Chapter 16 presents an overview of the most common language teaching approaches. Presented on a spectrum from grammar-based to naturalistic, these approaches are compared and contrasted based on learner, teacher, syllabus, and programmatic factors. Rationale and challenges of transitioning between teaching approaches are presented alongside suggested activities for professional development.

This case study highlights issues around positionality, anonymity, autoethnography, ownership, and dissemination in research, and exemplifies the boundaries of qualitative research with art and with therapy. It draws from a study funded by the Society for Research into Higher Education that used a range of creative approaches to explore embodied academic identity. It will explore questions around positionality and visibility in the process, the challenges and opportunities of taking an autoethnographic approach, as well as considering the outcomes of research such as dissemination and the conflicting pressures on academics to produce outputs that ‘count’ and are not messy.

Context

This study came about from a personal need to explore the tensions that I felt about being an academic. I worked in educational development, with responsibility for supporting others to develop their own sense of academic identity. The idea of what an academic is or should be is not always made clear to an early career researcher.

Chapter 7 discusses the individual differences associated with neurodiversity that may impact how learners’ progress in a language classroom. Research findings associated with specific learning diagnoses (e.g., ADHD) and second language acquisition are also shared. Ideas for teachers to bring into their teaching practices, regardless of the neurodiversity among their learners, are detailed in the final section.

Chapter 20 offers insight on the qualities of assessments that are best able to support learners’ linguistic progress. The four principles of assessment are presented to equip teachers with the knowledge they need to select, adjust, and design assessments for their unique learning contexts. Alternative assessments, like e-portfolios, are also discussed as ways in which teachers can improve learners’ attitudes toward the target language.

In order to be the best qualitative researcher possible, it is essential to reflect. The previous lesson demonstrated that this is most effective when it results from embodied self-awareness. This long lesson begins with exploring the discourses of embodiment, bodies, and moving bodies, before investigating somatics as a tool for developing awareness, and how it can be used both therapeutically and educationally as well as for research. I end with an example of using somatics to teach young children to become more aware. But to start, what do I even mean when I use the term ‘embodiment’?

Embodiment

The idea of embodiment is contested (Sheets-Johnstone 2015). ‘Embodiment’ can describe the way our bodies represent ourselves at an individual or cultural level. This would be the definition used by many sociologists, such as Chris Shilling (2005, 2008, 2012) or Nick Crossley (2006). My use of embodiment rests on ‘fundamentally different assumptions’ from those of many sociologists (Totton 2009: 189). For example, Crossley’s work on Reflexive Embodiment includes ‘practices of body modification, maintenance and … body-image’ (Crossley 2006: 1). His understanding of ‘bodywork’ is work that is done on the body to change its appearance or function. Although he includes feelings and emotions we have about our bodies in his discussions of the social and constructed meanings attached to diverse bodywork or practices such as tattooing, eating, and exercise; his view of embodiment does not necessarily mean a self-awareness and consciousness being brought to the feelings and sensations within the body. Or Laura Ellingson, who rather than seeing her body and mind to be connected, saw her body as ‘troublesome’ (Ellingson 2017: 5) demanding her ‘continual attention and accommodation, making it impossible to ignore the ways in which embodiment necessarily affects (and is affected by) [her] research processes’ (Ellingson 2017: 5). Crossley and other sociologists might say that everything we do is embodied because we are embodied beings – living, breathing, meat sacks moving about the world. They would not necessarily agree with my definition that embodiment equates to conscious self-awareness of the body. Maxine Sheets-Johnstone, a dancer and philosopher, would say that my use of the word is wrong and what I mean by embodiment is instead ‘kinaesthetic awareness’.

Part III is comprised of four case studies in which I explicitly explore how my creative and embodied research bordered onto education, therapy, art, and science. Creative research may have more in common with a case study approach than interventions, which have been shown to be more suitable for in-depth, holistic research (Feagin et al 1991). Case study methodology is used to assess complicated phenomena within their contexts (Baxter and Jack 2008). Although my research is phenomenological, even phenomenology can be seen to be interventionist if an intervention is understood as implying an ‘intentional action to bring about an immediate and effective form of beneficial change’ (Edwards 2001: 3). Phenomenology may be seen ‘as psychotherapeutic in its potential to bring about a whole new lived world’, and of course, any research event ‘essentially constitutes a form of intervention’ (Edwards 2001: 3).

I have learned much through my research practice, and the case studies are intended to illustrate the ways in which different research projects have pushed towards the borders with art, education, science, and, most vitally, therapy. Those therapists who work in service to their clients (Rogers 1967) have a clear moral impetus, and the intent behind their interactions with their client is to help them. In contrast, researchers, artists, and educators may have many different and often conflicting intentions. The boundaries and guidelines of what they do and why are not always clear and transparent. For example, academics are driven to produce research outputs and research impact within a neoliberal climate that demands performance in a number of managerial metrics and a competitive job climate (Martin 2011; Fitzgerald et al 2012; Gray et al 2019). As such, there may be a tension between the desire to gather deep, rich, and emotionally honest data, and doing no harm to oneself or one’s participants. If we as researchers want to engage our participants with the levels of engagement and interaction that creative research methods allow us, then I believe it is important to learn from a therapeutic approach.

Therapeutic training focuses on building rapport, trust, and developing a relationship and relational field in which a client feels safe and supported to speak.

I have already drawn on my doctoral research in this book, and am using this case study to illustrate how qualitative research can border onto education and therapy. This study took place over two years in a school setting. It comprised group somatics sessions timetabled to be part of the school day. The study was primarily movement based and used a range of arts-based creative methods designed to support children aged four to 11 to develop their embodied self-awareness, learn to reflect, and capture that process. This case study highlights the importance of intention to differentiate between educational and therapeutic content, and how therapeutic outcomes can be gained from research set within an educational setting.

Context

My doctoral research involved 26 children aged from four to 11 years old (Reception to Year 6) in a school setting over two years (Leigh 2012). The publications from this work have included the use of creative methods and journaling to facilitate children to develop a reflective practice (Leigh 2020a); children’s experiences, perceptions, and self-regulation of emotion (Leigh 2017); and the connection between reflection, reflective practice, and embodied reflective practice (Leigh and Bailey 2013). I had worked with children in schools from early in the 2000s, offering after-school clubs in yoga at my children’s primary school and others nearby. Teaching yoga and movement to children is different from working with adults – there are three rules to consider, which can be summarised in just three points:

• 1. children are not mini adults;

• 2. children are not mini adults;

• 3. children are not mini adults. (Bailey 2012: 21)

As well as traditional animal-based movements that appeal to children (Mainland 1998), I found that, depending on age, they also enjoyed faster vinayasa type sequences (Devereux 1998), and balances that related to developmental righting reactions (Brook n.d.; Hartley 1989). Introducing developmental movements such as hopping like a frog or rabbit (there is a difference – try it!), walking like a bear, or making shapes like a chameleon stuck to a wall were all firm favourites. I had also worked with autistic children, children with cerebral palsy, and physical and intellectual developmental delay.

Chapter 8 invites readers to reflect on their learners’ internal states, like motivation and anxiety levels. Bryfonski and Mackey discuss how researchers have explored the impact of these variables on second language acquisition. The role of motivation and anxiety on learners’ short-term and long-term language learning experiences and goals are presented and equip teachers with the knowledge they need to make informed decisions about how to structure their classes.

Chapter 14 discusses what it means to “know” a word and how learners can grow their vocabulary while learning a new language. Incidental and intentional vocabulary learning are defined as authors make connections to the ways in which teachers can support their classes. In addition, individual differences that have been found to impact vocabulary learning are presented, along with comprehension strategies for readers to try out.

Chapter 5 examines the type of language learning strategies learners’ might naturally use in the language classroom and the common characteristics of the most effective learning strategies that have been identified in recent research. Strategies differ by communicative method, and examples of each are included throughout the chapter. In addition, authors discuss how strategy-based instruction may work with learners of different ages and proficiency levels.

Chapter 21 concludes with a discussion of the ways in which professional development opportunities can contribute to bridging the gap between theory and practice in language learning. The authors present individual and collaborative practices, as well as internal and external experiences that educators may seek out to deepen their conceptual understanding and practical skills.

Chapter 2 focuses on how and why target language input is important for language learners. Authors discuss several different types of input and how it has been found to contribute to second language development. Research-backed approaches for integrating more target language into classrooms of all languages, levels, and ages are presented for teachers to implement in their lessons.

This final section of the book is a bit like the final bits of a textile art piece. The creative impulse is spent, the form is there, and now you need to sew it together, tidy up all the loose ends, weave them in, and finish it off. I have to admit this is my least favourite part of any project. I might not create so much artistic textiles these days, but I finished a jumper recently and for some reason chose stripes, which meant there were a lot of ends to weave in. My next project is a jumper worked from the neck down purely so there will be less to finish off. My intention here is to reflect on the value of taking space to consider my ontological perspective and how it has shaped my research, and bring together threads of how qualitative research, and particularly embodied and creative qualitative research, can border onto therapy, education, art, and science. The kind of research I have illustrated in this book has many positives; it captures and generates rich data and gives voice to those who are less often heard or who cannot easily express their stories in words alone. It allows us to find and express the rhythms inherent in our bodies, the bodies of our participants, and the world around us. It gives depth and richness when used alongside conventional research methods, and provides opportunities for engagement and dissemination that can have more impact with those outside of academia or our home discipline. However, this type of research can be challenging to negotiate, as techniques that intentionally open up the researcher and participant to the emotional content of stories mean that there is also the potential for risk, and to inadvertently wander over a boundary into uncharted territory.

Borders

The first border of qualitative research I considered is the one shared with therapeutic approaches designed to allow people to process their emotions and experiences. While researchers may receive training on methods, it is not common for them to receive the same kind of training and support on how to deal with people and their stories that therapists do. Researchers often choose to study emotional or difficult areas such as sexual or physical violence, mental health, poverty, or exclusion because of their own lived experiences.