I didn’t think much about artificial intelligence until it became unavoidable.
At some point, it stopped being a distant concept and started showing up everywhere. In writing, in research, in everyday tasks. Quietly, it became part of how people work. And just as quickly, it became something people had strong opinions about.
In my experience, those opinions are rarely neutral.
Some professors encourage the use of AI, but with caution. They frame it as a tool. Something to support thinking, not replace it. Use it to brainstorm, to organize ideas, to refine language—but always apply your own judgment. That approach made sense to me. It felt practical. Balanced.
But not everyone sees it that way.
In other spaces, the reaction is much stronger. There’s a sense that using AI reflects a lack of ability. That if you rely on it, even slightly, you are somehow less capable. Less rigorous. Less deserving. The implication is subtle, but it’s there.
If you use it, you’re cutting corners.
That’s a heavy thing to carry.
Because it forces a question that doesn’t have a simple answer: is using AI making us more efficient, or is it making us less competent?
I’ve found myself caught between those two perspectives.
On one hand, AI can save an incredible amount of time. Tasks that used to take days—structuring an outline, rewording a paragraph, clarifying a concept—can now be done in minutes. It can help break through mental blocks, especially when you’re overwhelmed or stuck.
On the other hand, there’s a quiet anxiety that comes with using it.
Am I thinking deeply enough?
Am I relying on it too much?
Would this be better if I struggled through it myself?
And maybe more importantly:
What will others think if they know I used it?
That tension isn’t just academic. It’s personal.
Because in environments that already feel high-pressure, where competence is constantly being evaluated, the tools you use start to feel like a reflection of your worth. When AI is framed as “cheating” or “laziness,” even while using it responsibly can feel like you’re doing something wrong.
But history suggests this reaction isn’t new.
There was a time when people resisted the written word, arguing it would weaken memory. More recently, search engines were criticized for making information too accessible, for reducing the need to truly “know” things. Each time, the concern was similar: that new tools would erode human ability rather than enhance it.
And yet, those tools didn’t disappear. They integrated.
We didn’t stop thinking because we started writing things down. We didn’t become less intelligent because we could look things up. Instead, we shifted how we think. What we prioritize. How we use our time.
So maybe the question isn’t whether AI is good or bad.
Maybe the question is how we choose to use it.
When used without intention, AI can absolutely become a shortcut that replaces learning. It can flatten understanding, remove nuance, and give the illusion of competence without the substance behind it. That risk is real, and it shouldn’t be ignored.
But when used thoughtfully, it can also be something else entirely.
A starting point.
A second set of eyes.
A way to refine, not replace, your thinking.
For me, the difference comes down to awareness. Using AI doesn’t mean outsourcing responsibility. It means engaging with the output, questioning it, reshaping it, and making sure the final product still reflects your own understanding.
It’s not about avoiding effort. It’s about directing it more effectively.
There’s also a mental health component that often goes unspoken.
In high-pressure academic environments, where expectations are constantly rising, tools that reduce friction can feel like relief. They can make overwhelming tasks more manageable. They can create space to focus on the parts of work that actually matter—understanding, creativity, problem-solving.
But when the use of those tools is stigmatized, that relief turns into guilt.
And guilt is rarely productive.
Instead of helping students learn, it creates hesitation. Instead of encouraging thoughtful use, it pushes the conversation into extremes—either full reliance or complete avoidance.
Neither is helpful.
What would be more helpful is clarity.
Clear expectations. Clear boundaries. And an understanding that tools don’t define competence—how we use them does.
AI is not going away. If anything, it will become more embedded in how we work and learn. The challenge isn’t to resist it entirely, nor to rely on it blindly. It’s to find a way to use it that supports growth rather than replaces it.
To treat it as a tool, not a crutch.
And to remember that at the end of the day, the goal isn’t to prove that we can do everything on our own.
It’s to learn.
Edited by: Edward Wang