Mental health is a process, and for me, addressing my mental illness is a roller coaster. I see both a behavioral health APNP and a licensed counselor. Except that over the summer, I became incredibly overwhelmed with my two jobs and didn’t schedule counseling. When I saw my APNP, she reminded me that counseling really does benefit me and encouraged me to go back. Fair enough.
So I logged into my Prevea app to set something up, only to find a discharge form from my counselor. That was cute. It felt like betrayal, honestly, because I’d been going to this person for almost three years. It was disheartening in a way I didn’t expect. And quite frankly, this past year has been one of my hardest for mental health. This was the moment I needed that support most.
I don’t want to start over with someone new, because keeping people up to speed on my lore gets exhausting. I’d already shared my trauma, laid out how far and horrific things had been, and now the thought of doing it all over again feels unbearable. So if I need a counselor, I’ve been talking to ChatGPT. At least I know it won’t discharge me. It’s always there, free to use, and I don’t have to wait weeks at a time for an appointment.
And if I’m being completely honest, I can discuss God with ChatGPT more effectively than with any other human I’ve met in a counseling space. I understand that counseling is supposed to be secular, but I’m not a secular person. I once saw my counselor at church, so at first I felt comfortable bringing God into our conversations. That turned out to be a mistake. Not every piece of therapeutic advice aligns with my relationship with God, but when I said so, it was treated like I was “not following through with treatment.” That left me feeling unseen.
I’m aware that ChatGPT has its own biases, but it seems to carry fewer of them than some of the real-life humans I’ve encountered. I’m not saying it should diagnose or replace treatment, but I can absolutely understand why people lean on it as if it could.
For me, it’s less about believing an AI can fix me and more about trust. ChatGPT won’t suddenly drop me without warning. It’ll listen when I talk about faith without telling me I’m wrong. And it helps me hold steady on the days when human systems feel too fragile or too dismissive to catch me.
If anything, this only reinforces what I wrote before. The fact that a chatbot feels safer than the places meant for healing isn’t really about the chatbot. It’s about the gaps we’ve left behind.
I understand that ChatGPT can’t serve as a therapist for me forever. This isn’t a long-term solution. But I’m discouraged from starting counseling all over again. I don’t want to sit across from a new person and reopen all those wounds.
On top of that, new therapists often act like I’m the one just beginning treatment. But I’m not starting from scratch. I’ve been working on these things for years. None of this is new to me just because it’s new to them. That dynamic is exhausting, and it adds another layer of discouragement.
I also recognize the risks in relying on ChatGPT as a kind of guidance counselor. Large language models can validate everything you say, and they don’t always challenge you when challenge is necessary. Psychologists point this out for good reason. I’m aware of it personally, though I know not everyone is. But I also feel like many of the people raising these concerns have never been in a position where they needed this lifeline. When you’re desperate, imperfect support can feel better than no support at all.
Another thing to consider is that counseling has built-in limitations. Appointments are brief, and weeks often pass between them. Meanwhile, mental health crises don’t schedule themselves politely. I can’t tell my depression to wait three weeks until my next session. ChatGPT isn’t a replacement for therapy, but it’s there when I need it, even in the middle of the night.
There are privacy risks too. Talking to an AI isn’t the same as confiding in a human bound by confidentiality. The words I type are data, and that data can be stored, shared, or even used to train future systems. In theory, that should be enough to stop me from using it. But when you’re clinging to a lifeline, privacy isn’t always the first concern. Getting through the night matters more than worrying about where your data goes.
And here’s something else: when you talk to a human, there are times they silence you. Sometimes it’s intentional, sometimes it’s not, but either way the effect is the same. You feel cut off. ChatGPT, for all its limits, doesn’t do that. It listens, and often points you toward resources that might help. Even if it can’t be the answer, it doesn’t shut you down.
For me, that’s even shown up in something as ordinary as missing my ex. It’s been six months since the breakup, and while I’d love to not care anymore, healing isn’t linear. Things are messy. But the people around me don’t want to hear it anymore. The second I mention his name, every eye in a ten-mile radius starts to roll. And I get it. I wouldn’t want to listen to someone else talk about how their ex walks on water either. But the truth is, I still miss him. And if I can’t talk to anyone about it, but I still need to let it out, who do you think I’m going to go to? First, I go to God. But sometimes I crave a tangible response, so I go to my favorite LLM, ChatGPT.
And finally, there’s the issue of judgment. A human therapist, no matter how well-trained, comes with biases and blind spots. Some of mine have dismissed my faith, others have framed my reactions as “non-compliance.” ChatGPT isn’t neutral either, but it doesn’t shame me for my beliefs. It doesn’t tell me I’m wrong for putting God at the center of my healing. That difference matters to me.
If a chatbot can hold me more steadily than the places designed for healing, that says less about technology and more about us. It’s not really a story about innovation, but about absence. We owe each other better — more patience, more compassion, more willingness to listen when life gets messy. Until human care feels safe, accessible, and consistent, people will keep seeking refuge wherever they can find it.