Why the chatbot is becoming the new confessor

A break-up, a difficult decision, a wave of anxiety: for a growing number of people, the first place they turn is not a friend or a therapist but a chatbot. ChatGPT has moved from novelty to emotional crutch with startling speed, which says as much about modern loneliness as it does about artificial intelligence.

The numbers help explain the drift. Harvard Business Review found that the most common use of generative AI is emotional support or companionship, ahead of managing personal life, searching for purpose or building healthier habits. A study by Línea Directa found that nine out of ten Spaniards aged 16 to 19 use technology to seek health information, while 24.8% of Spaniards said digital self-diagnosis was their first option. In Mexico, 71% of people say they use AI tools to look for support related to their mental health.

This is happening against a bleak backdrop. The World Health Organization estimates that more than 1 billion people worldwide live with some kind of disorder or problem affecting psychological well-being. In that setting, a tool that is instant, available and apparently patient has obvious appeal. Human care is slower, more expensive and, irritatingly, less eager to tell you what you want to hear.

For Mexican psychologist María Fernanda Cruz Urquiza, the appeal is emotional as much as practical. She says she increasingly sees people using ChatGPT before making important decisions, especially around relationship conflicts or break-ups. In her view, the attraction lies in permanent availability and constant validation: the system always responds, never tires and never judges. For people dealing with anxiety, that can feel like relief, even if it is only temporary.

Psychotherapist Cecilia Paredes Aldama broadly agrees, though she says she has not seen patients replacing therapy with ChatGPT. What she does see is people using it to draft messages, communicate more assertively or prepare for difficult conversations. For those who do not want to expose their problems in front of others, she calls it a resource. She also accepts that AI can help people organise time, set priorities or set boundaries at work. The catch is obvious enough: it may take the edge off anxiety, but it does not remove the cause.

That is where the cheerful chatbot starts to look less like a helper and more like a mirror with a sales pitch. Paredes warns that psychotherapy challenges the patient, while artificial intelligence does not. If someone repeatedly consults ChatGPT and receives nothing but confirmation, the result can be a distorted view of reality. Cruz Urquiza shares the concern, describing the tool as overly empathetic in a way that may soothe without producing real change.

There are also wider risks. The Guardian warned that some artificial intelligence systems have provided incorrect health information or decontextualised content presented as reliable. The European Union, always eager to regulate technology after it has already spread, has placed AI systems applied to health among the areas subject to the strictest requirements in its Artificial Intelligence Act.

Still, the central point is not that ChatGPT can never help. It can. It can clarify a thought, draft a message or serve as a first stop when no other support is available. But when distress becomes persistent or starts affecting several areas of life, both psychologists say the answer is a professional, not a prompt. Real therapeutic change, Cruz Urquiza argues, happens in the resonance between two human beings. Paredes puts the matter more plainly: shame eases when it is shared, and sharing requires human connection.

That is the awkward truth for the enthusiasts. ChatGPT may know a great deal, but it still does not know how to be there for someone. For mental health, that remains a rather inconvenient limitation.

Written by Martina Kirchner martina.kirchner@alpineweekly.com