Big Girl Panties Diaries – Entry #16: Catfish Chic, Part 2: When Junior Miss Fingerlakes Met ChatGPT
Back in Entry #2 of this series—Catfish Chic: AI Gave Me a New Face and a Real Estate Career—I shared how an innocent experiment with AI headshots spiraled into an identity crisis (and, briefly, a fake real estate career).
That was my first taste of AI’s power to shape how we show up. This time, I’m talking about how it shapes how I write—and why I’ve let it into the most personal corner of my professional life: this series.
Back in 8th grade, I entered a beauty pageant at the local mall. And somehow, I won.
Crowned Junior Miss Fingerlakes, I earned the high honor of modeling in the back-to-school fashion show—probably in stirrup pants. But what clinched the crown wasn’t my walk. It was my answer to the question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
My answer? “I want to be a writer—so I can share my thoughts and ideas with others.”
Simple. Direct. And apparently, crown-worthy.
Fast forward a few decades, and here I am.
After years of writing corporate emails, executive scripts, and “per my last email” messages, I’m finally writing the way I always wanted to: With humor. With honesty. With my own damn voice.
Not because I just became a writer— But because I finally stopped editing myself out of the story.
I spent years being the ghostwriter. The scriptwriter. The someone-who-could-make-it-sound-better. But this series? Unpolished, a little snarky, and finally mine. And if AI wants to tag along, great. Just stay out of my metaphors.
And yes… I use AI. Not to replace me—but to support me.
This isn’t cheating. It’s not lazy. It’s not a robot takeover.
It’s a creative collaboration.
Here’s what happens:
I show up with the real story—the messy, human stuff. The burnout. The working mom. The baggage. The yoga metaphors I keep trying to make work.
And AI? It helps shape the sentences. Suggest structure. Push me to ask, “Is that what I really mean?” (It also reminds me when I’ve used the word “just” four times in one paragraph.)
Let’s be honest—sometimes my best lines come after lots of caffeine, a walk around the kitchen, and a back-and-forth with AI that ends in me typing: “No, sassier.”
AI doesn’t always “get it.” It hasn’t lived the grief, the pressure, or the late-night spiral. But it’s here to help—and sometimes that’s enough.
For someone who used to take pride in doing it all herself, this partnership has been weirdly freeing. I still write the story. I just don’t wrestle with the blank page alone anymore.
And I’ve been using the em dash for years—long before the bots showed up with autocomplete and attitude.
Because while AI can help me find the words, It didn’t live the story.
It didn’t survive the layoff. It didn’t cry in the hotel bathroom. It didn’t raise the girls. It didn’t doubt, restart, heal, and try again.
That was me. That’s always been me.
AI didn’t write through the grief of a diagnosis. It didn’t craft talking points while swallowing worry. It didn’t figure out how to lead when the lights were flickering and the people were scared. I did that. With shaky hands and a keyboard.
This series isn’t just writing. It’s how I process. How I heal. How I remind myself—and sometimes others—that we’re still here, and still capable of telling the truth with a little style.
I used to stare in awe at people who could find just the right thing to say. I don’t remember when the switch flipped, But now I’m that person— And I can’t turn it off.
And maybe that’s the point. Junior Miss Fingerlakes is still in there. She just has better shoes, a sharper voice, and a co-writer who knows how to stay in its lane.
Big Girl Panties Diaries Rule: Use whatever tools help you tell the truth—but never forget whose voice it is.
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