RT info:eu-repo/semantics/doctoralThesis
T1 Implicaciones de la formación continua en la (re)construcción de la identidad profesional docente durante el proceso de transición de la enseñanza presencial a la modalidad en línea/remota en un municipio brasileño durante la pandemia de la COVID-19
A1 Coêlho De Souza, Jociano
A2 Universidad de Valladolid. Escuela de Doctorado
K1 Enseñanza a distancia
K1 Teacher professional identity
K1 Profesionalidad docente
K1 Continuing teacher education
K1 Formación continua
K1 Critical digital literacy
K1 Enseñanza remota
K1 Covid-19 pandemic
K1 Competencia digital crítica
K1 58 Pedagogía
AB This wasn’t meant to be a research project. Not at first. It was confusion, really. A knot in the chest that kept tightening every time someone said we're adapting. I wasn’t sure I was. And around me, teachers were holding things together with a kind of quiet desperation that no webinar was going to fix. Something had broken. Or shifted. Or both. I began writing not because I had a question, but because I had too many. The kind that don’t fit in forms or frameworks. The kind that sit with you in the silence after class, when the screen goes dark and you’re still there, alone. Teaching had become something else, something dislocated. And I didn’t want to describe it from a distance. I wanted to stay close to the mess. Matinhas isn’t a backdrop. It’s memory. It’s people I know. Schools I’ve walked through. Classrooms where walls cracked long before the pandemic. When COVID came, it didn’t arrive like a wave, it seeped in. Through cables, through disconnection, through silence. It didn’t create the crisis. It made the old ones unbearable to ignore. I didn't trust perfect methods. I followed fragments. Conversations. Eyes that didn’t meet the camera. The tone in a voice note. I didn’t want polished quotes. I wanted the tremor underneath. That’s where I think the truth sits, not in what’s said, but in what resists being said. The method, if I can call it that, was to pay attention. With care. With slowness. With doubt. Theories came later. Some felt useful. Others didn’t survive the weight of what I was hearing. But a few stayed. Ideas about teacher identity as something fragile, plural, provisional. About formation as something that doesn’t happen in workshops, but in the pauses between routines. About digital competence not as skill, but as power, who holds it, who doesn’t, and what gets lost when we pretend it's neutral. What I saw wasn’t resilience in the celebratory sense. It was survival. It was teachers doing what they could, and sometimes not knowing why. There were moments of care, yes,  real ones. A message sent late at night. A plan shared without being asked. But there was also exhaustion so deep it stopped looking like fatigue and started looking like silence.This thesis doesn’t wrap up. It doesn’t solve. It documents. It holds space. For the broken, the unfinished, the still-unfolding. If it says anything, it’s this: teacher education cannot be engineered from above. Not if it wants to matter. It has to begin where things are raw. It has to listen. And in a time when artificial intelligence promises to predict everything, maybe the most radical thing we can do is refuse closure. And stay with the questions.
YR 2026
FD 2026
LK https://uvadoc.uva.es/handle/10324/83261
UL https://uvadoc.uva.es/handle/10324/83261
LA spa
NO Escuela de Doctorado
DS UVaDOC
RD 02-mar-2026