I’ve always had quite a rich inner world, with many ideas, images and insights floating around. But for much of my life, I struggled to express them and they either stayed stuck inside, or never quite made it into the world in the form I envisioned.
I didn’t grow up learning how to write creatively or draw what I imagined. Aside from the occasional foray into creative projects using fabric or modelling clay (these mediums always seemed more accessible to me than, say, paintbrushes and sketchpads, or musical instruments) I had no real hobbies, let alone creative ones relating to Art or Music. I spent large portions of my childhood watching television and killing time and I was often alone. As I got older, I became deeply depressed and my teenage years were marked by suicidal ideation, body image issues and disordered eating. By the time I was 15 I was lost in a fog of unhappiness and self-loathing and although I generally did well academically, especially in Science and Maths, I found subjects like English and Art extremely difficult. I struggled with focus and memory, and my mind often felt hazy and scattered. I couldn’t find a way to get what was in my head out into the world – I couldn’t organise my thoughts, let alone, get them onto paper as words or images.
With hindsight, I can see that I missed out on years when I might have developed the skills of creative expression – I was too busy just coping with existence. And even after those early teenage years I spent much of the next two decades clawing my way out of the hole I was in by constantly reading and learning about psychological health and self-development.
I eventually found my way to a life that felt (and increasingly feels) more vibrant, full, meaningful and worthy of living, but I still have under-developed creative self-expression skills. While I am now, at age 44, trying to develop these skills (I’m learning to play the guitar and sing, and still trying to bring creative ideas to life using whatever medium seems most fitting), it’s a slow process, and I’m aware that I will likely never achieve the capabilities I might have had if I’d practised these things 30-40 years ago. I also don’t want to give the time and energy required to developing competency in these skills per se – what I most long for is a way to express the ideas that come to me, not to be the most skillful poet, painter or musician.
That’s why AI has been such a valuable tool.
For me, AI functions as an interface between the internal and external. It allows me to take what previously felt inexpressible – an idea, an image, a conceptual framework – and bring it into form. It doesn’t invent things for me. It helps me translate what’s in my head into something others can see.
For example, I’ve often had clear ideas for visual images when I’ve been trying to explain an academic concept, or a psychological metaphor. I can see in my mind’s eye the textures, symbols, scenes etc. that I want in an image. In the past, I’ve spent many hours trying to create images in PowerPoint, layering shapes and adjusting colours to get something even close to what I was envisaging. Now, I can describe the image to AI and generate something far more accurate, often within minutes.
The same is true with language. There are concepts I’ve understood intuitively for years but couldn’t articulate clearly. With AI, I can draft, shape, and refine those ideas into structured, coherent writing. It accelerates a process that would otherwise take hours, or might never happen at all.
So yes, I do think of AI as a shortcut. And I’m okay with that.
Like the motor vehicle, it enables movement I wouldn’t otherwise manage. Could I travel the same distance without it? Possibly, but not without significant cost. Not without sacrificing other things that matter to me. AI helps me conserve time and energy while still producing something meaningful.
That said, it has limits.
When I use AI to generate a first draft, I often need to edit it carefully. The output might be technically correct, elegant and poetic, but it often lacks real depth. There’s a kind of humanness it can’t replicate. Certain turns of phrase, though well-crafted, feel too smooth, too generic, too polished. I often find myself reintroducing language that’s more raw or specific to my own voice. I’ve also come to appreciate my own grammatical errors – they give a piece of writing more soul. In other words, AI can assist with form, but I still need to supply the substance. The nuance. The imperfect humanness. The thing that makes it real.
For myself, I don’t see AI as replacing creativity or skill. It’s a tool that allows me to participate in forms of expression previously inaccessible to me – not because I had nothing to say or produce, but because I didn’t have the means to get those ideas out of my head and into the world. That, for me, is where AI’s value lies. It doesn’t create ideas for me, but it helps me carry the ideas I have into a form others can experience.
AI is not a substitute for creativity. It’s an interface that finally helps me express mine.
Counselling and Psychotherapy 