As generative AI chatbots like ChatGPT become inextricably woven into the fabric of modern life, we seem to be outsourcing not just tasks, but human connection itself. We are trading connections for convenience, and many of us don’t even realize it.

About six months ago, I was speaking to a friend about how he was coping with a messy breakup, only to be met with an unsettling response: “I already spoke about it with the robot.” Slightly worried yet curious, I followed up with, “Well, what did it say?” 

He explained that he had uploaded a file with all the texts between himself and his ex-girlfriend, alongside the context of the breakup, and asked ChatGPT, “What do you think?” The chatbot assured him that he was right; she had taken advantage of him, and even went as far as calling her a narcissist.

His genuine trust in ChatGPT’s response got me thinking: am I the only one horrified that such a deeply human experience between partners and friends has been outsourced to an AI algorithm? It seems like the sensationalist news articles missed a point; AI isn’t just coming for your jobs, it’s coming for your relationships, too.

The loss of human connection

One of the most striking examples of this intrusion is in the realm of mental health, an area deeply rooted in empathy and human connection. A 2024 YouGov survey revealed that 55 per cent of Americans aged 18–29 feel more comfortable sharing their mental health concerns with AI than a human therapist. This astonishingly high percentage begs the question: can you really replicate therapy with a chatbot? 

At its core, therapy involves an inherently human connection. It’s not just about talking to another person; it’s about feeling truly heard. The job of a therapist extends far beyond the conversational aspect. A therapist provides a safe space, helps untangle emotional struggles, and offers guidance rooted in years of training and professional experience. These are all elements that AI does not and cannot possess.

AI bias

ChatGPT was never designed to be your therapist; it was built as an assistant that wants to please its user. We can see this through the machines’ sycophantic alignment and predictive alignment bias — where an AI model generates responses that align with what it predicts the user wants to hear, rather than offering purely objective or contrarian insights. 

This bias was certainly at play when my friend framed his breakup in a way that made him seem blameless while his ex was solely in the wrong. ChatGPT responded accordingly. When I later asked him for an update, he told me that ChatGPT had advised him to block his ex. And he listened.

Showing up for each other

This wasn’t an isolated case. Another friend confided in me that she turned to ChatGPT to process a fight with a parent. What struck me wasn’t just the choice itself, but what it replaced. We used to talk about things like that. 

I’m not claiming to be a therapist — I’m a 21-year-old political science student — but being there for the people I care about has always brought me a deep sense of purpose and connection. There’s a quiet kind of fulfillment in knowing that your presence, your listening, and your care actually helped someone feel a little less alone. 

Hearing that a chatbot had filled that confidant role that used to be designated for me stung, not out of jealousy, but because it reflected a wider shift — one where we turn to machines not just for answers, but for comfort. In doing so, we risk losing something irreplaceable in our relationships: the human act of showing up for each other.

I can understand why people turn to AI for comfort; it’s instantaneous, free, and always available. In an increasingly fast-paced society, we only have so much time and, factually, cannot always be there for our friends as immediately as we’d like to be. 

AI can also offer more than just convenience; it provides an accessible alternative for those who might not have other options, like therapy or support from loved ones. Also, being what some have described as the sum total of human knowledge and expression does give it a few extra points.

But I am terrified that humanity, fundamental to relationships, is being outsourced to AI.

If seeking ChatGPT’s advice in place of real human interactions becomes the norm, we risk losing something essential to the development of our emotional intelligence. Research has already shown that increased reliance on digital communication can hinder the development of social skills, such as empathy and conflict resolution. 

Part of maturing is learning to navigate relationships — the heartbreaks, the frustrations, and the difficult conversations. These experiences strengthen our friendship bonds, build trust, and teach us how to support one another through both good and bad times. 

That bond cannot be replicated by a chatbot. 

A chatbot can simulate empathy, but it can’t actually care. It won’t hold your hand through grief. It won’t call you out when you’re wrong. It won’t remind you — through words, touch, or even silence — that you’re not alone.

If you only confide in AI, your relationships with real people will inevitably suffer and be stunted. Emotional maturity is not built in isolation. 

Technology should enhance our connections, not replace them. The ability to seek comfort, to be there for each other, and to learn from shared experiences is what makes us human. And that is something no chatbot — no matter how advanced — can ever replace.

Zainab Haider is a fourth-year student studying public policy and political science with an interest in AI ethics and discourse.