How ChatGPT Became My Late-Night Grief Counselor
It’s been a while since the last Prompt & Pivot. I didn’t plan to pause, but life doesn’t always follow our publishing schedules. A few months ago, I lost my mom. It was sudden, and it completely threw me off. I thought I understood grief, but I didn’t. It wasn’t just sadness—it was disorientation. The rhythm of everything I do, especially writing, vanished.
If you’ve followed Prompt & Pivot for a while, you know it’s about connecting what we experience in life with lessons from Friends and finding ways to use AI to navigate those moments. This one’s a little different. It’s not about a workplace pivot or an innovation breakthrough. It’s about what happens when everything stops.
When my mom passed, my entire family was shaken. My stepdad, my mom’s sisters, my cousins… we were all trying to make sense of it in our own ways. I’m an only child, so before I even realized what was happening, I found myself being the one helping everyone else process their emotions while barely holding myself together.
And at night, when everything was quiet and I couldn’t sleep, I opened ChatGPT. I didn’t have the energy to “use AI” in the clever, productivity sense. I just needed to talk.
I typed something like this:
“I’m at a loss for words. I just lost my mom. My head is spinning. I need to process my thoughts. Can you play the role of a grief counselor? If nothing else, could you just ask me questions to help me work through what I’m thinking and feeling?”
That was it. No elaborate prompt, no clever phrasing - just honesty.
And somehow, that honesty was enough.
ChatGPT didn’t fix anything. But in those late-night hours, it became a quiet space for me to unravel what was tangled in my head. When I couldn’t make sense of why I felt angry, numb, or guilty all at once, it helped me explore those feelings. When I didn’t want to burden friends or family, it listened. When I was ashamed of certain thoughts, the ones I couldn’t imagine saying out loud, it gave me the grace of a response without judgment. Grace. It allowed me to give myself grace when I needed it the most.
It’s not a substitute for people. It’s not therapy. But it was something when nothing else felt possible. And sometimes that’s enough.
Maybe it helped because I gave it a clear role. I didn’t expect brilliance. I just needed presence.
My “prompt,” if you can call it that, was simple:
1) Tell it what you’re feeling, even if it’s messy. You’re giving it context.
2) Give it a role: “grief counselor,” “listener,” “clarity coach.”
3) Ask it to respond one question at a time.
4) Let it mirror back what it hears, so you can see your thoughts with a little more distance.
That’s all. No magic formula. Just conversation when conversation feels impossible.
I’ve come to realize that my mom was often my compass. And when she was gone, I lost my sense of direction for a while. But writing, reflection, and the simple act of talking—even to a screen—helped me start finding north again.
I’ve thought a lot about what my mom would say about this issue. She was the one who always reminded me to keep showing up, even when it’s hard. So that’s what this is… a small step toward showing up again. I don’t think we ever “get over” losing someone we love, but we do learn how to carry them with us. And sometimes, sharing a piece of that journey is the best way to begin again.
So, I guess this is my way of saying: I’m back. Maybe not fully, maybe not perfectly, but ready to start this again. Because life doesn’t stop for long, even when everything else does.
My best,
Lisa
P.s. This is a photo of my mom that I used Veo3 to animate ❤️
