For decades, AI replacing humans in the workforce has been a part of a dystopian vision. Now, it is becoming reality. This year alone, AI adoption has driven more than 10,000 job cuts in America. For a culture like ours, which so closely equates value with productivity, this disruption poses an existential threat as much as an economic one. It’s not only the loss of income we fear. It’s the loss of identity.
As AI becomes more capable, many workers will be left wondering: Who are we beyond our work, our titles, our productivity?
I had to confront that question years before AI forced the rest of us to.
In 2018, the company I had spent a decade building was on the verge of collapse. I was the CEO and co-founder of Embrace, a social enterprise that invented a low-cost, portable infant incubator for premature babies in underserved communities. My co-founders and I started the project as graduate students at Stanford. We set an ambitious goal: to save the lives of one million newborns.
After graduating, we moved to India—where nearly 40% of the world’s preterm babies are born—to launch the company. For years, I logged 80 to 100-hour weeks and never took weekends off. I gave everything I had to the mission. It became not just what I did, but who I was.
Over the years, our technology saved thousands of babies. We were recognized by President Barack Obama and funded by Beyoncé. I was named a TED Fellow, a Young Global Leader of the World Economic Forum, and profiled in global media. From the outside, my life looked like a success story. But what people didn’t see behind the headlines and accolades was the relentless grind. A grind that was slowly killing me.
A decade in, after insurmountable challenges, the company unraveled—and I did too. What broke me wasn’t just losing the company. It was losing myself. Without my purpose, my work, my title, I no longer knew who I was.
On the verge of a mental breakdown, I bought a one-way ticket to Indonesia and threw myself into a global healing quest with the same intensity I’d brought to building my company. I sat in the Indonesian jungle for days in silence. I tried psychedelics, somatic therapy, and even frog poison (I had no I was capable of vomiting so much). Back home, I signed up for every self-help seminar I could find. I did parts work, or Internal Family Systems, therapy. I worked with leading trauma experts. At one point, I had three therapists at the same time.
I was searching for something—anything—that could fix the brokenness I felt inside.
What I discovered instead was the truth that had been driving me all along.
I grew up in a home marked by physical violence. I learned early on that love was conditional, and achievement was the currency that earned it. When I failed to meet my parents’ expectations, I was punished—sometimes violently. In turn, I became a perfectionist. I chased gold stars, good grades and, eventually, global impact.
Through my healing journey, I began to see that the powerless feeling I’d carried as a child had driven me to help others who were powerless. I was trying to save the world because I couldn’t save myself. But my relentless drive was also fueled by a fear that if I stopped achieving, I would be unloved and unworthy.
Some people numb their pain with substances. Others—like me—use productivity. We get addicted to doing, helping, succeeding. Ambition and perfectionism become survival strategies, or ways to secure love, approval, and safety. What looks like drive or purpose can sometimes be unprocessed pain in disguise.
The real healing began when I let go of the need to do more—and began treating myself with compassion. The most important work I’ve ever done had nothing to do with key performance indicators, professional recognition, or even helping others. When I finally stopped striving, I discovered that my value didn’t come from what I did—it came from who I was.
In a miraculous turn of events, Embrace was saved. Today, it continues as a nonprofit that donates incubators, particularly to areas affected by humanitarian crises. This year, we reached the goal we’d first set as graduate students: we’ve helped over one million newborns worldwide. It’s an incredible milestone, but it’s not what I’m most proud of. What matters most is that I no longer confuse work with self-worth.
To be clear, work is important. We can’t simply walk away from our jobs. Work gives us livelihoods, structure, and purpose. But when our sense of worth fuses entirely with our output, we risk losing the very selves we bring to that work.
And today, with the rise of AI, many of us fear being displaced. Instead of asking how we can keep up, maybe the better question is: Who are we when we stop?
How to separate self-worth from work
We should not minimize or oversimplify the ways in which AI will disrupt the labor market. But we can, and should, begin conversations now about how to separate our output, productivity, and purpose from our inherent value as human beings.
Here are three steps we can all take to do so:
1. Pause the self-worth cycle
Sometimes we respond to feelings of inadequacy by working harder—taking on more, producing more, achieving more. But that cycle often leads to burnout. Instead, practice pausing. Ask yourself: Am I doing this because it truly matters—or because I’m afraid of not being enough? Even a 30-second pause can break the automatic reflex to prove yourself and help you act with intention instead of fear.
2. Practice self-compassion
Real resilience isn’t about pushing through exhaustion. It’s about treating ourselves with compassion—offering ourselves the same care we’d offer a friend. This can start small: take a walk when you’re overwhelmed, rest without guilt, or replace self-criticism with a kinder inner voice. This can disrupt the belief that our worth depends on our latest achievement or success.
3. Learn about yourself
And third, do some self-reflection and get to know all of the parts of yourself. Parts work (also known as Internal Family Systems) is a therapeutic approach that helps you recognize the different “parts” within yourself. High achievers often have a perfectionist part that pushes them to work harder to avoid failure or rejection. Instead of letting it take over, pause and ask: What is this part afraid of? What is it protecting me from? Meeting your parts with curiosity and compassion uncovers the fears beneath—and helps you move toward self-acceptance.
Over time, this practice breaks the exhausting need to constantly prove your value. And this will be crucial as we establish new economic and societal systems in the age of AI.
