I Let AI Write My Memoir Opening. Here's What I Lost
The Experiment
I decided to test something.
With all the talk about AI writing tools, I wanted to see what would happen if I let ChatGPT write the opening of my memoir. Not to actually use it—but to understand what we're really talking about when we say "AI-generated memoir."
So I went to ChatGPT and simply typed: "Write my story."
It immediately offered me four lenses to choose from:
The Becoming Story – How you became the woman you are—through choices, risks, reinventions
The Legacy Story – What you want your children, grandchildren, or community to understand about how to live
The Hidden Chapters Story – The parts that were quiet, postponed, misunderstood, or carried privately
The Life-in-Seasons Story – Your life told through phases
I chose The Legacy Story—the one I'd been thinking about writing for years.
Then ChatGPT gave me three prompts:
There was a moment (or season) when everything subtly shifted. What was happening then?
People often misunderstand this about me: (Finish the sentence.)
If someone read my life story and remembered only one truth, I'd want it to be: (Finish the sentence.)
I answered just one of them—#2:
"People often misunderstood that I was tough. My resting bitch face was 97% according to family members."
That's it. One sentence. Twenty-one words.
What ChatGPT Generated
In less than 60 seconds, I had this:
People thought I was tough.
Not strong—tough. The kind of woman who could take a hit and keep walking, who didn't need much, who wasn't easily moved. My face told that story before I ever opened my mouth. According to family legend, my resting bitch face registered at ninety-seven percent. I've always loved that statistic. It makes me sound more armored than I ever felt.
The truth is, I wasn't tough. I was attentive. I was watching, measuring, holding more than I showed. I learned early that steadiness is often mistaken for hardness, and silence for judgment. So people filled in the blanks. They assumed I was unshakeable, maybe even unapproachable. What they couldn't see was how much I was carrying—how much tenderness lived just beneath the surface, waiting for a reason to come forward.
This is the part I want you to understand, especially those who come after me: a woman can look composed and still be choosing courage every day. She can appear firm while quietly practicing mercy. What you see on the outside is rarely the whole story—and it is never the measure of a life.
This story isn't about proving I was softer than I looked. It's about telling the truth of how I lived: attentive, devoted, awake to what mattered, even when my face suggested otherwise.
I sat back and stared at the screen.
It was... beautiful.
The rhythm was perfect. The insights felt profound. The prose was polished and emotionally resonant.
But as I read it a second time, something uncomfortable settled in my chest.
The Problem
This wasn't my story.
It was a story about my one-sentence prompt. But it wasn't mine.
Here's what was missing:
❌ No Specific Memories
Which moment was I thinking of when I said people misunderstood me?
When did someone first call me tough?
What was happening in my life that made me develop that face?
ChatGPT couldn't know. I never told it.
❌ No Real People
Who specifically misunderstood me?
What did they say that hurt or frustrated me?
How did this affect my relationships?
ChatGPT made up generic stand-ins: "people," "family legend," "those who come after me."
But memoir is about specific people. Real names. Actual conversations.
❌ No Concrete Details
What was my face actually like??
What did "attentive" look like in my daily life?
What does "practicing mercy" mean in my story?
ChatGPT gave me beautiful abstract concepts. But readers don't connect with abstractions—they connect with scenes, sensory details, specific moments.
❌ No Discovery
This is the biggest loss.
ChatGPT did all the meaning-making for me. It decided what my "resting bitch face" meant. It interpreted my experience. It drew conclusions about who I was and what I wanted people to know.
But that work is the point of memoir writing.
The work of sitting with a memory and asking, "What did this really mean?"
It's the process of realizing, years later, that what you initially perceived as hardness was actually a form of protection.
It's the process of uncovering the hidden patterns that you were blind to during your experience.
That's where the transformation happens. And AI skipped it entirely.
What the Real Work Looks Like
After seeing ChatGPT's version, I decided to do the actual work.
I sat with my prompt, not ChatGPT's, and I asked myself:
The Questions ChatGPT Didn't Ask
When was the first time someone misunderstood your face as toughness?
Did you like being thought of as tough?
Yes and no.
What is the real you?
I can be tough and the life of the party.
Here's What the Real Work Produced
“You have an RBF of ninety-seven percent, Mom,” my daughter tells me.
I’m well past fifty by then. The corners of my mouth have begun to drift south after decades of smiling, laughing, worrying, loving and after years of building a business while juggling joy, stress, and responsibility. When I’m stressed or alone, I go quiet. And my face at rest, what my family jokingly calls “ninety-seven percent resting bitch face,” apparently reads as judgment or disappointment.
What they couldn’t see was this: I was thinking. Always thinking.
If we don't secure that contract, what alternative solutions can we consider?
If I travel for a week, will my mother think I’m neglecting the kids?
Why can’t someone make heels I can dress up and exercise in?
If I smile too much, will they see me as capable or as a pushover?
The face my employees described as “tough but fair” was really a small internal command center running scenarios, measuring risk, trying to keep everyone steady. Including myself.
That’s when I learned RBF stood for “Resting Bitch Face,” and apparently, my face had a problem.
I was told this in my late fifties, right around the time aging began leaving its own editorial comments on my features. So, I’m not convinced this is the most scientific diagnosis. Gravity, after all, plays a role. Do I love the label? No. I want my grandchildren, my family, the people I love to see me as warm, open, generous, especially when my face is doing absolutely nothing. I hope they always feel loved by me, encouraged and safe. That matters to me more than anything.
And yet… I don’t entirely reject it either.
In business, I spent years competing in mostly male environments that rewarded toughness. That edge signaled competence. Strength. That I wasn’t to be dismissed. It became a kind of armor, one I wore well, even when it didn’t match how I felt inside. I was called a “dragon lady,” which my business partner, Tim said was a compliment. Others settled on “tough but fair.”
People tend to meet two versions of me. Some experience me as outgoing and engaging. Others find me direct, serious, maybe even unapproachable. The truth lives somewhere in between. Colleagues who knew me only in professional settings often saw the armor. The people who knew me well saw what lived beneath it.
How we read one another is shaped by context, comfort, and expectation. What I want you to understand about me, and about life is this: what you see on the outside is rarely the whole story.
When I’m comfortable, I can be the life of the party. In unfamiliar or demanding spaces, I may seem guarded. But every day, I chose how to behave. I listened. I was fair. I spoke honestly. I told the truth. I apologized when I was wrong. I cared deeply. I laughed with the people who mattered.
So this is what I’ll leave you with:
Be yourself, without apology.
Don’t armor up unless you truly need to.
And remember that a droopy face may still belong to a generous, thinking, deeply loving heart.
The Difference
ChatGPT gave me:
✓ Beautiful prose
✓ Emotional resonance
✓ A finished product
But the real work gave me:
✓ Specific memory (My conversation with my child)
✓ Concrete scene (the face with corners of the mouth drooped)
✓ Actual discovery
✓ The transformation that comes from finally understanding
The ChatGPT version sounds like a memoir.
But it's not my memoir—because I didn't do the work of remembering, discovering, and making meaning.
What This Means for Memoir Writers
If you're considering using AI to write your life story, ask yourself:
What are you actually looking for?
If you want:
A polished document quickly
Generic wisdom that sounds profound
Something that looks like memoir but doesn't require emotional work
Then AI can deliver.
But if you want:
Your actual story, with real memories and real people
The transformation that comes from doing the work
A legacy that's authentically yours
The healing that happens through the process of writing
A story that readers will truly connect with
Then you need to do the real work.
The Questions You Should Be Asking
Instead of letting AI generate your memoir, try sitting with these questions:
What specific moment am I thinking of when I say this about myself?
Who was there? What did they say or do?
What details do I remember? (Sounds, smells, what I was wearing, time of day)
What was I feeling in my body during that moment?
What did I not understand then that I understand now?
What pattern do I see looking back that I couldn't see while living it?
Why does this memory still matter to me?
These questions take time. They require sitting with discomfort. They demand honesty.
And that's exactly why they're valuable.
The Work That Can't Be Outsourced
AI can generate prose. It can mimic emotional resonance. It can create something that looks like memoir.
But it can't:
Remember your seventh-grade classroom
Feel your father's temper
Discover your patterns
Experience your moment of being truly seen
Make your meaning from your life
"The memoir isn't in the polished prose. It's in the hours you spend remembering what you thought you'd forgotten."
What to do Instead
Work with a memoir guide (Guided Autobiography Instructor), a real human who facilitates the questions ChatGPT never could.
This work is slow. It's messy. Sometimes it's painful.
But it's also:
Yours
True
Transformative
Worth it
Join the Conversation
Have you tried using AI for personal writing? What did you discover?
What concerns you most about AI-generated memoir?
What question would you ask someone writing their life story that AI never could?
Share in the comments below. Let's protect the work that matters.
This article is part of our series on authentic storytelling in an AI age. Read more: "AI Can't Write Your Memoir (And Here's Why That Matters)"
About The Story Guides: We believe every life story deserves to be told with authenticity, care, and respect for the transformative power of the writing journey. We help people do the real work of memoir, because that's where the magic happens.
If You're Ready to Do the Real Work
Working with a memoir guide means:
Support for the emotional work of remembering
Help finding your authentic voice
A companion for the journey, not just the destination
[Learn more about our guided autobiography services →]
Because your story deserves more than an algorithm.
