Category: Weekly Reflections

When I first discovered Epic Books, I was struck by how easily it could into a modern classroom. Epic is a leading digital reading platform designed for children aged 12 and under, offering access to over 40,000 high-quality books, audiobooks, and educational videos. The platform is free for teachers to use during school hours and provides a paid subscription option for families at home. Its library is curated specifically for kids, which means I can comfortably allow students to explore without worrying about inappropriate or mature content.

Epic’s founders describe their mission in a way that captures what makes it special: “Epic was born out of a single question: How do we make books more accessible to kids? As parents, it always seemed strange to us that our kids could so easily play games and watch videos on their iPhones and iPads, but the same couldn’t be said for books. So in 2013, we decided to build the first ‘epic’ reading experience, designed just for kids. Today, Epic has grown into an award-winning subscription service, which gives millions of families and classrooms instant, unlimited access to thousands of books, videos and quizzes from leading publishers to help kids everywhere read, learn and grow.”

That idea of accessibility resonates deeply with me. As a teacher who is particularly passionate about literacy, I am always looking for ways to make reading feel approachable and enjoyable for every student. Some children naturally gravitate toward books, but others need an entry point that feels less intimidating. I think Epic has lots of potential for bridging that gap. The audiobooks, for example, are a wonderful way to spark a love for storytelling in students who may not yet see themselves as readers. Listening to a story read aloud can build comprehension, vocabulary, and imagination, while also showing that reading is not confined to printed pages. For some students, this can become a gateway into picking up physical books later on.

I imagine using Epic during literacy centers or independent reading time. One student might listen to an audiobook while following along with the text, while another flips through a comic. The platform also offers quizzes and Read-to-Me options, which add interactive elements that help students engage more deeply with what they are reading. It could also work well in a calm corner. If a student needs a moment to regulate, giving them the option to listen to a soothing story or quietly explore a digital book could help them refocus before returning to the group.

Another feature I appreciate is how easy it is to personalize. Teachers can assign specific books based on reading level or topic, or simply let students browse freely. The recommendations adapt to each child’s interests, helping them discover new stories that match their preferences. Because the environment is ad-free and designed for children, I don’t have to worry about what they might encounter, which is not always the case with public digital libraries or open web searches.

There is also potential for using Epic to support cross-curricular learning. For instance, during a science unit, students could explore informational books about habitats or weather patterns. During social studies, they could listen to biographies or historical stories. These connections make reading feel relevant beyond language arts and help students see literacy as a tool for curiosity and discovery.

Here’s a little video of a classmate and I showing you around Epic: 

I can absolutely see myself using Epic in a classroom, it’s very versatile and student-friendly!

My experience with social media mirrors that of many people my age, shaped by the rapid evolution of digital spaces that emerged as I came of age. I joined Instagram in 2012, when I was starting seventh grade, during a time when the platform still felt experimental and unmoderated. Social media then was a frontier of self-expression. I wish now that there had been clearer boundaries or that my parents had understood how deeply these platforms would shape our understanding of connection, popularity, and self-worth.

In those early years, I posted constantly. My feed was filled with selfies edited to extremes, captions stuffed with hashtags, and photos framed by heavy vignettes. I made and shared Vampire Diaries “memes,” though we did not call them that yet, and sometimes posted thirty in a single day.

I was endlessly entertained by my own creations. That changed suddenly in eighth grade, when a classmate casually mentioned that my constant posting was annoying. It was a small comment, but at the time it felt humiliating. That afternoon, I archived my account and started a new one. I can still access the old one, a digital time capsule of 761 posts. Looking back, that moment marked the beginning of my awareness that online spaces are not neutral. They are social environments, shaped by the same power dynamics, hierarchies, and vulnerabilities as real life. It’s fun and silly to have the digital capsule and I’m glad I have a clear snapshot of what was going through my preteen brain, but I’m also so embarrassed I ever posted so much of it to begin with! 

My parents, like many at the time, had strong opinions about online safety but uneven digital literacy themselves. Facebook was off-limits because it was “too adult,” and YouTube was treated as dangerous, yet I had unrestricted access to Instagram, Pinterest, and Kik. It is almost endearing to recall how easily I blurred fantasy and reality. At one point, I became absolutely convinced that Harry Styles had personally messaged me through Pinterest and invited me to his concert in Toronto. I told all my friends we would have fallen in love if only my mother had let me go. That memory makes me laugh now, but it also reminds me how ill-equipped many young people were to navigate online spaces critically. We lacked the tools to discern authenticity, evaluate credibility, or recognize the constructed nature of digital content. 

As I grew older, my relationship with social media became more strategic. I learned the unspoken rules of “coolness.” and what governed what acceptable media usage: post rarely, make it look effortless, and above all, appear curated but authentic. Slowly, my private life and my online life drifted further apart. What I shared became a curated snapshot rather than an honest reflection. My digital persona became more about how I wanted to be perceived than who I actually was.

In 2019, I began working for a small local shop and was responsible for managing their social media. This experience reframed my understanding of these platforms. I learned how to post consistently, design cohesive visuals, and engage with an audience in ways that built community. I discovered how social media could be used not only for self-promotion but for storytelling and advocacy. That position led to a similar role managing social media for the Indigenous Studies program at the University of Victoria during my undergraduate degree. I covered events, created newsletters, and highlighted student and community achievements. Around the same time, I worked as an assistant to a realtor, managing his listings and digital marketing. Through these experiences, I came to see social media as a professional tool, one that can amplify voices and create meaningful visibility when used thoughtfully.

Today, I find myself in a more complicated relationship with social media. I no longer manage it for others, and I use it less actively for myself, though I still spend more time observing than I would like to admit. Since deciding to become a teacher, I have become more conscious of how I am perceived online. In education, public image carries real professional consequences. Digital literacy for educators extends beyond knowing how to use technology; it involves understanding privacy, ethics, and the ways online behavior can shape credibility and trust.

Outside of teaching, I love to cook and host large dinner gatherings when I am home, sometimes for fifteen or more people. I often see creators online documenting similar experiences beautifully, transforming ordinary evenings into visual narratives. A part of me is drawn to share my own gatherings that way, but another part hesitates. I think my early experiences online taught me both the power and the precarity of visibility. I have worked really hard to reach this point in my professional journey, and I want to protect that. For now, I am content to let some moments exist offline. Perhaps that is my most valuable lesson in digital literacy so far: knowing when to engage with the digital world, and when to be in the real one.