The Door We Hold with AI

I have come to think of approaching AI as holding a door. It can stay closed, open just a little, or swing wide to let everything rush in. Most days, it feels most helpful when it stays slightly ajar. AI can offer direction, but it does not need to take the lead. It works best as a tool that supports what has already been chosen, not as the compass that decides for us.

In therapeutic work, reflection and awareness form the centre of the process. Yet even in this deeply human space, the quiet pull of technology is present. It shapes how we write, how we read, and how we connect. It hums beneath the surface, suggesting ideas, curating what we see, predicting what we might want next. We cannot escape its presence, but we can choose how much we let it in.

That moment of choice matters. There are things we seek out with intention, like answers, recipes or structure. But behind that sits a deeper question about what we might be distancing ourselves from when we hand over too much.

It is tempting to let AI ease the feeling of overwhelm, to tidy the noise and simplify decisions when life feels sharp or fast. It can fill the silence and offer solutions. Yet repeated delegating can send quiet messages to the self over time. I do not matter. I cannot manage this. I am not enough. These are subtle shifts that accumulate within convenience.

There is also something important in discomfort. Difficult emotions can lead to meaningful insight. They reveal what has hurt us, what feels acceptable or unacceptable, and where boundaries may need strengthening. They are part of how we meet our own needs. If discomfort is always softened or outsourced, we may begin to move through life with only part of ourselves in view. It raises a question about balance. If AI can smooth every edge, does it risk leaving us lopsided.

AI can suggest, assist and organise. It can offer ideas and structure. What it cannot do is feel. It cannot share the tremble of fear before a first attempt, the relief of being understood, or the slow steady sense of growth that comes from meeting something difficult.

It seems that the door is the important part. It reminds us that we have agency. We can choose what we allow in and what we keep for ourselves. AI can be useful, supportive and efficient, but the emotional world remains ours. It is in the imperfect, unpolished moments that we remember what it is to be human.

Hannah Downing | Psychodynamic Psychotherapist

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