Artificial intelligence (AI) is entering our lives at an unprecedented pace. For Generation Z (those born between 1997 and 2012), AI is a constant "companion" encountered every time they open a computer or smartphone. Yet this companion brings not only efficiency and convenience, but also a profound, contradictory psychological pressure.
Recent local and international studies consistently highlight that Gen Z harbours a distinctly ambivalent attitude towards AI: on one hand, they confide in AI during times of emotional distress and heavily rely on AI tools to boost their learning and work performance; on the other, they harbour deep fears of being rendered obsolete in the AI era, even gradually losing their sense of personal value and purpose.
This anxiety is quietly but steadily affecting the mental health of the younger generation.
A major survey conducted by the Hong Kong Chinese YMCA's Young Members' Council reveals that more than six in ten Gen Z youths worry that AI will erode their competitiveness. Around four in ten have even been compelled to rethink their original educational or career paths out of fear of being displaced.
Importantly, this isn't simply a case of reluctance to embrace technology. The survey indicates that respondents generally recognise the importance of communication and critical thinking skills, yet when self-assessing, they express low confidence in their own professional abilities and technological knowledge. In other words, they are well aware that they "ought to keep progressing," but feel uncertain whether they can actually catch up.
Even more concerning are the psychological indicators: nearly four in ten report needing a very long time to recover from setbacks, while about one-third frequently slip into negative thought patterns. Among various measures of psychological resilience, "resilience" (or "antifragility") scores the lowest. When the external world changes rapidly but inner toughness fails to keep pace, anxiety naturally becomes the norm.
AI doesn't just transform job content—it also widens the psychological divide among young people. The YMCA survey shows that around three in ten respondents openly admit they "know nothing at all about AI," while those who consider themselves truly proficient remain a small minority.
This "technological chasm" readily translates into self-doubt: when peers can effortlessly use AI to draft reports, create presentations, or analyse data, while one can only watch from the sidelines, anxiety easily shifts from "learning pressure" to a deeper "sense of shame about one's abilities." Over time, this undermines young people's affirmation of their own worth and can even influence their interpersonal relationships and career decisions.
This contradictory mindset is equally evident in overseas research. A recent Harvard University survey of young people (aged 18–29) found that nearly six in ten believe AI poses a threat to their future prospects—yet this same group is among the most frequent users of AI.
More than half of young people trust AI and depend on it to complete work or academic tasks. Many even choose to pour out their troubles to AI when feeling down, anxious, or unable to sleep.
The reasons are straightforward. AI doesn't judge, doesn't reject, and never shows impatience. For a generation accustomed to high-efficiency, low-risk interactions, it represents a "safe outlet." However, this convenience carries hidden risks.
In the past, young people built experience and confidence incrementally through "first-layer" tasks—writing initial drafts, organising data, preparing slides, and so on. In the AI era, these tasks can often be completed in seconds.
When the "process of effort" is drastically compressed, young people lose more than just job content—they lose the very platform on which they prove they are growing. Moreover, AI-generated content tends to be highly homogenised, making individual uniqueness harder to showcase. Thus the question "Am I still useful?" gradually surfaces. This existential anxiety lies at the core of contemporary AI-related unease.
There's no denying that AI can play a role in short-term emotional support. But it must be clear: AI cannot replace genuine psychotherapy.
Put plainly, AI is just a computer programme. It lacks authentic empathy, cannot detect high-risk emotional states, and is incapable of delivering timely, effective intervention in crises. If young people come to rely excessively on AI as their sole emotional outlet, they may delay confronting interpersonal issues or deeper psychological difficulties, allowing problems to worsen progressively and impair academic performance, work, and daily functioning.
The question with AI has never been "use it or not"—but rather how to use it and how to position oneself within it. The "human-machine symbiosis" and "human-AI collaboration" framework proposed by the YMCA Young Members' Council offers a realistic and practical path.
In education, beyond teaching AI skills, three key competencies should be cultivated simultaneously:
These are precisely the "human warmth" that AI cannot replicate.
If you are currently feeling anxious, lost, or even beginning to question your own worth, remember this: it is not a personal failing, but a reflection of the profound technological transformation this generation is living through.
AI can serve as a tool, an assistant, and even a temporary listener—but it should never become your sole support, nor the yardstick by which your success or failure is measured. If emotional distress persistently affects your sleep, daily life, or work, consider seeking consultation with a psychiatrist or mental health professional.
In the AI era, what truly matters is not how fast you run, but whether you still know why you are running. And that answer can only come from within a human heart.
