TL;DR

II’m back after a break for Chinese New Year!

Process-based teaching is meant to protect thinking. With AI in the classroom, it can accidentally protect the appearance of thinking instead. But before any process can hold, the essential conditions for learning have to be in place. This article looks at both through a self-determination lens: the load-bearing walls a classroom needs, and the six predictable ways a process still breaks down even when they’re standing.

Intro

If you’ve seen me speak, you’ve heard me say that AI doesn’t create new problems. It reveals old ones.

Take one that’s been hiding in plain sight: we have long valued the static artifact of a finished essay over the messy, cognitive act of actually constructing an argument. When a student can generate something that looks finished in seconds, old habits get exposed. When the essential conditions for real learning aren’t in place, students learn quickly that what matters is to look finished, not to think deeply, or even to know what that looks like. And when a dysfunctional system meets a tool that can produce polish without effort, it shows its hand.

Process-based teaching is meant to protect thinking. In the AI era, it can accidentally protect the appearance of thinking. And here’s the uncomfortable part: most teachers think of themselves as process people. They believe in the work. They value thinking over polish. The problem isn’t bad intentions or misplaced values. It’s the behavioral implementation gap between believing in process and actually designing for it.

That gap is what separates an AI-enhanced educator from a slop-enabling one. Not philosophy. Design.

This article is a list of the six predictable ways process-based learning breaks down with AI, plus the early look-fors that tell you it’s happening.

Before we start, great process design requires the essentials to be in place first. I didn’t invent those essentials. Deci and Ryan’s “Self-Determination Theory” (SDT) names three of them: autonomy, competence, and relatedness. That third one is worth pausing on, because relatedness is the term that tends to trip people up. In SDT, it refers to the felt sense of being connected to the people around you, of mattering to others, and having others matter to you. But in a classroom context, relatedness fails in two distinct ways that are easy to confuse. A student can feel genuinely cared for by their teacher and still have no personal stake in the work. And a task can connect to the real world and still land in a room where a student doesn’t feel seen or cared for by their teacher.

So I’ve split relatedness into two walls, drawing on Zaretta Hammond’s work in Culturally Responsive Teaching and the Brain: belonging, the felt sense that a student is known in the room, not just present in it, and relevance, my own interpretation of her ideas around cultural connections to learning: the sense that this particular work has something to do with a student’s own life, community, and experience.

So: Belonging. Competence. Relevance. Autonomy. These are the load-bearing walls of a classroom, as I see it. A student who doesn’t feel seen will feel invisible in the learning. A student who finds the task too difficult will use AI as relief. A student with no personal stake in the work will use AI as the fastest way out of what looks like a checklist. Process design without these walls just creates more elaborate hoops to jump through.

So the conditions come first. But here’s the harder truth: even when they’re strong, a process can still fail. Small design mistakes compound fast when “finished work” is one prompt away. That’s what this article is about. Here’s how processes break.

Six Common Pitfalls of AI-Enhanced Processes

1) Vague language leads to vague behavior

Every breakdown in this pitfall starts with unclear communication. When teachers say “AI allowed” without defining what that means, and when schools frame AI as “just a tool” without examining what that metaphor actually teaches, students are left to interpret expectations that were never made explicit. That’s not an academic honesty problem, though many teachers see it as one. For many students, it’s actually a communication problem.

“AI allowed” without a definition leaves students guessing. Some use AI for idea support. Others outsource the whole task. Mismatched voices, “gotcha” moments, and disputes are the predictable result of thinking expectations that were never stated clearly in the first place.

The same problem lives in the metaphors we use in the classroom. Tool language is genuinely useful early on. It makes AI feel manageable, puts responsibility back on the human, and gives schools a practical framework for early questions: What is this for? Who should use it? When does it help? But tools are neutral. Generative AI is not. It pushes back, persuades, and carries patterns from its training data in ways a hammer never could.

Framing AI as a guest collaborator picks up where tool language stops, and it carries a different set of values with it. A guest has a role, operates within norms, and is welcome but not in charge. But more than that, a guest changes the nature of the work. Learning isn’t transmitted from AI to student. It’s constructed through the interaction: the push and pull of a draft that gets questioned, an argument that gets challenged, an idea that gets stress-tested and comes back stronger. The guest doesn’t write your essay. The guest reacts to your draft, pushes back on your argument, and asks what you actually meant. That’s a co-learning relationship that we like and want to continue to instill in young people.

There’s a relevance cost to vague language, too. When task language is generic, it signals that any student could have received this assignment. It doesn’t invite students to bring their own experience, community, or perspective into the thinking, and it doesn’t honor or celebrate the families, values, and identities they carry into the room. A student who doesn’t see themselves in the work has no particular reason to do the cognitive heavy lifting when AI can produce something plausible without any of it.

Spot the pitfall early:

* You might see “AI allowed” in the task brief, and nothing specific beyond that. Fix it with one concrete allowed/not-allowed example and a short why. Then ask yourself one more question: does the task brief invite students to bring their own experience, community, or identity into the thinking? Generic language and vague AI permissions tend to arrive together, and they send the same message: this work wasn't designed with you in mind. Students need to see what your expectations look like in action, and they need to see themselves in the task.

* You might hear students say “I just used it to clean it up,” “you never said we couldn’t,” “just tell me what to do,” or “does it have to be in my own words?” Fix it with precision: name the step in your process where AI enters, and name who owns the decisions. “In this step, use AI to draft two alternative structures. In the next step, the decisions are yours.” And model it first: “Here’s how I used AI this week and what I noticed.” That positions you as a co-learner and shows students what honest reflection on AI use actually sounds like.

* You might notice students describing AI's role in completely different ways in the middle of a task that you thought had clear expectations. That's not a dishonesty problem. It's a norming problem: the class never built shared language around what AI's role actually is in this process. Fix it by making that conversation public. Post a one-sentence class agreement on the wall: “In this task, AI is a guest at the drafting stage. The decisions stay with the writer.”

2) Documentation serves policing rather than learning

A process designed to protect academic integrity isn’t automatically a bad thing. But when documentation serves the teacher’s need to prove honesty rather than the student’s need to see their own growth, the purpose gets inverted. Breadcrumbs that could show a learner how far their thinking has traveled become evidence in a case. A folio that could make effort visible and meaningful becomes a paper trail. And students who already weren’t sure they belonged in the room now have confirmation that they’re being watched rather than supported or coached. They’ll invest in not getting caught rather than in the learning.

The better question isn’t “how do we catch them?” It’s “what have we designed that makes outsourcing feel logical?” If the assignment is product-only and thinking never has to show up during the work, detection won’t fix the design problem. A task that hides thinking produces students who hide AI use. That’s a design flaw, not a character flaw. The stronger move is a process so intentional that AI use is built in, expected at a specific moment, and tied to a specific cognitive move. When the teacher defines where AI enters and what the student has to do with it, there’s nothing to hide. There’s also no ambiguity about where the effort needs to be exerted. A rigorous system of thought (I love that phrase) doesn’t leave room for shortcuts because it already accounts for them.

Spot the pitfall early:

* You might see process steps treated as proof rather than support, and AI use t...