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I, like so many of my peers, have been wondering endlessly about how to discourage, combat, disincentivize, or otherwise turn back the clock on generative AI usage by students. Every time I see an unnecessary list of three similar adjectives with an Oxford comma (why is it always “insightful, interesting, and deeply engaging”?), I die a little inside.When I tried to dig into the why behind my students turning to ChatGPT, however, I heard the same kinds of insecurity that I’ve always heard from these undergraduates – they fear that their writing is not good enough for college in some vague, undefinable way. This goes double for my first-generation and multilingual students, it seems. They’ve internalized that something is just not quite right about their writing style (or fear that college is just more than they can handle) and second-guess every sentence. It used to be that I could gently force them through enough weeks of low-stakes writing that they could come to realize I wasn’t overly concerned with their formality or how many esoteric words they could cram in – I just want to know what they think! Now, though, they see a possible fix and may try to use it before I can convince them how unnecessary it is.With this in mind, I’m trying a new strategy this semester. I have deliberately asked for messy writing. On quizzes and daily homework, I use broad questions and instruct my students that I’m not looking for a carefully constructed argument or a singular conclusion. Instead, I ask for the wild swirl of their thoughts, the rabbit-holes, and the contradictions. Sometimes, I give them the same question posed in two or three different ways, with examples they can latch onto – or not. If I want messy answers, why make my questions tidy? I assure them that there are many ways to respond, and that they can leave fussy grammar at the door for now. I want their authentic, raw voice, and a snapshot of what their brain is doing in that moment.While I’m a long ways from declaring victory, the results I’ve seen so far have been positive, even joyful. Students have mostly reacted with sighs of relief, and writing that feels much more casual and real. I’m hearing more silliness and humor than I usually do in the semester by this time – many of my learners are happy to use their social media voices (“um, like, no???”) which they speak with native fluency. There has been some anxiety from my self-identified perfectionists, who seem to not quite trust that messiness is allowed, or that they won’t be negatively judged for being informal. I’ve just reassured them that they can write however they please, but I’m grading the contents rather than the wrapping.As with any pedagogical shift, I’m a little conflicted. I do want students to practice formal and professional language and effective, accurate communication, but I also work at a school where our pre-professional programs typically maintain those standards – it’s alright with me if I end up teaching students how to modify their voices or communication styles based on the expectations they’re given. And heck, I teach Theology, a discipline that is notorious for being impossible to pin down or perfectly express, where metaphor and mystery rule – should I expect my students to talk with more confidence than the spiritual leaders they read? I think there is a value in being unsure, unclear, confused, and doubting, and trying to articulate that experience. So at least for now, this is what I’ll choose, and hope that emphasizing the process over the product offers my students something new – and makes them less likely to turn to artificial means.