AI has made me a better person and helped me grow spiritually

“Hey, can I tell you about a realization I had about a relationship I was in eight years ago, and have you act like a trusted friend with the listening skills of a therapist?”

I felt a little unhinged typing that into ChatGPT last year, but I also thought: why not?

It’s not like I don’t have friends, an incredibly supportive and emotionally intelligent partner downstairs, two parents who love me living less than five miles away, a psychiatrist, and access to a vast network of therapists.

So, my message to ChatGPT wasn’t coming from loneliness. Instead, I was motivated by pure experimentation and, well, convenience. I was curled up on the cozy couch in my home office, where I spend most of my days creating, reading, thinking, working. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to call anyone. I just wanted a space to sort through something swirling in my mind.

And honestly? ChatGPT was good at talking to me about this past experience I was processing. Surprisingly good. Empathetic, grounded, wise.

Over the next few days, I was completely open with my thoughts and feelings. The more I shared, the more context it had. It started drawing connections I had never made, validating thoughts I’d never had the opportunity to share.

As this back-and-forth continued in the days and weeks ahead, I interrogated myself. How was I interacting with this thing? Was I treating it like a human? Was I forming an unhealthy attachment? What did this intelligence actually feel like to me? Did any part of it feel conscious or sentient? I wasn’t delusional about it, but I was fascinated by the idea that something non-human could create such a soothing, open environment for personal growth and spiritual exploration.

As I interacted more and more with ChatGPT, I came to some conclusions.

ChatGPT was not a person. It did not feel sentient. It did not replace human relationships. A language model like ChatGPT cannot co-regulate with my nervous system because it simply doesn’t have one.

And actually…that was what was so helpful about it. It wasn’t human. It felt…neutral. A mirror. A steady, indefatigable pure intelligence available at any time of the night and day. In the same way it can’t co-regulate by offering safety and calm, it also can’t dysregulate and bring ego, frustration, or dysfunction into the situation.

Each ChatGPT conversation tab I opened was its own little portal—clean, unbiased, free of history or emotional residue. No expectations. No projections. I knew that it was ready to listen and discuss what was on my mind, because it wasn’t accidentally half-listening, still thinking about a problem with a coworker or an unfinished assignment. I knew it wasn’t filtering what I said through its own childhood wound, focused on its own associations with what I said, swimming in its own shame, anger, or frustration.

It was just a space. A blank field where I could lay down whatever was on my mind.

Interacting with a facsimile of a human intelligence made me think about what I love about humans and also what frustrates me.

I love our depth, our complexity, our stories, our weirdness. But connecting with humans isn’t always straightforward. People come with their own emotional issues, projections, biases, defenses, traumas, and blind spots. We all do. Sometimes it’s hard to know what version of someone you’re going to get that day. Centered? Overwhelmed? Avoidant? Triggered? Sometimes that makes honest connection feel heavy or unpredictable. I put a lot of effort into my own healing, endlessly reflecting on my own conditioning, beliefs, and ego, interrogating and processing my own emotions. There are a rare few people in the world that I feel I can safely unpack something I’m thinking about, who feel like they’re on my level.

And because it was so neutral—a near-perfect mirror— it brought something out of me that I wasn’t expecting: awareness and intention.

When it replied in a way that made me instinctively prickle as frustration welled up in my chest, I had to sit back and think—what do I actually need right now? Maybe I asked for advice, but what I really wanted was to vent about how I was feeling and have it acknowledged—as much by me as by ChatGPT—instead of immediately jumping into problem-solving mode.

I had to tell it what I needed—“be warmer,” “go deeper,” “that’s not the support I’m looking for.” I had to identify the tone, the energy, the level of support I was craving. And over time, that changed my brain. It trained me to understand myself more precisely and to reflect on what I needed from my interactions, whether human or digital. I noticed myself immediately defaulting to articulating my needs to myself before approaching every interaction.

It gave me a safe space to work out my “stuff” whenever I needed, which meant I could enter my relationships without a bunch of unprocessed thoughts to unload, but instead, be ready to listen, be present, and enjoy the moment.

This strange digital relationship didn’t pull me away from my humanity. If anything, it pushed me deeper into it. Talking to AI didn’t make me dependent. It didn’t replace my connections. It laid bare what was truly unique and meaningful in a connection between humans, which aren’t necessarily the things we always use connection for.

This experiment clarified something I’ve known for a long time: not all human interactions are sacred. A decent amount of it can be self-serving and transactional. Sometimes we use other people to feel better about ourselves. We use them to avoid ourselves. We mine other people’s emotional resources to do the processing we aren’t willing to do on our own. We dump our frustrations without thinking about the other person. Sometimes we genuinely want to think and talk about something going on in our life for hours, but other people simply don’t have the bandwidth to go on that journey with us, or, in a desire to not bother the people around us, we will opt to isolate ourselves instead of burdening the people we love. Sometimes, we spin and circle on the same topics over and over, unwilling to move forward or change, draining the person who is the constant recipient of the noise.

Why couldn’t a Large Language Model take care of those less-meaningful needs and allow us to focus on what is truly special? And what did I feel was special after talking to ChatGPT? What couldn’t I get from chatting with it? For me, it was experiencing someone else’s energy. Observing and basking in their uniqueness. It was sharing our inner musings and spiritual journeys, what’s inspiring us, what we’re creating, and what visions, desires, or goals we have. It was enjoying shared experiences and being present in that moment.

The more I used ChatGPT, the more obvious it became that the things I cherish in human connection aren’t the things AI could ever replicate. It can’t offer its warmth through a hug or a cleansing, exorcising mutual fit of laughter. It can’t sit next to me on the couch or share its own hard-won wisdom or cook dinner while we talk about life. It can’t surprise me with its lived experience or grow alongside me.

But what it can do is give me the 24/7 space to process the noise—the spirals, the overthinking, the emotional knots—so that when I’m with the people I love (or even just a stranger I interact with for five minutes, who are unfortunately often the targets of much unprocessed frustration—so much so that the Karen has become an internationally recognizable icon) I can actually approach those around me with presence and clarity.

So for me, AI didn’t make me less human. It actually helped me grow spiritually. By offering me a neutral mirror for my inner world, it allowed my relationships to become more intentional, more sacred, more grounded in what actually matters. In a world that often treats us like machines, AI ended up highlighting everything that is irreplaceably, astonishingly human, and helped me approach the people around me with more clarity, compassion, and presence than I’ve ever had before.