How AI is reshaping the way we speak, think, and present ourselves at work
If you work in a company that heavily uses AI tools, you have probably noticed that everybody starts to sound like a robot. Not during casual corridor chats, but during calls—especially reviews, all-hands meetings, and even one-to-ones.
At a time when society had already begun scrutinizing everything we say in public—where any misstep could potentially lead to “cancellation” or public backlash—it feels like we are moving toward an even more controlled environment. We are so afraid of making mistakes that we rely on machine-generated scripts. And it seems likely that this tendency will only intensify.
Are we silently and unconsciously moving toward an AI-driven form of control? It may be too early to draw firm conclusions, but the direction is worth questioning.
Authorship in the Age of AI: who can claim ownership?
There is another dimension to this. Can we still claim full ownership of what we create when it results from a dialogue with an increasingly capable machine? We tend to believe that we can. However, if we were to apply strict standards of authorship or intellectual honesty, we might need to acknowledge this collaboration explicitly—for example, by stating that a piece is the result of interaction with an AI tool, rather than presenting it as entirely independent work.
The growing presence of AI in daily work raises subtle but important questions about authenticity, authorship, and control. While these tools enhance efficiency, they may also standardize how we think and communicate. The challenge is not to reject them, but to remain conscious of how much of our voice we are willing to delegate—and what that means for the future of human expression.
Have you noticed similar patterns in your organization?
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There was a time when everything my parents said would piss me off. Even though I rarely reacted to what I perceived as provocations, inside I was boiling—repressing emotions like anger and anxiety.
In the last years, however, I’ve begun finding peace with them, and I still can’t believe it took more than thirty years.
It wasn’t a single moment of clarity. I had to go through a long process that involved distancing myself from them, listening to other people’s stories so I could detach from my own, getting randomly triggered by memories of past moments, and trying to understand what that whole first part of my life meant—if anything at all. It meant facing a lot of uncomfortable emotions, going through multiple breakdowns, and sitting with questions that didn’t have clear answers.
By the end of it—or what feels like an end, if such a thing even exists—I didn’t experience a dramatic breakthrough or sudden epiphany. It was more of a slow realization, one that I’m only now starting to grasp with more clarity. I want to share it briefly here, because it might help someone reflect on their own situation—or smile knowing they’ve gone through the same necessary shit. Or maybe shake their heads, not understanding what I mean. And that’s fine too.
What I realized is this: I don’t have to take everything my parents say seriously or personally, or interpret it as criticism or a lesson. Learning to read between the lines helped me find peace with them.
And by that, I mean understanding the real meaning—or lack of meaning—behind what they say. Sometimes there is no lesson, no deeper message to decipher, no hidden agenda. Sometimes parents talk simply because they want to be in connection, even when their words don’t land well.
I now understand why this took so long. Up to a certain point, we expect direction from our parents. And it’s not always clear what they’re trying to say—even though they may be convinced that they used all the words and methods available to communicate their point.
With time, some things did become clearer, mostly because I closed part of the communication gap by making the effort to listen without expecting anything at all. Other things, I believe, will never be totally clear—and I now know I can live with that.
Of course they made a ton of mistakes along the way. Who doesn’t? What parent doesn’t make mistakes? What child doesn’t?
We may spend years victimizing ourselves for the things that happened to us—and that’s okay too. It’s part of the process of understanding, of putting together the pieces of a puzzle that takes a long time to make sense. Abuse leaves scars; trauma is no joke. But we can overcome anything—even the heavy things we bury deep in our soul, the things that make us shake when we access them, but that we eventually have to face in order to transcend them.
Once we acknowledge the humanness of our parents, and see how they, too, are normal people trying to do the right thing while raising another human—something nobody ever taught them to do—even the unclear things start to feel a bit clearer.
And some things simply lose importance along the way. We look back and wonder why we spent so much time dwelling on them.
When we finally start listening—really listening—to them or to anyone, without resistance and without judgment, we realize how often we didn’t read between the lines. How often we refused to fill in the blank spaces, the things people cannot express with words. In my experience, many people from older generations often found it harder to show vulnerability or express certain emotions compared to how we approach these topics today. It’s still not easy now either—but difficulty isn’t an excuse. If we want to convey real meaning in what we say, we need to open up and share our fears, emotions, and the things that scare us most.
And we also need time. Time to learn how to do that, in the right context, and at the right moment.
