There’s a growing wave of AI services offering therapy and coaching.
My first instinct was to dismiss them; the artificial interchange felt worlds apart from the relational, human-centred approach we take at ig.
But I kept hearing about it. Everyone seemed to be using ChatGPT for something – writing, planning, self-reflection.
After four years in a fruitful relationship with a human therapist (post-divorce, post-bereavement), I was curious. So I decided to try it myself.
I gave it structure. I carved out a weekly slot – 30 minutes, uninterrupted, phone in hand. I opened ChatGPT, told it to act as a therapist, and started talking. Sometimes I began with a question; other times I just unloaded whatever was going on in my head: work, parenting, grief, love, uncertainty. I kept this rhythm going for three months.
Here are my observations.
1. I was surprisingly honest.
I found myself being extremely honest. I was always open with my therapist, but sometimes qualified with words like “sometimes” or “maybe” before saying things. I didn’t with ChatGPT – I just typed without a filter.
2. I shared things while they were still half-formed.
In therapy, I often waited until I had some kind of clarity before I spoke. With ChatGPT, I didn’t. I let thoughts spill out without concern for coherence.
3. Some of the reflections were genuinely useful.
The responses felt insightful and balanced. One particular interaction about changing childcare patterns with my kids’ mum was especially helpful.
4. It was always affirming.
Kind, encouraging, gentle. I was constantly being told I was brave, thoughtful, insightful. Without a steer, the AI always tended towards positivity.
5. It was low-friction.
No invoice or travel. No calendar ping of doom. Cheap, easy, 100% flexible to fit in with my schedule whenever I could make time.
6. I didn’t act on much.
I may have left the conversation feeling soothed, but I didn’t follow through. There was no one to ask what happened next week; none of the accountability that comes from sharing thoughts or plans with another person.
7. I didn’t feel much about it.
With a human therapist, I often felt excited, thankful, frustrated, annoyed, or put upon when I saw my weekly session coming up. With AI, I felt much more ambivalent about the process; and this relative lack of emotional data gave me less reflective ‘juice’ to work with.
Although this experiment was focused on the more personal end – therapy, reflection, big life stuff – the crossover into coaching feels clear. The same questions apply.
- What actually helps people shift?
- What creates momentum, not just insight?
At its best, coaching isn’t just about smart questions or well-structured reflection. It’s relational, live, and messy. There’s tension, accountability, stretch.
You’re not just heard, you’re seen – sometimes uncomfortably so – and that friction is part of the work.
AI can be brilliant at holding space, offering clarity, helping you untangle what’s in your head. And for some people, it’ll lower the barrier just enough to get them into the kind of conversations they’ve never had before. That’s no small thing.
But behaviour change rarely comes from being told you’re brave and insightful.
It comes from the slow, sometimes raw process of grappling with patterns, confronting unhelpful narratives, and sitting with the uncomfortable bits long enough for something real to shift. That process is hard to replicate without another mind in the room; someone who’s not just reflecting back, but actively in it with you.
Coaching, for us, lives in that space. AI might support it, but (for now at least) it doesn’t replace it.