Brooke Elizabeth
Bio
Working-class English Educator with Expertise in Refugee and English Language Learner (ELL) Education. I have a Master of Arts in International Development, a Master's in Education, and A LOT of existential dread.
Stories (3/0)
A Teaching Philosophy Thirteen (Challenging) Years in the Making
“...Learning is a place where paradise can be created. The classroom, with all its limitations, remains a location of possibility. In that field of possibility we have the opportunity to labor for freedom, to demand of ourselves and our comrades, an openness of mind and heart that allows us to face reality even as we collectively imagine ways to move beyond boundaries, to transgress. This is education as the practice of freedom.” -bell hooks, Teaching to Transgress
By Brooke Elizabeth5 months ago in Education
From Professor to Precariously Unemployed:
I’m just one of millions of Americans currently still unemployed and depending on the federal and state government (New York in my case) to keep me afloat during this pandemic. I used to spend my days teaching English to immigrant and refugee students at a local community college and doing freelance ESL and volunteering immigration assistance on the side. On the weekends, I was a wine consultant at a local wine and liquor store. These days, I spend my time cringe-watching CNN, meticulously checking my bank account, creating worst-case-scenario budgets for the month ahead, job hunting, and drinking copious amounts of wine.
By Brooke Elizabeth4 years ago in The Swamp
Yes, Dad, #MeToo
Yes, Dad, #MeToo I have been trying, and failing, to speak my truth for years. To my parents. To my friends. To my coworkers. Every time I open my mouth to speak, I choke. The rare few times I have opened up to family members and close friends, I’ve been rebutted (“Wait, didn’t you sleep with that guy anyway?” “You were drunk.” “Well why didn’t you call the police?”). Eventually, you develop survival techniques for living with your secrets. Some of us happen to favor the unhealthy ones. My personal favorite is: If I distract myself by keeping my glass of [insert alcohol of choice here] full, I won’t think about what happened to me. The problem with my coping mechanism of choice is that, if you’re an unpredictable drunk like me, sometimes all you’ll be able to think about is the one thing you’re trying not to think about. That, or you end up speaking your truth before you’re ready, in fractured pieces to unwilling participants (which, in my case, includes my parents).
By Brooke Elizabeth6 years ago in Viva
