To be misunderstood, while leaving a pin in the mind, is often where development begins.
What follows is not written to be liked, shared, or immediately agreed with. It is written because something in the current conversation around AI, language, and “authenticity” is being handled with misplaced superiority and very little empathy.
Recently, I saw a post mocking AI‑assisted writing. The author claimed that after reading the hook of a post, they could already tell it was “AI‑written,” and expressed annoyance at this trend. What made this notable was not the opinion itself, but the position from which it was delivered: the author presented themselves as an NLP coach.
That contradiction matters.
Many people—particularly elderly individuals and non‑native English speakers—possess sharp minds, lived experience, and valuable perspectives. What they often lack is not thought, but linguistic confidence. Language becomes a bottleneck, not because ideas are absent, but because expressing them fluently in a dominant language requires a skill set they were never trained for.
AI does not replace their thinking. It does not inject ideas they do not have. It functions as an assistive layer—reducing friction between intention and expression.
Mocking that assistance is not discernment. It is a declaration of superiority.
I find it increasingly exhausting to read posts multiple times just to decode what someone intended to say because the text is riddled with avoidable errors. Not because those people are unintelligent, but because language failed them at the point of transmission. When AI helps clarify meaning, it does not remove authenticity—it allows meaning to arrive intact.
This is where the analogy becomes unavoidable.
We do not mock a person for using a wheelchair. We understand, almost instinctively, that the wheelchair does not diminish the person. It enables them to act in the world. It restores agency where circumstances imposed limitations.
Before the wheelchair, the person was labeled “normal.” With the wheelchair, they can move, compete, participate—and in some cases, become an Olympic champion.
The tool does not erase humanity. It unlocks it.
To ridicule people for using AI to express themselves is therefore not a neutral opinion. It is morally adjacent to mocking someone for using an assistive device. If that comparison feels uncomfortable, that discomfort is worth examining rather than dismissing.
What makes this especially troubling when voiced by an NLP coach is that it violates the foundational premises of NLP itself. At its core, NLP is concerned with subjective experience, internal representations, rapport, and expanding perceived choice. It is meant to help people overcome internal barriers, not shame them for using external supports.
A stance that says, “I didn’t need help, therefore you shouldn’t either,” is not empowerment. It is a projection.
In practice, many so‑called coaches use their clients’ vulnerabilities as fuel for their own sense of authority. They position themselves as exemplars of strength while quietly depending on the insecurity of others. When a tool appears that reduces that dependency—by giving people a clearer voice without mediation—it is experienced as a threat, not a benefit.
This explains the hostility far better than any argument about authenticity.
The obsession with detecting AI, exposing it, and declaring oneself above it often has very little to do with language or writing. It has far more to do with status: who struggled, who didn’t, and who gets to decide what counts as “real.”
In a world increasingly dominated by reels, posters, and one‑liners, the answer is not always to compress thought further. Sometimes the answer is to stay put and explain—using more words, not fewer. Not to persuade the crowd, but to leave something behind that cannot be easily shaken off.
I do not care if people reject this perspective. Rejection is cheap. Agreement is cheap. What matters is whether something lodges itself quietly in the reader’s mind and resurfaces later, uninvited.
Being misunderstood is often the price of saying something that does not fit neatly into existing frames. But when misunderstanding carries a pin—when it disturbs rather than bounces off—it marks the beginning of development, not its failure.
That is where growth starts. Not in applause, but in discomfort that refuses to go away.
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