponder two different strands of thought - firstly, I realised that I actually didn't have a problem with the lack of status for clinical expertise, because that's what I had expected in the University system. So perhaps expectation is something to clarify at the commencement. I know the value of my capabilities as a clinician, and I was prepared for the PhD process to be one of finding the right research modality to match that. The research milieu plays a significant role in this process. The models at Aalborg and Melbourne Universities exemplify how the individual researcher's potential can be fully explored when the context supports the full range of possibilities.
As an experienced clinician, I see my thesis as an opportunity to "spring clean" my mind by attending to long-held assumptions and self-limitations. Indeed, I have discovered many new ideas which not only acknowledge my thought process, but clarify and extend it. As an example, I discovered constructivism, the idea that reality is bound by the meaning which is constructed from our own beliefs and experiences, and that there is no such thing as an ultimate truth, as even "fact" is entrenched in the language and beliefs of our own history and culture. This opportunity to better understand my own processes was thrilling.
The other thought that Jane's essay made me ponder was that I did not expect the process to be comfortable. Indeed I have often been frustrated and overwhelmed by the tasks I have set. Many students I have supervised over the years would smile at this, because I am known to say that being uncomfortable or unsettled in what you know is a sure indicator that you are in new territory, and that's a good thing! So, for me, the PhD process means openness to understanding my existing knowledge in new ways, and finding news ways to articulate it so it can be appreciated by others. I don't find this to be different from my experience as a clinician, so perhaps the process is not so different after all?
Aside from the PhD process, I too have long pondered how we can recognize excellence in our outstanding clinicians who do not write or present. If you ask music therapists to nominate the most inspiring music therapists they know, what are the chances that they'll nominate authors whose work they¹ve read, or people they've heard speak at conference? In both cases these are people who translate their work into written form. Other than this, the only clinicians whose work we really know are our supervisors when we are training. They too are translators of knowledge and skill, framing knowledge in a manner accessible to emerging clinicians. The problem is that without translation, the master clinician is invisible. Unlike our musician counterparts, there is no public performance by which they can be seen. What other forum could be utilised which does not rely on translation? In the age of evidence-based practice, where the gold standard of randomized controlled trials de-values the expertise of talented practitioners, I would be thrilled to find some way to bring the master clinician to centre stage.