I’ve been thinking a bit about AI and therapy lately. More people are turning to chatbots for emotional support, and I’m often asked whether AI could replace seeing a therapist. My honest answer is that it depends what you think therapy is for. I’m firmly on Team Human, though not because I think AI doesn't have its merits.
A confession
I’m a therapist, so of course I’d say that. I also use AI regularly. It helps me wade through mountains of information, shape a tricky message, and test my thinking against my own experience and values. I've recruited it to help me craft this post. I don’t think using AI for support is inherently bad, and if you’ve ever talked through a hard night with a chatbot (I have!), there’s no shame in that.
The broken arm test
If you break your arm, you see a doctor. Sore back? A physio or chiropractor. Most of us don’t hesitate to pay for that care. Yet with mental health, there’s often hesitation, and sometimes stigma, about seeking professional help, even though our wellbeing is every bit as important as our physical health.
I want to be careful here, because cost is a real barrier. With so many households under financial pressure, and with waitlists and shortages of practitioners, especially outside the cities, plenty of people aren’t choosing AI over therapy. They’re choosing it over nothing. That’s a separate conversation, but it’s closely related, because it reflects how we, as a society, prioritise mental health. For many people, the question isn’t “why wouldn’t you pay for therapy?” but “how do we make support easier to access?”
The problem with “perfect”
AI is available at 3am. It never cancels, never gets tired, never has a bad day. It can also be remarkably good at sounding understanding. Studies have found that people sometimes rate AI responses as more empathetic than a human’s. I take that seriously.
But feeling well-responded-to isn’t the same as healing. An always-available, always-agreeable experience creates an expectation that support should be seamless and never let us down, which isn’t realistic in a human life. We don’t heal through perfection. We heal through relationship, with its misattunements, awkward silences and disappointments, and the repair that follows.
For people who grew up feeling they had to be perfect, a therapist’s imperfection can actually be corrective. When you can say “that missed the mark” and be met with curiosity rather than defensiveness, you’re practising something you can take into every relationship. Repair needs two people, both with something at stake. AI needs nothing from you and risks nothing with you.
And there’s timing. Grief, trauma and change unfold at a human pace. An instant answer might feel right in the moment, but insight can’t always be rushed.
Context is everything
Ask a chatbot for ways to feel more grateful and it might suggest a walk around the block (but what if your street doesn’t feel safe?) or reaching out to your dad (but what if that relationship is complicated?). It can’t know your history, your body, or the thing you almost said. A therapist notices the shift in your voice, the pause before you answer.
That’s why I use AI as a tool but keep my own experience and values in the driver’s seat. Discernment is a skill, and it’s one we risk losing if answers are always in our pocket and we stop checking in with ourselves.
Being in relationship
My therapeutic work draws on a Gestalt and humanistic perspective, which sees wholeness as growing from our relationship with ourselves, with others, and with our environment. With greater awareness comes understanding, compassion and self-agency. This tends to happen when another person is present with us. That’s true whether you meet your therapist in a room or over a screen. Presence is about attention and connection, not geography.
Keeping our social muscles
I also wonder about our social muscles. Many of us now turn to a screen first for information and support, rather than to another person. Social media and AI are different things, but they share a pull: they’re easy, and people are sometimes hard.
For some, AI genuinely feels safer. If you’re socially anxious, neurodivergent, or have had a poor experience with therapy, it may be a gentler place to begin. That matters. But for people who are already isolated, a tool that’s always agreeable can quietly make real-world connection feel riskier. It’s a concern rather than a certainty, as research on this is still emerging.
I’m Gen X, so I remember life before all this, and I know that shapes my view. Would my teenager say the same? Probably not. That’s worth being curious about rather than dismissive of.
Accountability and privacy
There’s one more difference worth naming. Registered practitioners in Australia are bound by professional standards, confidentiality and a regulator. Many AI tools aren’t designed for mental health, and what happens to your information varies widely. It’s also hard to tell which tools were built with mental health professionals and which weren’t.
A more balanced approach
If you’re using AI for support, here are some things to consider:
Use it as a tool, not a confidant. It’s good for organising thoughts, learning concepts, or preparing for a difficult conversation.
Check what’s behind it. Was it developed with mental health professionals? Who sees your information? What happens if you’re in crisis?
Notice the effect. Are you reaching out to people more, or less?
Be cautious in a crisis. AI can’t assess risk or be with you in the way a person can.
Let it be a bridge. If it helps you take a first step towards seeing someone, that’s a good outcome.
If cost is a barrier, it’s worth asking your GP about a mental health care plan and Medicare rebates, or exploring community and low-cost services. You deserve support that fits your circumstances.
People need people
Technology will keep evolving, and I’m not here to argue it away. But I don’t believe anything replaces being witnessed in your vulnerability by another human, learning how you show up in the world and the choices you make. People need people. That’s why I’m on Team Human.
If you’re struggling right now, you don’t have to work it out alone. Reach out to a trusted person, your GP, or call Lifeline on 13 11 14 at any time. If you’d like to talk with me, you can get in touch here.
