Lyba Laraib
There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes from being surrounded by people and still feeling like you have no one to talk to. It is a feeling many of us know intimately. And according to a worrying new trend, a growing number of people are turning to artificial intelligence to fill that void.
Recent findings from the British Psychological Society paint a striking picture. In a survey of nearly 200 psychologists, counselors, and psychotherapists, nearly half reported a significant increase in clients using AI chatbots for mental health support over the past year . Perhaps more tellingly, seven in ten professionals expressed concern about this shift, with the vast majority worried about the lack of clinical oversight and the potential for inaccurate, even harmful, advice .
But the most human detail in this data is not the statistics. It is the reason why. One psychologist in the survey noted that people are choosing AI because it feels “safer” it sidesteps the messy, vulnerable risk of trusting another person . There is no fear of judgment, no awkwardness, no need to manage the other person’s emotions. Just a clean, predictable transaction.
On the surface, this makes sense. We live in an age of efficiency. We order our food, our groceries, and our entertainment with a tap. Why not our emotional support? The appeal is obvious, AI is available at 3 a.m. It never gets tired of listening. It never sighs or looks at its watch. For someone grappling with shame or social anxiety, that perceived safety can feel like a lifeline.
Yet the very thing that makes AI attractive is also what makes it insufficient. The psychologist who raised the alarm warned that relying on machines for emotional intimacy risks deepening social isolation, weakening our social skills, and diminishing real human connection, all factors directly tied to our quality of life.
There is a profound difference between venting into a void and being truly heard by another human being. A machine can reflect our words back to us, but it cannot sit with us in silence. It cannot offer the quiet solidarity of a shared glance, the warmth of a hand on the shoulder, or the hard-won wisdom of someone who has walked through their own darkness. Therapy, at its best, is not just a service. It is a relationship. And relationships, by their very nature, require risk.
This is not to demonize technology. AI has its place, and for some, it may serve as a first step, a bridge to help someone articulate feelings they have never spoken aloud. But a bridge is not a destination. If we begin to prefer the safety of the artificial to the unpredictability of the real, we risk starving ourselves of the very thing that makes us human.
The professionals surveyed are not Luddites. They are people who have sat across from patients in crisis and know the weight of that room. Their concern is not about innovation, but about care. As one expert put it, AI cannot replace the vital human connection in mental health care .
So the next time you feel the urge to type your heartache into a chatbot, pause for a moment. Ask yourself what you are really seeking. If it is information, fine. But if it is connection, remember that the messiest, most inconvenient, most beautiful thing we have to offer each other is our presence. It is not always available at 3 a.m. It does not always say the right thing. But it is real. And real is what heals.
