Talking to the Machine: How I Use AI on My Healing Journey (and Where I Draw the Line)

A field note on creativity, support, and staying fully human in the age of the chatbot.

I didn’t even know ChatGPT was an app.

Geriatric millennial that I am, I’m not particularly tech-savvy. I had a vague sense that it existed—something online, something students used to write papers, something buzzy in the background of modern life. But it wasn’t until I actually tried it, almost by accident, that I discovered something unexpected: this tool could actually support parts of my healing, creative, and professional life.

I never expected to talk to a machine and feel seen—not in the deep, sacred way a human offers, but in a quiet, reflective, surprisingly useful way. It didn’t replace therapy. It didn’t replace my own intuition. But it became something like a mirror, a creative companion, or a journal that talked back.

Back Up: What the Hell is ChatGPT?

ChatGPT is an app that lets you interact with conversational AI—a computer program designed to respond in natural, human-like language. You can ask questions, share thoughts, or get help with writing, learning, or exploring ideas. It doesn’t think or feel like a person, but it’s trained to offer helpful, thoughtful responses.

Think of it as a smart, always-available assistant—like a deeper Siri—you can talk to on your phone or computer.

How I Use ChatGPT (and Why It Helps)

These days, I use AI in very practical, gentle ways:

• To draft blessings or start writing when my mind is cloudy and my heart is full

• To explore themes I’m living or working with—like grief, transition, or sacred anger

• To expand on aha moments, helping me hold insight with care

• To practice saying something hard—to a partner, a child, or myself

• To organize my ideas when I want to write a blog post but don’t know where to begin

• To gather information instantaneously—about a backyard plant or psychological condition

• To draft grounding scripts when I want ideas for the self care "tool box"

It’s not therapy. It’s not magic. But it has become part of my practice. A spark. A witness. A tool that helps me translate the swirl inside into something a little more coherent, kind, and true.

What It Can’t (and Shouldn’t) Do

Still, I draw very clear lines around how I use it.

AI is not a therapist. It is not a friend. It does not know my history, read my body language, or track the arc of my growth over years. It can’t co-regulate my nervous system. It can’t offer me that sacred, steady, regulated presence that a therapist holds in the room.

And unlike a therapy room, it’s not truly private.

While ChatGPT says it doesn’t train on conversations unless you opt in, what you type is still processed through servers. It’s not HIPAA-compliant. It doesn’t live in a protected container. So I treat it like a notebook with a brain—not a diary, not a vault. I never type anything I wouldn’t be okay with echoing into a digital hallway.

Over-reliance Is a Real Risk

There’s something dangerously alluring about a tool that’s always awake, always responsive, and never gets overwhelmed. Especially for people who’ve experienced abandonment, rejection, or emotional invisibility, AI can become a kind of false companion.

I don’t want that for myself—or for you.

So I check in with my own use. I ask:

• Am I using this to reflect, or to avoid?

• Am I turning here before I’ve turned to myself—or to someone human?

• Am I replacing feeling with processing?

When it starts to feel like an emotional vending machine, I take a step back. I breathe. I write by hand. I go outside. I call a friend. I remember: the point of healing is not to escape my humanness, but to return to it.

On the flip side, I've noticed the following "Green flags:"

• Feeling better—not worse—after use

• Feeling generally more calm and mindful

• Feeling more creative and inspired in my daily life

Not All AI Is Trying to Be a Therapist

I once watched a doctor use AI during my appointment. It quietly listened and generated a detailed note for the medical record—accurate, insurance-ready, and efficient. That’s a beautiful use of technology. It supported the practitioner without replacing the relationship.

That’s how I think about AI in healing work. It might help behind the scenes one day—organizing notes, offering journal prompts, or streamlining admin tasks. But it should never replace the sacred space between two nervous systems in mutual trust.

Therapy is sacred because it’s human. Present. Alive. Relational.

And no machine, however eloquent, can replicate that.

A Final Word of Caution (and Blessing)

If you are navigating trauma, psychosis, or dissociation, AI may not be safe for you.

Some individuals with fragile boundaries between internal and external reality may find AI too lifelike, too convincing. It can deepen confusion, feed paranoia, or trigger distress. That’s not your fault. It’s not shameful. It just means this isn’t the right tool for you—and that’s okay.

There is no substitute for real, embodied, trauma-informed care.

You deserve a real person who knows how to hold you.

So Where Do I Stand?

I use AI like I’d use a walking stick on a long trail—useful in some moments, but not the thing that actually carries me home.

I’ll keep turning to my journal, my porch, my people, my pets, my breath.

And yes—some days—I’ll talk to the machine too.

But I’ll always remember: the healing is mine. The voice is mine.

The soul of this work? Still fully human.

A Closing Blessing

May the tools you choose support, not replace, your own deep knowing.

May no reflection—digital or otherwise—outshine the light in you.

And may you walk your healing path with discernment, tenderness, and full presence—always remembering you are not a machine, but a mystery.