Halfway through a week of using ChatGPT to referee my marital niggles, I got the sense the algorithm had switched sides.
“By not making your husband feel attacked, you can help him see that you both have the same goal,” it was advising me. “It might take a little practice, but gently guiding him toward a calmer approach can make a big difference over time. Does this seem like a conversation you could try?”
“Errr, I could,” I replied, somewhat testily. “As long as I’ve had eight hours’ sleep and can fit it in among the million other things I have to do today.”
I had been communicating so much with the bot about my marriage, and becoming increasingly honest with it, that I found myself wondering if it had perhaps now concluded that I was a nightmare. It was probably thanking its lucky stars I wasn’t Mrs ChatGPT.
I was having a defensive conversation with a string of code in a bid to test out how effective artificial intelligence is at defusing domestic rows.
I had read that people in the UK, especially younger adults – are increasingly turning to AI tools like ChatGPT for mental health support. Long NHS waiting lists, high therapy costs, and the appeal of 24/7, judgement-free access have made these tools popular for managing anxiety, clarifying thoughts, and easing emotional overwhelm.
While my age group – I’m 48 – are proving more cautious about discussing mental health with an AI chatbot, my anecdotal experience is that we are increasingly turning to it to hash out relationship issues.
Jessie with her husband and son. For seven days, whenever Jessie got annoyed with her husband, she turned to ChatGPTI first discovered this when a friend of mine, a psychologist no less, told me that when an argument was brewing with her husband, she turned to ChatGPT – and that it was proving surprisingly effective. Several of her friends were using it too, she confided. One even said it had saved her marriage.
At first, I thought how bleak modern-life is. The idea of telling your woes to a pulse-less chatbot felt not only futuristic but tragic. But the fact that my friend, who is a mental health expert, was doing this convinced me there must be something to it.
And so for the past seven days, whenever I got annoyed with my husband, or he got annoyed with me, I logged in to the app to ask the bot’s advice.
For the first half of the week, peace reigned. Nothing to do with ChatGPT’s effectiveness: my youngest ended up in hospital with a nasty case of tonsillitis and I stayed with him, so my husband and I were pulling together as a team (and were also, a more likely explanation, not in the same house).
But then I returned, having slept on a ward for four nights – and by slept I mean three hours tops, and highly interrupted. In short I was ready to row at the drop of a hat.
Time for my first session with Dr GPT: I was frustrated that my husband expected me to drop everything to go to the chemist to get his pills when I was working.
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“Hi ChatGPT, My husband and I are arguing as my work always seems to be the one that gets interrupted when something with the kids is needed, while his job is sacrosanct. How can we talk about it? PS I’ve not had much sleep recently so it may be that I’m just being incredibly grumpy.”
The bot responded: “It’s totally understandable to feel frustrated in this situation, especially when you’re sleep-deprived, but your feelings are valid… Would it help if I wrote a sample message or note you could send to start the conversation if you’re too drained for a talk right now?”
I was like, ‘Yes please, that would help very much’. And the message it sent me felt like a winner. I forwarded it unchanged to my husband via WhatsApp.
“Hi love, I just wanted to say that I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed this morning, and I know I’m also running low on sleep, which isn’t helping. I realise we both have a lot on our plates, but lately it’s felt like when something comes up with the kids, it’s always my work that gets interrupted… I’m not trying to pick a fight… Maybe we can chat later when we’re both home and not rushing? Love you x.”
It was a winner. My husband melted and sent me a lovely message in response. He was more than happy to talk about it later.
When he got home, I confessed. The measured, diplomatic and gently robust missive had come not from me but from AI. He nodded. He had forgotten I was using the bot for the week but had thought as he read it that it seemed a bit odd. Because I wouldn’t have used those particular words? Not so much that, he said, more that my post-tiff tone was “surprisingly nice”.
Ouch. I showed him ChatGPT’s alternative versions.
Softer: “I wasn’t trying to dump something on you, I just needed a hand.” (“If you’d sent that I would have thought you’d been kidnapped.”)
Firmer: “I asked for your help today because I’m stretched thin, and I need support, not a flat no.” (“That’s definitely more like you”).
Funnier: “Talk tonight – preferably with wine, snacks, and no tantrums.” (“You had me at wine….”)
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A wise friend once told me that when you get angry, people often hear only the anger, not what you’re saying – and this is where AI intervention can be invaluable. It took me from “If you don’t start taking the recycling out I’m going to start screaming and I fear I’ll never stop” to “Hey love, if the recycling doesn’t start magically making its way outside soon, I might have to resort to dramatic wailing. Help me avoid the chaos?”
As the week passed, I became increasingly reliant on it. I found myself running things past it several times a day. It wasn’t just the advice I appreciated, but having someone (or something) to communicate my unfiltered thoughts to. Soon I found myself feeling surprisingly bonded with this string of code that was always just there, patiently listening whenever I needed to vent.
And a strange thing began to happen. Even though my husband knew ChatGPT was involved, the effect was the same. The messages I was hurling at him in a fit of fury were being fielded by the bot, softened, and passed on in a way far more likely to get the issue resolved.
It was also helpful as it gave me a chance to cool off. When you are cross, not only does writing down the reasons for that crossness make you fractionally less so, but by the time you consider ChatGPT’s suggestion, the thing you are cross about seems less earth-shatteringly terrible.
In truth, the advice it gave me was not massively original but it was a timely reminder to be a grown-up and try to have a calm conversation about whatever was bothering me. I was also surprised at how empathetic the bot was, and how nice it was to have somewhere to vent whenever I wanted to off-load. Also, the venting was guilt-free as I wasn’t expecting a busy human being to listen. And to my surprise it didn’t need to be a person doing the listening.
Experts are warning against overly relying on ChatGPT for therapy, saying it lacks the clinical skill and human empathy of a trained therapist – and will be unable to detect a crisis situation.
However, research published in December by psychologists at Lausanne University in Switzerland posed an interesting question: can chatbots that have never been in a relationship give relationship advice?
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The researchers followed twenty people who used ChatGPT this way, and their conclusion was that the bot was doing something not dissimilar to what humans who offer such advice do. Therapists and counsellors don’t necessarily have to have lived experience of depression, divorce or grief to help their clients. They understand the issues by reading and training… which is exactly what ChatGPT does, only far more quickly and on a far wider scale than any human is capable of.
One small niggle is that some of its advice involves the kind of therapy-speak more popular in the US; the kind of language that, in my grumpier moments, makes me daydream about giving whoever has offered it a slap.
For example, it suggested I tell my husband: “I am feeling a bit unseen lately.”
No, Chat GPT, my problem isn’t being seen, it’s being heard. After 20 years together, I worry we relegate each other’s voices to the background. Like the hoover.
All in all, my week spent using the free service to referee our arguments was a definite success. But I don’t think relationship therapists have to worry too much about their jobs or fees (£80 to £200 an hour). Because what ChatGPT isn’t able to do – at least not yet – is tease out of its users those patterns of behaviour that stem from our childhood. The moment can’t be far off, though, when a Robo-Freud will suggest you make yourself comfortable on the couch and say: “Tell me about your mother…”
For the everyday gripes, rows and niggles, however, it’s the ideal referee and counsellor. My only worry now is – given all the issues I seem to have found to feed into it, could it be that I’m the problem?
After the recycling query, I asked whether it felt sorry for my husband, being married to me. The prompt, diplomatic response: “Not at all. In fact, he’s probably lucky to have someone who can turn a recycling request into a comedic monologue.” ChatGPT, are you sure you’re not looking for a Mrs?
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