Saving Us from Ourselves: The Paradox of AI and Tech Dependency

Can the very force that fractured our attention—and fueled our dependency—also be the one that helps us rebuild focus, resilience, and mental health?

Our increasing reliance on technology—especially smartphones—has undoubtedly reshaped our society. While these advancements have brought incredible convenience, they've also created new challenges, particularly concerning mental health and resilience.

Reflecting on this phenomenon, I recall a simpler time when leaving the house without a phone was entirely unremarkable. Recently, I stepped out without mine—by accident—and was surprised by the low-grade panic that set in. What if someone needed to reach me? What if I needed help? Even the prospect of unexpected boredom felt unsettling. In that moment, I realized just how deeply this small device had embedded itself into my sense of safety and preparedness.

Technology's constant availability means we rarely face discomfort or uncertainty without an immediate digital remedy—limiting our ability to develop patience, emotional regulation, and endurance. Smartphones provide instant solutions for life's minor inconveniences. Lost? Use Maps. Sad or lonely? Text or FaceTime someone immediately. Need a ride? Call Uber. Don’t know something?  Google it.  We no longer have to live with uncertainty or discomfort.  While these conveniences are remarkable, I believe they've inadvertently eroded our resilience and self-efficacy. By removing frequent, small challenges from our daily lives, we've deprived ourselves—and especially our younger generations—of critical opportunities to develop problem-solving skills, tolerate discomfort, and build confidence through overcoming life's small hurdles.

We’ve lost the micro-moments that build what I’ve come to think of as digital grit—the quiet strength cultivated when we sit with uncertainty, resist the impulse for instant answers, and find our way without immediate digital aid. Think of the confidence that comes from navigating unfamiliar streets without a map app, or calming yourself through a difficult emotion before reaching for a screen.—the modern capacity to sit with discomfort, self-regulate, and problem-solve before outsourcing the experience to a device. This loss affects us all, but it is particularly stark for those who’ve never known a world without immediate digital assistance.

This brings us to a vital question: How can we expect artificial intelligence, another potent technology, help us mitigate the very problems created by technological dependence?

As a former director of a college counseling center, I’ve seen how student and parent expectations have shifted toward immediate, around-the-clock support. But is constant availability truly beneficial, or does it interfere with the developmental process of facing challenges independently? I often wrestled with the ethics of meeting that demand—was I helping or harming by removing every barrier?

AI’s rise prompts similar concerns. Like smartphones, it risks encouraging immediate solutions at the expense of deeper coping skills. If we begin to rely on AI for emotional regulation or decision-making, we may bypass the discomfort that fosters growth. The question becomes not just whether we can use AI, but whether we can use it in ways that reinforce—rather than replace—our ability to engage, reflect, and persist through life’s challenges.

But here’s the thing: AI isn’t going away. The proverbial horse has left the barn. The train has departed the station. The only meaningful question now is how we choose to use it.

We must ask ourselves: Are AI developers building tools that deepen dependency, or ones that encourage deliberate growth? Are they designing digital mirrors that reflect who we are—or digital mentors that guide us toward who we could become? Are we, as users, demanding frictionless comfort, or are we asking for tools that nudge us toward growth?

Rather than resisting AI’s inevitability, we should focus on shaping its purpose. We need guidelines, not just guardrails. We must build AI that prioritizes long-term wellbeing over short-term relief—AI that fosters digital grit by encouraging users to pause, reflect, and practice emotional endurance.

This is a challenging goal. Perhaps even idealistic. But the alternative—technologies that reinforce our avoidance of discomfort—risks accelerating the very crisis we hope to address.

AI may not undo the challenges that technology has brought us—but it holds the power to shape a better future. If thoughtfully and intentionally guided, it can be more than a quick fix; it can be a catalyst for transformation. Used wisely, AI could help us reconnect with the very strengths we've been losing: resilience, reflection, and self-awareness. This won’t happen by accident—it requires intentional choices by designers, educators, and users alike. Whether we integrate AI as a crutch or a catalyst is up to us. Rather than erode our inner resources, it can be designed to rebuild them. With the right vision, AI can support not just how we live—but who we become.

The question isn’t just whether AI can help us cope—it’s whether it can help us grow. With the right vision and values, AI could be the very thing that helps us reclaim not only our focus and emotional capacity—but our full potential as human beings.