AI therapy: Reflections on the unpredictable dance of healing

Feeling disconnected while casually wondering about the future of AI therapy and the profession I love, I decided to test the capabilities of AI as a therapeutic tool. I typed out my thoughts – unedited, raw – as if speaking to a therapist, and I asked the AI to respond in a way that mimicked real therapeutic dialogue. Below is my original entry, followed by the AI’s response and my reflections.

What I told the AI:

Lately, I’ve felt numb – not miserable, just distant, as though life is playing out through a soft filter. It’s neither painful nor comforting, merely uninspiring, as if nothing I do truly matters. I wonder why I slip into this state. What am I avoiding? What could be so uncomfortable that I’d rather retreat into this haze instead of facing it?

This feeling isn’t random – it follows a pattern. Every six weeks or so, I go through this phase, like a bear retreating into its cave for a brief hibernation. Maybe humans need periods of withdrawal too, but instead, we push forward relentlessly – always switched on, never truly recharging. Perhaps this is my way of pausing.

For now, I’ll let it be. Maybe when spring arrives, I’ll feel different.

The AI’s response:

On detachment:

"It sounds like you're experiencing a sense of distance from yourself and the world – not painful, but not engaging either. You’ve noticed that this comes and goes, almost like a rhythm. That awareness is important."

On curiosity vs. judgment:

"These moments of numbness can feel confusing, but they hold meaning. Exploring them with curiosity rather than frustration can offer clarity. I wonder – how do you feel when spring returns? What shifts within you?"

A (human) therapist’s perspective on AI

The AI’s response was thoughtful and validating. It didn’t try to "fix" me, nor did it dismiss my experience. Instead, it acknowledged my detachment and asked well-formed questions to encourage reflection. It recognised the cyclical nature of my numbness and suggested paying attention to any triggers or deeper emotions beneath the surface. The AI posed valuable inquiries: Could this numbness serve a purpose? What changes for me when spring arrives?

As a therapist myself, I appreciated these prompts. The AI was using techniques similar to empathic enquiry and specification, common methods in transactional analysis (TA) that invite introspection and self-awareness. At a basic level, AI-generated therapeutic responses can provide structured reflection.

However, despite the AI’s well-crafted response, its ability to facilitate meaningful change remains limited in my opinion. Why? Because it can only respond to what I explicitly – or consciously – share. A human therapist, in contrast, works far beyond the words a client speaks.

A therapist listens not only to language but to the entire person, watching micro-expressions, subtle shifts in breath and posture, breaks in eye contact, and a sudden hesitance around certain words. Therapy isn’t just about processing what is already conscious; it’s about uncovering what lies hidden beneath awareness.

For example, a therapist might notice a slight tension in a client's shoulders when discussing a particular memory. They might gently ask about that tension, helping the client recognise emotions they hadn’t even realised were present. AI cannot do this – it cannot observe, intuit, or dynamically adjust in real time… yet.

A skilled therapist adapts moment by moment, adjusting their voice, pacing, and even presence to match what a client needs. It’s a fluid, organic exchange, shaped by subtle cues and unpredictable discoveries. This dynamic interaction – the dance between therapist and client – is essential for deep therapeutic work.

In contrast, AI remains somewhat predictable, bound by the inputs it receives. It can only work with what is typed into a browser, responding based on existing patterns rather than a genuine real-time connection.

In my experience, the most transformative moments in therapy often come unexpectedly – from an unplanned insight, an intuitive shift, even a rupture between client and therapist, or the feeling of being profoundly seen by another human being. This alchemy is beyond the scope of algorithms. AI might provide valuable reflections, but true change requires something deeper – something inherently human.

So, is my profession safe? For now. Indeed, I see no reason why these two worlds cannot meet and work together for the benefit of clients. AI can offer structured guidance, but the essence of therapy – the unpredictable, relational, and deeply personal process of transformation – remains beyond its reach. Humans are still at the heart of what it means to be human.