Why Does Making Life Easier Feel Like Cheating?

People gossiping

I’ve been thinking a lot about two very unrelated things: GLP-1 medications and AI.

I recognize that these things are very different, and my thoughts aren’t really about either of them as tools. What’s got me interested is the reaction so many people have when others use them.

It’s almost as if, because both have the potential to make something easier, their use is looked down upon, devalued or considered cheating. Somehow it becomes a shortcut or even a personal failing.

Why Do We Place So Much Value on Struggle?

I grew up in a household where the message was that work was supposed to be hard. It was supposed to suck, isn’t that why it’s called work?

This mentality still lingers in how we think about work: how hard we work, how long we work and how much we can accomplish without help. But it also shows up in parenting, wellness, exercise, aging and recovery. I see it all the time on social media, in conversations with friends and even within my own close circle.

If I produce, I’m worthy. If I suffer during production, even better.

Asking for help is considered a failing or weakness. Difficult things are valued, and people who do them without complaint are seen as people with integrity. Salt-of-the-earth good people.

But is doing something the hardest possible way really a measure of character?

Why Are GLP-1 Medications Considered Cheating?

There has always been this very unfair underlying message that weight is a reflection of discipline. Living in a larger body is often interpreted as a lack of effort, restraint or willpower.

My twenties were in the ’90s, so SlimFast shakes, SnackWell’s cookies and I go way back. I’ve been in innumerable conversations—truly, thousands—where someone shows up whom we haven’t seen in a while, they’ve lost weight, and the first thing someone says is, “You look amazing!”

Now that GLP-1 medications are in the picture, that excitement has tempered a bit. The responses can be tainted with an air of high horsery and moral judgment.

It’s as if there is a socially acceptable path from point A to point B. If that path required turmoil, restriction and struggle, you will be applauded. You are “amazing.” But if the same result came with the support of medication—not so much.

GLP-1 medications complicate the idea that weight is simply about willpower. There are legitimate conversations to have about side effects, risks and whether these medications are appropriate for a particular person. But that’s different from believing someone’s result is less valuable because medication made the path easier.

Why Is Using AI Considered Cheating?

I’ve noticed similar reactions to the use of AI.

I’m not talking about misinformation or using AI to the point that we lose our ability to think or create. I’m also not talking about its environmental impact. What I’m referring to is the use of AI as a support tool—and why receiving that support somehow makes the result less valuable.

We accept all kinds of support without questioning the legitimacy of the result: editors, tutors, trainers, accountants, calculators and GPS. So why do certain tools provoke such a strong moral reaction?

It makes me wonder whether we’ve become so accustomed to valuing the push and the struggle that we confuse the amount of effort involved with the value of the outcome.

If a tool helps someone organize their thoughts, move beyond a blank page or complete a task more efficiently, does that automatically make the work less meaningful? Does spending more time struggling with something make the result more valuable?

When Did Struggle Become Proof of Worth?

Here in the United States, we put so much importance on being in a constant state of busyness.

I used to love the start of the year when the new calendars came out. I loved filling that thing up with all my activities and looking upon it adoringly—all color-coded and written in tiny, neat scrawl. I was so proud.

It has taken me a long time to let go of the idea that my worthiness was wrapped up in how busy I was, how long I sat at the computer or how many side hustles I had. It’s still a daily challenge.

When did we collectively determine that struggling was something to be valued and proof of our worthiness?

How Does This Show Up in Yoga and Wellness?

Honestly, I brush up hard against this mentality in yoga and wellness.

As a yoga teacher, I’ve watched students struggle through vinyasa after vinyasa, refuse a prop or hurt themselves in a pose because they pushed a little too far or held it a little too long.

There’s this idea that if we turn the heat up higher, flow through the poses faster or take the most physically demanding class, it must be better. Healthier. The goal we should all be trying to reach.

Yoga is not about avoiding discomfort or effort. It’s about teaching discernment to the point that students can embody it—not just understand it cognitively, but actually feel it in their bodies.

Oh, this class depletes me.

Oh, I tweaked my shoulder because I was trying to match the person next to me instead of taking the modification my teacher offered.

Oh, even though my body is telling me that I need to recover, my wearable says I haven’t spent enough time in a certain heart-rate zone, so I’m going to run anyway because I need to get my cardio in.

Yoga is about identifying when moving beyond your capacity has become a pattern—and recognizing when that pattern is no longer in your best interest. It’s about learning when accepting support is the more skillful choice.

Every tool has limitations and the ability to be misused. There are also plenty of situations in which the path of least resistance isn’t the best one. Sometimes we do need to tolerate discomfort, take difficult steps and move through things we would rather avoid.

But struggle itself is not proof that we are doing something worthwhile.

Instead of asking whether someone did it the hard way, maybe we should be asking whether they used the support thoughtfully. Was it appropriate for them? Did it help? Did it allow them to participate more fully in their own life?

There is no prize for making everything harder than it needs to be.

Sometimes growth requires effort, and sometimes it requires support. The real work may be learning to recognize which one we actually need.