By skyforbes 
As I sit nervously at my desk, eyes glued to my laptop, I cling to the faint hope that pouring my heart out to my $200‑an‑hour therapist will finally untangle my boyfriend drama. But after an hour of emotional word‑vomit, she looks at me calmly and says, “It’s you who has to make the decisions for yourself.” No kidding, Sherlock. I close the call feeling deflated — and then I open ChatGPT.
Suddenly there it is: AI advice, detailed and thoughtful, laying out options with consequences, even scripting what I could say word for word. AI for the win.
The Magic of AI Advice
I mean, it’s kind of amazing, In minutes ChatGPT gives me advice that feels real and tailored, responds with empathy (“I hear you, this must be difficult”), weighs my options in light of my actual situation, spells out the consequences, and even drafts mock conversations for me. It warns me where I might lose my cool, shows me how to tone my language, and nudges me toward kinder, gentler words. Wild, right? It’s like having a coach, a translator, and an emotional spell-checker all rolled into one. By the time I sit down to talk to my boyfriend, I feel clear, grounded, and oddly…… robotic?
Because here’s the thing: when I’m using perfectly scripted lines, gentle words, well though out sentences and zero swear words — am I really being me? Or am I just an AI-powered avatar wearing my face?
Therapy vs. AI: Why One Feels Slow and the Other Feels Like Magic
For the longest time, I kept hopping from therapist to therapist, convinced they were just lazy. Any real situation and they’d lob the same lines at me: “You’re the best judge” or “It’s up to you.” But apparently (thanks to AI, ironically), I’ve learned that therapy isn’t about handing you the right words. It’s about holding up a mirror so you can spot your own patterns and decide what to do with them.
The problem? Pattern recognition in data is second nature to me — but in myself? Not so much. I’ve always seen myself as this quirky outlier, and for someone with that self‑image, finding patterns in my own behavior, relationships, or life is a genuine challenge. In other words, therapy was already fighting a losing battle.
But in the moment — when you’re heartbroken, furious, or spiraling before a hard conversation — that kind of slow, introspective self‑discovery feels like a luxury you can’t afford. ChatGPT, on the other hand, swoops in with instant clarity. It doesn’t tell you who you are; it hands you the tools to sound like your best self. Quick, concrete, and (unlike therapy) free — goodbye $200 an hour, hello instant pep talk. No wonder I keep reaching for it.
But therapy digs into the roots; AI just hands you the map. One helps you understand why you’re stuck; the other gives you tools to navigate the moment. Used together, they’re powerful — but if we rely too heavily on scripted tools for our emotional GPS, we have to ask: are we still speaking from the heart, or just from the code?
“Am I still me — or just a chatbot in lipstick”
But here’s the nagging worry: if I’m constantly running my feelings through a “bot filter” before I speak — assessing emotions, simulating scenarios, weighing impacts and consequences like some full-blown STAR interview exercise — am I still authentic or am I just a chatbot wearing lipstick?
After all, preparation is very different from execution. I should know — I’ve spent my life building fancy models and writing clever scripts, only to flounder when it came to actually running them. ChatGPT doesn’t roll its eyes at my spirals, doesn’t judge my emotional chaos, doesn’t sigh at my supposed stupidity. It just calmly rewrites my outbursts into thoughtful, measured, well‑curated statements. Then I deliver those statements to a real human — my boyfriend — and… it works. He listens. We don’t fight. He seems more in love with me than not. But is it me he loves, or my AI in a cute outfit?
And yet, part of me misses the messy version of me — the unfiltered girl who’d yell, cry, toss in a random movie quote, then slam the door just to see if he’d follow. Wasn’t she more… passionate? More “real”?
Preparation Isn’t Inauthenticity
Actors rehearse their lines. Writers edit their drafts. Public speakers practice their talks. We don’t call them robots — we call them polished. Preparation doesn’t erase authenticity; it amplifies it.
The real danger isn’t in using scripts. It’s in disconnecting from how you actually feel. If you’re burying your emotions to sound “perfect,” then yes, you risk turning yourself into a performance. But if you’re still feeling everything and simply choosing better ways to express it, that isn’t roboticism. That’s growth.
When I use AI to script a tough conversation, I’m not outsourcing my feelings — I’m outsourcing my word choice. The feelings are still mine. Preparation makes me effective; spontaneity makes me alive. Somewhere in between lies the tricky balance: using AI to help me choose my words without losing the rawness of what I feel.
The paradox is that I’m still me — messy, reactive, human. I’m not handing over my emotions, only refining how I express them. The question isn’t whether AI changes me — it’s whether I leverage it to express my true self.
Alas, AI can coach me, script me, and keep me from saying something truly ridiculous… but it can’t explain why I keep stumbling into messy emotional patterns. That’s why, as much as I hate to admit it, therapy is still worth every overpriced minute.
So Why Keep Paying for Therapy?
Because therapy does something AI can’t: it helps me understand why I keep landing in the same emotional patterns. It’s not about scripting the next conversation; it’s about digging into the deeper stuff — facing my fears, tackling my insecurities (trust me, I have quite a few), and uncovering what actually creates the need for a script in the first place.
AI can be my prep tool, but therapy is the excavation tool. One helps me execute; the other helps me evolve. And by all means, I’m not here to preach therapy 24/7 — but if you need to do a root‑cause analysis on your own emotions or understand yourself better, therapy is still the way to go.
Still Me, Still Human
At the end of the day, AI is a tool — a brilliant one, sometimes even magical — but it doesn’t replace the messy, complicated work of understanding oneself. It helps a person choose the right words, avoid pitfalls, and navigate emotional landmines. Therapy, on the other hand, digs into the root causes, helping one untangle patterns they probably didn’t even know were there.
Used together, they’re powerful: AI sharpens execution; therapy strengthens evolution. And somewhere in between, something crucial becomes clear — I’m still me. Still messy. Still reactive. Still human. I’m just learning how to show up more clearly, thoughtfully, and intentionally.
So no, I’m not a chatbot in lipstick. I’m a human who’s choosing her words, managing her chaos, and growing without losing her spark. And maybe that’s the point: authenticity isn’t about perfection; it’s about being yourself, even when you have a little help from the future.