In a World Obsessed with AI, Your Humanity Is Your Superpower

In a world racing with AI, mums aren't being replaced… but trying to do it all is quietly leading to burnout, disconnection, and self-erasure.

There’s something I’ve been sitting with since last week, and I knew I needed to bring it into this space. After attending an event last week, I left buzzing… not just from the conversations, but from this low, persistent hum that seems to be everywhere right now.

AI.

It’s in the headlines. It’s in our workflows. It’s even creeping into how we rest, parent, and show up in everyday life. And whether you’re paying close attention or trying to tune it out, it’s shaping the pace we’re all expected to move at.

But here’s what really hit me: it’s not just about tech or business.

It’s motherhood too.

I feel it in the pressure to stay visible. To keep creating. To optimise everything… from my workflows to my to-do list to how “restful” my rest is. It’s like we’ve started expecting our downtime to be productive, too.

And then I heard this line that stopped me in my tracks.

John Sanei said, “AI won’t replace humans. But humans trying to be machines? They might just replace themselves.”

I felt that. Deep in my chest.

Because that’s exactly what’s happening to so many of us.

We’re not being replaced by machines… we’re slowly replacing ourselves. Quietly. Gradually.
One hyper-scheduled day at a time.
One bedtime story cut short.
One breath held while juggling five different tabs in our brains.

We’re trying to keep up with a pace that was never meant for hearts, nervous systems, and small children who need cuddles after storytime. And that’s the part I want to unpack with you today… not from a place of blame or overwhelm, but with honesty and softness.

Because I don’t think the answer is to hustle harder. I don’t think it’s to unplug entirely either.

I think the way forward is far more human than that.

It’s about remembering who we are underneath the to-do lists and expectations. Not as performers. Not as machines. But as people. Feeling, breathing, stretched-too-thin-but-still-showing-up people.

And maybe (just maybe) that’s where the shift begins.

When I Knew I Was Replacing Myself

Let me tell you what this looked like in real life… because sometimes it’s easy to talk about these things in theory, but the truth lives in the tiny moments.

Last week, we got back from two back-to-back family trips. The kind of trips that sound exciting when you talk about them, but on the ground, it meant jet lag, laundry, a messy house, and everyone (including me) feeling completely off rhythm.

I was physically home, but my mind was scattered across a dozen tabs: an upcoming project I’m working on, the content I hadn’t posted, the WhatsApp messages piling up, that email I’d been meaning to reply to. You know that mental split-screen feeling? One eye on the kids, one on your never-ending mental list?

That was me.

And then it was bedtime with my daughter.

She wanted one more story. One more cuddle. Just a few more minutes of being held.

And I heard myself say, gently but automatically:
“I don’t have time for this right now.”

I didn’t snap. I didn’t yell. I just said it like it was a fact.
But the second it came out of my mouth, something inside me paused.

It wasn’t shame. It wasn’t guilt. It was clarity.
Wait. This isn’t who I want to be right now.

I was there, but I wasn’t present. I was doing the mum thing, going through the motions, but my energy had already moved on… to the next task, the next demand, the next “should.”

And in that quiet moment, John Sanei’s words came back to me:
“Humans trying to be machines? They might just replace themselves.”

This. This is what that looks like.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s the subtle, slow disconnection from our own softness. From presence. From humanity.

It’s those tiny moments when we choose output over connection… because we feel like we have to. Because there’s always something else waiting. And because somewhere along the way, we’ve convinced ourselves that being available for everything else is more urgent than being available for the people we love.

But here’s what I realised that night:
This can’t be my baseline.

I don’t want to parent, love, create, or live from a place that’s always three steps ahead. I don’t want to become so focused on what I’m doing that I forget who I’m being.

And I think a lot of us are right there… feeling like we’re doing all the right things, ticking all the boxes, but slowly drifting away from ourselves in the process.

The answer isn’t to do more or try harder.

It’s to notice.

To pause.

To remember what it feels like to actually be there… for the cuddle, the story, the sacred mess of it all.

Because that’s where we come back to ourselves.

The Truth Behind Why We’re All So Tired

Let’s be honest… none of us are intentionally trying to become machines. We’re not waking up in the morning with a plan to suppress our humanity. But still, many of us move through our days like we’re on autopilot, caught in a loop of productivity and performance. It’s subtle, but it’s constant. And beneath it all is a quiet belief we’ve absorbed over time: that our worth is tied to how much we do.

Even when no one is explicitly demanding more from us, we carry this pressure like muscle memory. We say yes when we want to say no. We answer messages during moments meant for rest. We optimise our schedules until there’s no breathing room left. Somewhere along the way, “rest” started feeling irresponsible, and presence started feeling like a luxury we couldn’t afford.

We’ve internalised the pace of the world around us… and the world is moving faster than ever. AI is advancing. Systems are becoming more streamlined. Tools that promise ease often add more noise. And the expectation, whether spoken or not, is that we’ll keep up.

But keeping up is exhausting. Not because we’re failing, but because we’re human. We’re parenting and working and navigating relationships with full hearts and tired bodies. We’re absorbing the weight of invisible labour while smiling through it. And the truth is, the pace isn’t sustainable… not for those of us who are raising kids, holding space for others, and trying to build something meaningful without losing ourselves in the process.

What hit me recently is that, yes, AI is getting better at a lot of things. It’s fast. It’s efficient. It can streamline workflows and generate ideas in seconds. But it can’t feel what you feel. It can’t read the emotional undercurrent in a conversation. It can’t hold a crying child or pick up on the subtle cues of someone who’s having a hard day but doesn’t have the words to say it.

That’s your work. That’s your magic. That’s what makes you irreplaceable.

The nuance. The intuition. The presence.

So if you’ve been feeling scattered or distant from yourself lately, know this: it’s not a flaw. It’s a signal. A gentle nudge from within that says, “Come back.” Come back to presence. Come back to being human. Come back to the parts of you that never needed to be optimised to be worthy.

You were never meant to live like a machine.

The Tiny Practice That’s Keeping Me Human

Lately, I’ve been craving moments that aren’t about output. No strategy, no goal, no multitasking… just a few minutes where I can feel myself again. And not in the “let’s schedule some self-care” kind of way. In a way that’s real, quiet, and off the grid.

So I’ve started doing something simple.

I take a blank piece of paper… not a journal, not a planner, just a scrap of paper… and I doodle. That’s it. No rules, no structure. I let my hand move however it wants. Sometimes it’s spirals, stars, lines. Sometimes I write a word over and over. Sometimes it looks like absolute nonsense. And that’s the point. It’s not art. It’s not content. It’s not meant to be shared or explained or even kept.

It’s just a pause.

For a few minutes, I’m not performing. I’m not producing. I’m not thinking five steps ahead. I’m just letting something come through me, without needing it to be beautiful or useful or meaningful. And weirdly, that’s what makes it so grounding. In a world that constantly expects us to optimise and perform, this tiny act of presence feels like rebellion.

It’s screen-free. Pressure-free. And for those few moments, I feel a softness return. The same softness I lose when I rush through bedtime or push past the signals that I’m overstimulated. The same softness that reminds me I’m not a machine. I’m a human… one with emotions and limits and a need to create without consequence sometimes.

I think that’s why I keep coming back to this little practice. It doesn’t require anything of me. I don’t have to be wise or efficient or inspiring. I just get to be. And in that space, something real gets to breathe again.

So if you’re feeling disconnected or overextended, maybe this is your invitation too. Grab a pen. A piece of paper. Let your hand move without a plan. No goal, no prompt, no pressure. Just a moment with yourself. A moment where nothing needs to happen… and that, in itself, is enough.

Because presence doesn’t always look like stillness or silence. Sometimes, it looks like messy scribbles on a page that no one else will ever see.

You’re Not Falling Behind… You’re Being Pulled Too Fast

Here’s the truth I keep circling back to: AI isn’t the villain here. The pace is.

It’s the relentless hum in the background that says you should be doing more. Moving faster. Producing constantly. It’s the subtle pressure to polish every moment, to package everything into something shareable, useful, efficient. And it’s seeping into our bodies, our parenting, our creativity, even our rest.

That pressure isn’t just draining… it’s disconnecting. It pulls us out of presence and into performance. Out of our hearts and into our heads. And without even realising it, we start moving through life like we’re managing a brand instead of living a human experience.

But here’s what can never, ever be replaced: your ability to slow down. Your capacity to feel. To sit with someone and hold space. To notice what’s not being said. To be with your child’s tears, or your own. To stay soft in a world that keeps asking you to harden. That is your edge. Your power. Your offering.

So maybe it’s not about throwing out your devices or disappearing from the world. Maybe it’s just about choosing presence, over and over again. Not because it’s productive. But because it’s you. And you are not here to keep up with machines.

You’re here to connect. To breathe. To feel the full spectrum of being human.

And the beautiful part? You’re allowed to stop replacing yourself in the name of keeping up. You’re allowed to reclaim the parts of you that don’t move at the speed of algorithms or output. The quiet parts. The tender parts. The ones that pause at bedtime for one more cuddle, even if your inbox is full.

That’s the version of you the world needs. The one that’s still here. Still soft. Still choosing to show up, fully human.

If you’re craving a way to gently reconnect (even in the chaos of daily life) I created something just for you.

It’s called the 5-Minute Reset for Mums & Kids on the Go… a simple PDF guide to affirmations you can do anytime, anywhere. No prep, no pressure. Just a few minutes to ground yourself and your little ones in the middle of the swirl.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do… is pause. Together.

Reflection for the Week

Here’s what I’m sitting with right now, and maybe it’s something you want to hold too:

What’s one small way I can come back to my humanity, before I lose touch with it?

Not to perform. Not to fix.
Just to reconnect.
Quietly and honestly.

Maybe it’s five minutes with a blank page. Maybe it’s breath. Maybe it’s eye contact at bedtime.

Let it be simple. Let it be enough.

Because you already are.