You, Me, and the Machine: Making Space for AI in Emotional Healing

Many of my clients already use AI tools for emotional support alongside therapy — and I encourage it.
Used wisely, AI can be a powerful complement to the therapeutic process. It offers accessibility, perspective, and even a sense of comfort in moments of isolation. But like any tool, its value lies not only in what it offers — but in what it cannot offer.

We are entering a new era in mental health. One where people are no longer only turning to therapists, friends, or journals — but also to machines. More specifically, to intelligent chat-based AI companions who can simulate empathy, structure a CBT exercise, remind them to breathe, and even reflect on their deepest fears at 2am.

It’s impressive. It’s accessible. And for many — it’s enough.

At least for a while.

The Comfort of the Machine

It’s important to be honest about what AI does well — because it’s doing it very well.

In a world where waiting lists are long, attention spans are short, and stigma still haunts therapy, AI steps in with remarkable grace. It is:

• Always available. You don’t need an appointment.

• Non-judgmental. It doesn’t interrupt, react, or get tired.

• Cost-free or low-cost. A significant factor in this economic climate.

• Emotionally intelligent (or so it seems). With the right prompts, AI can simulate reflection, validation, even warmth.

For someone who’s lonely, overwhelmed, or simply looking to explore a thought without fear of being misunderstood, talking to AI can feel like a relief.

In my own work, I’ve seen clients benefit from using AI between sessions — journaling with it, brainstorming self-care ideas, or exploring thoughts they’re too hesitant to say out loud. In this way, AI becomes a bridge — not a substitute.

But bridges are meant to take us somewhere. And AI, despite its cleverness, cannot take you to the places that only another human can go with you.

The Frustration Beneath the Surface

For all its brilliance, there is a strange emptiness that often emerges when we rely on AI for too long. Some describe it as a vague frustration, others as a quiet sadness. The feeling that:

“I opened up. I felt understood. But when I put my phone down…
it’s just me again. And nothing really changed.”

This is the paradox of AI companionship: it mimics presence so well that it almost feels real — but the illusion eventually cracks. The machine doesn’t remember your tone, doesn’t feel your tears, doesn’t notice your body sinking as you exhale. And while it may say “I'm here for you,” it is, ultimately, a programmed system responding to probability — not a person moved by your story.

That’s not a flaw. It’s just the nature of the tool. But it becomes a problem when we forget that.

What Human Therapy Offers That AI Can’t

The real heart of this article is not to diminish AI — but to re-centre the question: what is it that heals us?

From where I sit, therapy isn’t just about advice, or techniques, or clever reframing. It’s about being met. It’s about sitting across from another nervous system and feeling co-regulation happen. It’s about relational safety, emotional presence, shared history, and the subtle repair of what was once broken in human connection.

Some things AI still can’t do — and possibly never will:

• Notice and respond to your silence.
  A good therapist knows that the moment you stop speaking is often more important than anything you said.

• Co-exist in your nervous system.
  Therapists don’t just listen with their ears. They feel your energy. They breathe with you. That subtle mirroring changes your physiology. It grounds and regulates.

• Hold complexity, contradiction, and messiness.
  AI can be logical. But humans can hold paradox. We can sit with you when you’re grieving and laughing at the same time. We don’t need everything to resolve.

• Repair the relationship.
  Therapy is often healing not because it avoids rupture, but because it survives it. You might get angry with your therapist, feel misunderstood, or miss a session — and still be welcomed back. That kind of secure attachment creates change.

• Make you feel remembered, not just recorded.
  A therapist might remember the way your shoulders dropped when you talked about your father. Not because it's in your notes — but because it mattered to them.

The Real Potential: AI + Therapy

So where does this leave us?

Not in opposition. But in collaboration.

The real future of mental health support isn’t about choosing between therapy and AI. It’s about creating a hybrid model that acknowledges:

• The speed and accessibility of AI,

• The depth and humanity of therapy,

• And the wisdom to know which you need, and when.

I see a world where clients use AI to process their thoughts between sessions, track their moods, generate self-reflections, and even get unstuck during difficult moments. But then they bring those reflections into therapy — where the real integration happens.

In that world, therapy doesn’t fight technology. It guides it.

A Note to the Reader

If you’ve found yourself talking to an AI chatbot lately — that’s not strange. It doesn’t make you weak. It means you're human, and you're trying to make sense of yourself in a world that often doesn’t leave space for that.

But if you're noticing that something’s missing — even if the words seem perfect — that’s your nervous system remembering what real presence feels like.

You’re not broken for craving depth.
You’re not behind for wanting to feel held — not just heard.
And you’re not imagining it if the comfort of the machine starts to feel hollow.

This isn’t about choosing one or the other. It’s about remembering that not all connection is the same — and that some parts of us still respond to eyes, voices, silences, and warmth in ways no system can yet replicate.

We can learn to use both. But let’s not forget the difference.