AI isn't coming for your job. It already took your relevance.

I used to think AI threatened everything I built. Turns out, the real threat was clinging to an outdated version of myself while the world moved on without me.

My relationship with AI tools was never black and white. It was more like a quiet stand-off—one where I knew something had to give, but I wasn't ready to be the one who gave in first.

Here's the thing: I've been creating content for 15 years. I've watched the media world change more than once, and every time, I adapted. When traditional broadcasting gave way to online media, I moved from TV production to digital journalism. When social media took over, I pivoted again, becoming a social media manager. Ten years ago, I left the corporate world to start freelancing because I wanted more autonomy and a more balanced future.

It worked. I built a business, evolved with the times, and kept pace with change. I was good at this dance.

Until AI came along. And something about it threw me off completely.

When your superpower becomes your weakness

The shift felt too fast, too big. Suddenly, the values I'd built my work on—authenticity, honest writing, real human thoughts, personal presence—felt irrelevant. Or worse, naive.

I started telling myself stories. That AI was fake. That it created a hollow version of the internet. That it undermined the very thing that made content meaningful.

But here's where it gets complicated: I wasn't totally anti-AI. I experimented. I even built a small product a few years ago—a set of ChatGPT prompts to help entrepreneurs with their content. It did well. People used it.

And still, something held me back.

Every time I used AI, I felt like a student sneaking cheat notes into an exam. Like I was pretending to know something I hadn't really learned. The speed felt suspicious. The ease, undeserved. Where was the struggle that validated the work?

I was caught between two worlds: intellectually understanding that AI was here to stay, but emotionally rejecting what that meant for my identity as a creator.

The wake-up call I couldn't ignore

Then came a moment I couldn't shake.

I was invited to speak at an event on "magnetic messaging that sells." One of the other speakers was a young ghostwriter—a university student, early twenties, calm and confident in a way that made me feel ancient.

She talked about how she built her profile on LinkedIn. Her following was 10 times bigger than mine. She made 10 times more. She worked half the hours. And she wasn't gatekeeping any of it.

She walked us through her entire system: how she used different AI tools to generate post ideas, write viral content, and create brand voices that fit each client. She didn't sound apologetic or overly hyped. Just clear. Direct. In control.

Meanwhile, I was still writing everything myself, word by word, like some kind of content monk.

I sat there listening, nodding politely, but inside I was flailing. Part of me wanted to dismiss her. To say, "This isn't real writing." But another part—the honest one—knew I was lying to myself.

What I really felt was old. Outdated. Like the print journalists I once watched stubbornly resist digital transformation. I'd become them. And I didn't want to be them.

Because that's not me. I've always been curious, early to new things. I joined social platforms before most people knew what they were. I built a blog when no one called it a career. I've always sensed when it's time to move.

So why was I now the one holding back?

The corporate reality check

A few weeks later, I met an old friend for coffee. She told me her company was now using an AI agent to draft industry-specific LinkedIn articles for employees. The agent would work with their ideas, and all they had to do was review and post them.

I froze.

Because I do that same kind of work for clients. But I do it manually. I write every article myself. I dig through notes, rewrite versions, shape tone by feel. I believed that was the only way to keep the quality high, to maintain that human touch.

But now, here was a company doing it differently.

That conversation hit harder than I expected. I spiraled for days—not because I thought I had to copy them, but because I couldn't shake the fear that I was slowly becoming irrelevant. That the industry was evolving without me. That I was clinging to a craft no one wanted to pay for anymore.

The Substack post that changed everything

And then I read something that made everything click into place.

It was an article by

Carmen Van Kerckhove

. The writer told the story of Shawn K—a computer science graduate with 21 years of experience who now lives in an RV trailer and drives for DoorDash after 800 job applications and a year of unemployment.

But this wasn't just about tech workers. Carmen made it clear: "This is a story about all knowledge workers. Everyone whose job depends on reading, writing, planning, synthesizing, managing, creating, or communicating."

The people with resumes like mine. Like yours.

The article hit me like a lightning bolt because it articulated what I'd been feeling but couldn't name: we're not just facing a skills disruption. We're facing an identity collapse.

The writer explained how AI is coming for knowledge work first—not manual labor, not frontline retail, but the supposedly "prestigious" jobs we thought made us safe. The lawyers, the managers, the analysts, the content creators. The jobs that gave us not just paychecks, but status. Purpose. The answer to "So, what do you do?"

And suddenly, my resistance to AI looked completely different.

I wasn't protecting my craft. I was protecting my identity. An identity built on being the one who could write, strategize, and create in ways that felt irreplaceable.

But the article's most powerful insight wasn't about jobs disappearing—it was about the identity crisis hiding underneath. "Work isn't just about paychecks. For most of us, it's about belonging. Status. Purpose."

Reading this, I realized I was doing exactly what the article described: clinging to an old version of professional worth while the entire landscape shifted beneath my feet.

I could see that other creators were thriving with AI tools. I could acknowledge that AI was becoming essential for business efficiency. I could even recommend it to others.

But I was terrified to fully embrace it myself because it threatened the core of how I understood my professional value.

The identity trap we don't see coming

Here's what the article taught me: We've been sold a comforting story about work and identity—get the right degree, pick the right field, build the right career. Follow these steps, and you'll be secure, not just financially, but in knowing exactly who you are and where you fit in the world.

But that story is unraveling. And most of us are unprepared for what happens when the scaffolding of how we understand ourselves suddenly disappears.

The article shared a profound truth: "The most urgent skill you need to develop right now isn't technical. It's existential. You need to learn how to unhook your worth from your work."

This hit me like a brick wall. Because my resistance to AI wasn't really about protecting quality or authenticity. It was about protecting an identity that was built on being irreplaceable in ways that AI was making... replaceable.

I'd spent 15 years defining myself through my ability to craft words, develop strategies, and create content that felt distinctly human. The idea that a tool could handle the mechanical parts of that work didn't feel like liberation—it felt like erasure.

But what if I was looking at this completely wrong?

What if the threat wasn't AI taking over my work, but me clinging to an outdated version of what made my work valuable?

What becomes possible when you let go

I've always been someone who adapts. It's been my professional superpower. But somewhere along the way, I started confusing adaptation with abandonment.

I thought embracing AI meant abandoning everything I'd built. But that's not what adaptation has ever been about for me.

When I moved from TV to digital, I didn't stop being a storyteller—I just used new tools. When I became a social media manager, I didn't stop caring about authentic communication—I learned to do it on new platforms. When I started freelancing, I didn't abandon my expertise—I found better ways to package and deliver it.

AI isn't different. It's just the next tool in a long line of tools I've learned to master.

The difference is that this time, I let fear cloud my judgment. I let attachment to an old version of myself keep me from seeing what was actually possible.

My new curiosity-driven approach

So here's where I am now: genuinely excited about AI for the first time.

Not because I think it's going to replace human creativity, but because I'm finally seeing it for what it actually is—a powerful tool that can handle the mechanical parts of content creation so I can focus on strategy, relationships, and the high-level thinking that truly differentiates my work.

That young ghostwriter at the conference? She wasn't successful because she abandoned authenticity. She was successful because she freed herself from the busywork that was keeping her from scaling her real value.

My friend's company isn't producing hollow content. They're producing consistent, on-brand messaging that keeps their team connected with their audience while freeing up mental space for bigger strategic thinking.

I'm not late to this party—I'm right on time. Because now I can approach AI with 15 years of content experience, a deep understanding of brand voice, and the strategic thinking that comes from building businesses, not just following trends.

The question that changes everything

The article that shifted my perspective ended with this challenge: "What career move have you been avoiding because it doesn't look like progress to others?"

For me, the answer was clear: I'd been avoiding full AI integration because it didn't look like "real work" to the part of me that was still invested in an outdated version of creative credibility.

But here's what I want you to consider: What opportunity have you been dismissing because it doesn't fit your image of yourself? What tool or approach have you been intellectually supporting but emotionally resisting?

The economy we're moving into rewards flexibility, practical skills, and the ability to create value in ways that don't fit traditional categories. The entrepreneurs who thrive won't necessarily be the ones with the most impressive histories—they'll be the ones who learned to let go of impressive histories when they stopped being useful.

The future belongs to the flexible

I'm not suggesting you abandon everything you've built or jump on every trend that comes along. What I'm suggesting is much more practical: develop the emotional flexibility to make choices based on what actually serves your business and your life, rather than what looks good to the version of yourself you used to be.

The world is changing faster than our professional identities can adapt. The tools and approaches that got us here might not just be irrelevant for what's next—they might be counterproductive.

Some of us will make this shift and still be invisible to traditional success metrics. No fancy titles. No industry applause. And yet—we'll be freer, clearer, and more future-ready than the ones who stayed to defend a collapsing order.

The question isn't whether AI is right for everyone. The question is whether you're willing to swap old versions of yourself for alignment with what's actually working now.

Because that flexibility? That willingness to update not just your tools, but your thinking?

It's about to become the most valuable skill any of us can develop.

Warmly,
Andi

---

If you feel like your message and content are all over the place, or you're not sure how to say what you really want to say — this is for you. In a 60-minute Clarity Call, we sit down together and strip it back. Not to shrink your ideas, but to find the one that holds it all.

Simple. Strong. True to you.

Book a session here or send me a message:

---

P.S. I take on a few content clients each month — if you're curious, this is where to start.