It was almost midnight when the realization truly struck me for the first time.
There I was, seated by myself at the kitchen table, still dressed in my work attire, clutching my phone. I had rushed home directly after an exhausting day packed with consecutive meetings, discussions with team members, and one particularly tough decision I had been putting off for several weeks—a phone call that would impact someone’s position, their livelihood, and their overall stability. Upon arriving home, I felt too energized to retire to bed and too fatigued to even bother changing out of my clothes.
The house remained utterly silent around me.
Displayed on my phone screen was an open chat interface.
This wasn’t a conversation with a close companion or a professional counselor. It was with an artificial intelligence program.
I had just entered a lengthy, disorganized passage detailing a challenge with a team member, the burdensome responsibilities of being in a leadership role, and the deep sense of remorse I experienced from feeling completely depleted, especially since my profession revolves around supporting and nurturing others.
“I feel like I’m letting everybody down,” I typed out.
Almost immediately, a response materialized: composed, empathetic, and eloquently phrased.
“It’s completely natural to experience these emotions considering the substantial emotional burden you’re managing…”
A part of me eased up in that instant. Simultaneously, another part of me felt profoundly vacant.
This is because, during my workday, I oversee a sizable mental health organization. People seek me out when they are inundated, frightened, or at an impasse. I am expected to possess the knowledge of appropriate actions, to manage intricate situations with steadfast composure.
Yet, that evening, it dawned on me that I had subtly surrendered my personal emotional world to a computerized entity.
It wasn’t some grand, theatrical handover. Rather, it happened incrementally, through one weary dialogue after another.
When “Assistance” Begins to Supplant “Authenticity”
From my perspective in this role, I observe a peculiar duality unfolding in people’s lives.
During professional gatherings, informal exchanges, and messaging apps like WhatsApp, individuals frequently mention:
“I drafted my response using AI initially to avoid coming across as overly sentimental.”
“I consulted a chatbot to determine if my reaction was excessive before sending my reply.”
“Occasionally, it feels simpler to confide in it rather than in any human being.”
Whether leaders, coworkers, or acquaintances, we are all engaging in this behavior discreetly.
We rely on AI for tasks such as:
- Establishing the ideal tone to prevent offending others
- Rendering our emotions appear logical rather than excessive
- Obtaining rapid solutions when we lack the energy to contemplate uncertainties
This approach isn’t malevolent or a sign of frailty. It’s entirely natural for humans to crave affirmation, solace, and assurance that our actions are appropriate.
Nevertheless, as I witnessed this recurring behavior among those around me and then recognized it within myself late at night in my kitchen, I confronted an uneasy truth:
In my efforts to support everyone else, I had ceased to understand how to process my own emotions.
AI didn’t originate this issue. It simply facilitated my obliviousness to it.
The Recurring Pattern That Became Impossible to Ignore
After acknowledging it once, I began spotting this identical motif repeatedly in various contexts.
One manager employed AI to temper a segment of candid feedback, ensuring it conveyed less disappointment.
A friend utilized it to practice articulating to their business partner that they were experiencing burnout and could no longer sustain the previous intensity of work.
Another individual, a seasoned clinician on my team, leveraged it to compose a message directed at me, driven by anxiety over potentially phrasing their concerns about workload incorrectly, which might seem ungrateful or lacking professionalism.
Beneath each of these instances lurked a shared, subdued apprehension:
“If I express my genuine sentiments, I risk forfeiting something vital—such as admiration, bonds, employment, or personal ties.”
Consequently, we delegate our authentic expressions to an algorithm that remains unflappable, never embarrassed, never provoked. It returns content that is refined, compassionate, and equilibrated.
Gradually, and almost imperceptibly, we begin to place greater faith in that output than in our own inner knowing.
Observing this in others compelled me to concede something about my own habits:
I had been mirroring this conduct in my personal existence, not merely for days or weeks, but over extended years. Each instance where I opted for refinement over candor, composure over veracity, I distanced myself incrementally from my core self. In the long run, this rendered my thoughts sharper yet progressively severed me from my physical sensations, intuitive responses, and clarity on my true desires.
The Evening a Friend Probed What I Was Sidestepping
One night, following an especially demanding week, I found myself in a phone conversation with a trusted friend.
Our discussions routinely cover the turmoil of constructing meaningful ventures, personnel challenges, financial concerns, intricate choices, and the lingering emotional toll of accountability.
I delivered my standard recap:
“It’s been quite an intense week, but that’s part of the landscape. We’re expanding, it’s an honor, and I’m truly appreciative…”
He fell silent briefly before responding:
“That comes across as very refined. But how are you truly feeling?”
I hesitated.
My immediate impulse was to offer a neat, calibrated reply—the sort that would shine in a podcast episode or an email update.
Instead, I observed my thoughts gravitating toward stock phrases I had encountered on digital displays:
“It’s reasonable that I experience…”
“On one side… on the opposing side…”
“A more equilibrated perspective would involve…”
These phrases rang with sophistication. Yet they rang hollow with authenticity.
For a brief moment, I struggled to articulate in my own unassisted voice.
I had grown so accustomed to communicating in meticulous, controlled terminology—for employees, collaborators, investors—that I had nearly lost the ability to converse as an individual rather than as a professional archetype.
I couldn’t attribute this solely to AI. However, it had undeniably aided in my evasion of the awareness.
That exchange prompted a straightforward yet disquieting inquiry:
At what point did I cease relying on my inherent voice?
Uncovering the True Source of My Apprehension
When I at last paused sufficiently to delve beneath the varnished phrasing, I uncovered a straightforward dread:
“If I permit full candor, the entire structure might collapse.”
Should I confess occasional overwhelm, might my team view me with diminished confidence? If I inform a friend that exhaustion prevents me from offering support this evening, will they perceive me as indifferent?
AI had evolved into an ideal sanctuary for concealing that dread.
I could unleash my raw, unprocessed ideas without courting disapproval from others. I could garner counsel and endorsement without sensing myself as a liability. I could experience a fleeting sense of containment without contending with human responses.
However, post each such interaction, a pattern emerged:
Clarity sharpened in my mind. My physical form remained unrested.
My physiological responses craved not impeccably structured declarations.
They yearned for affirmation that my authentic, imperfect essence was permissible in the presence of others, beyond solitary digital transcripts.
Rediscovering My Inner Self (While Embracing Technology’s Role)
I didn’t abruptly uninstall all AI applications or retreat to a remote woodland retreat.
I continue navigating a reality saturated with digital tools, incorporating them into my professional responsibilities.
Yet, I formed a subtle commitment to my well-being:
“I will harness technology to bolster my human essence, not to supplant it.”
This shift entailed adopting several new practices.
Initially, I Began Self-Reflection Prior to Digital Consultation
Before querying any application with “What should I express?”, I first inquire internally: “What emotion am I genuinely experiencing at this moment?”
At times, I commit it to paper unadorned: “I’m fearful this endeavor will falter.” “I’m harboring anger, though I wish otherwise.”
Only upon identifying it do I assess whether assistance in articulation is desired. If so, the tool serves to enhance my conveyance, not to dictate the legitimacy of my sentiments.
Next, I Reintegrated Human Connections
When distress runs deep, I contact a real person ahead of any algorithmic interface. It might be as uncomplicated as: “This day weighs heavily. Are you available for ten minutes soon?”
It may not resolve the core difficulty, yet each selection of human dialogue over a virtual pane reassures my inner system: I am accompanied in this journey.
Finally, I Safeguarded Sanctuaries for My Unrefined Self
For me, this manifests as:
- Refraining from AI assistance in pivotal emotional exchanges with cherished individuals
- Excluding devices during the initial thirty minutes upon awakening and the final thirty before bedtime
- Avoiding AI for practicing challenging personal discussions
These guidelines lack rigidity. Certain days, I deviate from them.
Nevertheless, designating any arenas where my expressions may falter has reaffirmed my resilience to imperfection—and that of those who value me.
If You Recognize This in Your Own Life
Your situation may diverge from my own.
Perhaps you manage a modest enterprise, a family unit, a workgroup, or a personal existence reliant upon by others.
Perhaps you’ve observed a preference for entering your most visceral emotions into a digital field over vocalizing them audibly.
If that resonates, here’s counsel I wish had reached me earlier:
It’s unremarkable to derive comfort from AI. It’s logical to seek refuge in something reliable and foreseeable when humans have occasionally fallen short in those qualities.
Utilizing tech doesn’t render you “less aware.” The concern lies not with the instrument, but with maintaining your engagement in self-dialogue.
Those facets of yourself deemed excessively weighty, theatrical, or convoluted are frequently the very elements craving encounter with a tangible, fallible human—including yourself.
Ceasing all assistive technologies isn’t necessary. Nor is abruptly baring your soul to every acquaintance.
Commence modestly:
- A solitary honest inhalation prior to grasping your device
- A lone truthful statement in a dialogue where “I’m okay” would typically suffice
- A single individual permitted to witness you pre-polish
Final Reflections
AI possesses the capacity to streamline your musings.
Exclusively you hold the power to affirm that your raw, unvarnished internal landscape merits attention.
And should you overlook this—as I frequently still do—recall:
Beneath the correspondence, positions, queries, and clamor persists a serene facet of you attuned to dissonance and resonance alike.
That facet merits more than a pulsing cursor in response.
It merits your presence.
