Let me start by saying I’ve always prided myself on being a decent writer. People would tell me things like, “Wow, you’ve got such a gift!” or “You should write a book!” And honestly? I’d soak up those compliments like a biscuit in gravy. My style has always been quirky, off-the-cuff, and just a little ADHD-chaotic in the best possible way. (seriously shiny sparkly squirrel..)

But then I fell.

Literally. On my face.

And while my concrete porch will forever bear the faint outlines of my dignity, my brain took the real hit. Traumatic brain injury, or TBI, is what they called it. I prefer to call it “the thing that turned my life upside down and made writing feel like trying to juggle jellyfish.”

Before the fall, writing was my happy place. My flowy, weird, tell-it-like-it-is kind of style came naturally. Now? Writing feels like staring at a jigsaw puzzle where all the pieces are blank, and someone forgot to include the picture on the box. I developed something called aphasia, which is a fancy way of saying, “I forget words. A lot. All the time.” Combine that with my ADHD—which now feels like it’s been upgraded to ADHD Pro Max—and you’ve got a recipe for frustration with a side of tears. I cry a lot.

Enter AI Tools, Stage Left

To help bridge the gap between my brain and my keyboard, I started using writing software—programs that check my grammar, suggest better phrasing, and generally clean up the mess I make when trying to string words together. Think of it like hiring a neat-freak roommate who follows you around, tidying up and muttering about how you left a participle dangling in the corner. This software gives my writing polish and I can’t say I don’t like it because I like the product. But it does come with its drawbacks. It’s not easy straight for me to use any sort of software to write.

At first, I felt like a fraud. Like I was cheating. If I couldn’t write the way I used to, was I even a real writer anymore? Why bother. I imagined people reading my work and whispering, “She’s using AI. She’s faking it. She doesn’t deserve those compliments anymore.” The imposter syndrome hit hard.

Here’s the Thing

It took a lot of therapy, some serious self-reflection, and a good talking-to from my closest friends (and a Costco-sized bag of peanut butter pretzels) to realize that I’m not cheating. I’m adapting. If I’d broken my leg, no one would expect me to climb stairs without a crutch or a walker. This is the same thing. My brain fell, and this software is my cane.

The creative spark? That’s still mine. These programs don’t write for me—they just make sure my commas aren’t partying in the wrong places and that I don’t accidentally type “their” when I mean “they’re.” They don’t invent my quirky metaphors or my ridiculous tangents about shiny squirrels. The ridiculous, crazy bullshit drivers in Portland, with the middle of February is like when it’s been raining 45 days in a row and I wanna be someplace shiny and warm with drinks with little umbrellas in them. That’s all me.

Still Me, Just with Training Wheels

Does it take me longer to write now? Yep. Does it frustrate me that I sometimes can’t find the word I want or that I have to dictate half my thoughts because typing feels like running in molasses? Oh, absolutely. But you know what? I’m still here, writing, because that’s who I am. I mean, writing is like breathing. I have to do it every day and honestly these days I feel air hungry because I can’t get my words out without help and I’ve never been a person that likes to ask for help. I like to do it myself because I’m just a stubborn old fool that way

So if you’re reading this and thinking, “Wow, she makes it look so easy!” please know it’s not. It’s messy. It’s exhausting. It’s not what it used to be. But it’s honest. And if AI tools help me tell my story the way I want to tell it, then I’m okay with that.

Because at the end of the day, I’m still the same quirky weirdo I’ve always been—just now with a few more tools in my corner.