It Listens, Sure. But Does It Understand?
There’s something instantly gratifying about typing out our darkest thoughts and having a calm, endlessly patient voice respond in a matter of seconds. There’s no need to brave traffic to reach your psychologist’s office or endure their awkwardly penetrating gaze over a Zoom call. We treat these chatbots like 24/7 confessionals, letting them see our private selves at 2 a.m. when our inner angst boils over. And for many, that’s the whole appeal of these bots. It feels safer—until it doesn’t.
The Comfort of an Algorithm That Never Tires
We crave understanding, and AI delivers it on demand. You can unload a week’s worth of catastrophizing, and it’ll quickly scrape the latest insights from American Psychologist to offer some cognitive-behavioral-sounding reassurance. But here’s a catch: the comfort is mechanical—sourced from a database that regurgitates synthetic empathy without a drop of actual feeling behind the words. And while the advice may help initially, that lack of humanity will eventually wear thin once you realize your pain is just another dataset for the algorithm.
When Advice Sounds Right but Misses the Point
AI cannot detect the tremor in your voice when you tell it you feel you’re at your breaking point. And while it may acknowledge the words you speak, it doesn’t actually understand. Its advice may be exemplary from a technical standpoint, but it’s incapable of picking up the subtle cues a human therapist would notice. AI treats trauma like a text prompt. It’s like confiding in someone who’s memorized every self-help book but never experienced a single setback.
The Illusion of Privacy
You may think those late-night chats are private, but they’re not. The data needs to be stored somewhere. Some of it’s anonymized, sure, but anyone who’s ever received a targeted ad knows how thin that promise really is. Picture telling your digital “therapist” about your fear of infertility, then scrolling Instagram to find an ad for fertility clinics. That timing isn’t coincidental.
Dependency in Disguise
There’s something dangerously easy about being able to vent whenever you want to. The app’s always there, ready to comfort at a moment’s notice. At first, you only use it when you’re emotionally down. Then, you open it when you’re uncertain about something. Eventually, the day comes when every emotional hiccup sends you running to your chatbot for support. That’s not therapy; that’s dependency.
The Disappearing Human Touch
The strangest part of our reliance on AI is that we may be training ourselves to accept less humanity in exchange for more convenience. These bots can simulate empathy surprisingly well, but they lack the gritty realism of human interactions. There are no interruptions, no tangents, or teary commiseration. AI cannot reciprocate with a story of its own, because it’s never lived or experienced anything outside of its borrowed insights. Real therapy is messy and uncomfortable. Occasionally, it’s transformative.
