My Unconventional Healing Journey

How I took healing into my own hands and created a path that worked for me (and maybe you, too?)

Yes, on the surface it’s another one of those “My Healing Journey” articles. I typically avoid reading those… anecdotal stories and a “this worked for me so it must work for everyone” tone are not really my thing. In fact they’re the opposite of my thing. I like data, research, peer reviewed studies, and cold hard facts. Also, If you knew me before this article, you likely know I don’t write about my personal life very often. My typical job duties, as a parent and teen coach, including obsessively researching human physiology and neuroscience to death, then come up with ways to make that research digestible to the average parent and/or teen. I generally try to avoid personal stories because they can cloud the facts — research is so much clearer than a story.

But what happens when you run out of research? What happens when you reach the end of the path that neuroscience and data lay out for you, but need to keep going? Well, that’s what I did this year — I kept going. I created a new path of healing for myself… and maybe you, too? As a massive fan of 19th century medical pioneers like Liston and Pasteur, that feels pretty badass. And while I’m not a fan of mushy gushy anecdotal healing journey stories, I am a fan of badass pioneer stories. So here’s mine. I hope you’ll stick around and read it. Or don’t—whatever works for you.

I’m kind of a big fan of healing. Clearly — I’m in the healing profession. I even put it in my job title: Intuitive Healing Coach. So it shouldn’t be a surprise to say I’ve been very intentional about my own healing journey for the last — well, actually my entire life. All in all, my journey has been going pretty well. And by “pretty well” I mean that at age 40, I would no longer qualify to be diagnosed with any of my ole familiar disorders that have been around for most of my life (PTSD, ADHD, OCD, and GAD). Sure, some of the symptoms may still be there but I’ve made friends with them — they’re no longer considered disordered. I think that qualifies as “pretty well” for most people — heck, once upon a time it was downright unimaginable to me. But throughout my entire healing journey, the same thing always happens. Whenever I reach a certain level of healing I always have this core-of-my-gut feeling. One that says,

“Wow! I’ve made it further than I ever imagined... I wonder if I could go a little bit further.”

That same curiosity was what led me to years of research in something called psilocybin-assisted therapy, an innovative approach to healing with the use of psychedelic mushrooms in a controlled, therapeutic setting. It is currently approved for clinical trials and showing a lot of promise for treating various mental illnesses but not yet legal outside of approved clinical case studies. I never expected those years of research and my lifelong core-of-my-gut need to keep healing would ever intersect — but boy, did they.

This is the story of why and how I did psychedelics, and what happened when I did.

Why did I do psilocybin-assisted therapy? Prior to this year, I assumed my previous research into psilocybin-assisted therapy was purely as a curious observer. I go down rabbit holes of research all the time, many of them never apply to my personal life. I simply wanted to be informed on the latest in mental health and you can’t really stay on the cusp of that without bumping into psychedelics. In fact, personally, I was terrified of the idea of taking psychedelics. I’d seen videos of people on them and was not ready to release that type of control. I have said for years I am not a fan of any healing modality that could result in me crying in a fetal position on the floor. Hell, I built my practice around the idea that healing should feel better than hurting. And whenever I saw videos of people uncontrollably sobbing on psychedelics — that looked like too much hurting for me. Pass.

Then I hit a road block in healing. Without warning — which is usually how it goes — my traumas began to resurface in a way that the coping tools I already had couldn’t manage. I won’t share the details as to what triggered this road block (because of this thing called privacy that I deeply honor)… but I don’t think the details are necessary. We’ve all had that moment of realization that we aren’t quite as “healed” as we thought. That means it’s time for a deeper level of healing. I can remember the exact moment I thought to myself, “Oh shit. It’s gonna take psychedelics to fix this, isn’t it.”

Now, let me be clear. Psychedelics (or in my case psilocybin — the psychoactive ingredient in psychedelic mushrooms) don’t “fix” anything and they certainly aren’t the only option for deeper healing. You can get to the same destination via several different paths. But for me, I knew the most logical and clear path was through shrooms. Shrooms. The girl who has never done a single illegal drug in her life, barely drinks, and never gets drunk… that girl is going to do shrooms?

Prior to deciding psilocybin-assisted therapy was right for me, I did enough healing work to have a decent amount of self-worth. Not a mind-blowing amount, but at least enough to accept the possibility of being “that girl” who might sob in the fetal position on the floor or saying/doing something totally embarrassing during a trip. I was ready to take that risk in order to heal deeper wounds. I assumed I’d be taking the mushrooms around strangers so who cares what they see anyway? I never have to see them again! I was ready. Now, how exactly was I going to do this…

How did I do psilocybin-assisted therapy? This is where the badass pioneer part begins. Well, actually — as annoying as this is — I have to first explain how I didn’t do psilocybin-assisted therapy:

If you’re a rule-following gal like me, and you’re interested in doing psilocybin-assisted therapy, the first place you’re going to explore is being part of a clinical trial. They’re safe, led by medical professionals, and — most important — legal. The problem is I didn’t qualify for any. Most of them require you to have prior experience taking the drug… kinda ironic how being a lifelong rule-follower is the one thing keeping me from being a rule-follower now.

With clinical trials ruled out, your next best route is through a shaman. Oh, the shaman option. Let me start by saying I’m not anti-shaman, I’m skeptical-shaman. They’re a lot like my own profession (life coaches) in that it is not a well-regulated field — so you can find one that changes your life or you can find one that drains your bank account, or sometimes both. I have very close friends who went the shaman route and had incredible results. But the shaman path just wasn’t right for me and I think it’s only fair to explain why:

The researcher in me killed the shaman option long ago. Any avid researcher or chronically curious human knows that feeling when you ruin the thing you once found fascinating because you researched it to death. Long before this journey, I had already read about how the term shaman is largely made up, unless you practice in Siberia among the Sym Evenki people — the only people who actually use that term for their healers. The modern use of the word shaman is really more of an amalgam of various healer titles/types in an attempt to not appropriate any one specific culture — but often it ends up appropriating all of them. Because each tribe/culture has their own definition of the roles their healer plays, using an umbrella term like “shaman” can often put standards and limitations on what might be the “right” or “wrong” way for a healer to operate. I digress… all that to say, one thing most tribes and cultures do have in common is their healer (aka shaman) is usually appointed by the tribe members, based primarily on them having earned that title through their direct work with their community. Unfortunately, in the US and in my personal experience searching for a shaman, I found most shamans are — for the most part — self-appointed. In the end many shamans have excellent reputations for healing and changing lives, but I could not personally find someone who resonated with me — thanks largely to my half-cynical heart and rabbit-hole research.

By the way, we didn’t even discuss money yet. I’m a girl on a budget. The most reputable shaman in my area charges $1,500 for a group psychedelic trip and $2,500 for a private session. Keep in mind you may need 1–4 psilocybin trips before reaching your healing goal. While I was able to increase my self-worth, I’m pretty sure it caps out below $10K — *insert cheeky smirk*.

Another thing I didn’t do: a group psychedelic experience. I know people who looooove a good group trip. I, however, am not a group trip kinda gal. I might be able to get over the idea of me sobbing in a fetal position in front of someone — but several someones? Add to that they may all be sobbing in the fetal position alongside me?! No sir. In all seriousness, empaths and healers aren’t made for the group trip — at least not in our modern society. We are like trash cans for people’s bad energy on a daily basis. We have to work diligently and intentionally to learn how to manage that about ourselves. Going into a room full of strangers and opening that vulnerability portal is simply not a good idea for people like me.

And the last thing I didn’t do (I promise we’re almost to the part about what I did do): Use another psychedelic other than psilocybin (aka magic mushrooms). There are clinics around the US approved for the use of ketamine in therapy. But, once again, research killed that option for me too. Ketamine-assisted therapy doesn’t seem to create the long-lasting effects that psilocybin does. In fact, results from recent clinical trials suggest that the use of ketamine with therapy will need to be ongoing to remain effective — indefinitely. I don’t know about you but I can’t afford (emotionally or financially) to be in therapy indefinitely. And one more thing: ketamine-assisted therapy in my area costs around $8,000 for 3 ketamine sessions.

Ok, so I didn’t qualify for clinical trials, shamans aren’t my thing, and ketamine doesn’t grow on trees. What now? In short, I was left with one final option (an all-too-familiar option in my life): do it ya damn self.

***For legal reasons, we’re going to assume some of the things I share below happened at my private vacation home in Costa Rica… ok?***

So how exactly did I do it my damn self? I taught myself how to grow psychedelic mushrooms. Avoiding as many sketchy websites as possible, I stuck closely to Paul Stamets’ work (the self-taught grandfather of mushroom wisdom and a sweet, cuddly teddy bear in a sea of condescending, sketchy white dudes in the psychedelic mushroom world) and the book The Psilocybin Mushroom Bible, which you can buy on Amazon (complete with men in photos wearing The Flash masks to hide their identity). Side note: I was extremely concerned about how these internet searches were going to change the innocence of my Pinterest board suggestions. Were my sourdough recipes and Top 10 Best Italian Beaches articles going to get replaced with tie-dye tips and DIY bongs? It was only later that I realized I could have just used Incognito mode on my Google Search — if you really need to know just how much of a dork I am.

It’s unfortunate that the majority of the resources you come across in the shroom-growing world are low-budget websites with poorly angled photos, unappealing message boards filled with condescending internet trolls, and books lacking in visual appeal or detail. These resources are clearly male-dominated and carried a little too much of a Q-Anon vibe. When I audibly complained about this to my husband, he responded with, “I don’t think these people want a lot of attention on their sites and message boards — I think that’s kind of the point”. Well, valid point — and — mission accomplished I guess.

Once you get past the sketchy websites and toxic message boards, it turns out growing them is very much a part of the therapeutic process. When it was just me and the mushrooms, it felt wholesome and nurturing. The whole time I kept thinking: this feels so feminine — why is it dominated by men?! I mean, we all know the answer to that: white dudes and their tendency to take over things. But I was nonetheless surprised when the mushroom growing process proved to be quite the opposite of what those message boards seemed to promise. It’s nurturing, maternal, and divinely feminine — except, of course, for the fact that the mushrooms all really do look like little penises. For me, the growing process — which had initially intimidated me — felt as fulfilling and fun as any gardening, craft, or baking project I had ever done. Plus I knew where my medicine was coming from.

Figuring out the mushrooms was a big hurdle — maybe the biggest. But next, I had to find a therapist to work with me. What good is the psilocybin without the therapy? I asked a therapist I had a lot of respect for if she would be interested in helping me set intentions for my trip and integrating what came up afterwards. I said I would handle the actual trip at home so as not to put her in any compromising positions with her therapy license. Actually, my email sounded a little more like this,

“Hey, oh my god I know this is so weird but I wanted to ask you something and you can totally say no because, again, this is so out of the box so I hope this doesn’t make you think bad things about me or make you feel uncomfortable in any way but…”

And somehow, my neuroses didn’t scare her off and I got a quick and enthusiastic “yes!” (it turns out more therapists than you think are trained or at least informed in this modality — you just have to ask). It also turns out therapists actually like working with clients who want to be vulnerable and who will show up to each session with a very profound experience to process… who knew?

Now we’re down to the last — and perhaps scariest—piece of the puzzle: I asked my husband if he would be with me during my psilocybin trips. Gone were the notions that I would be doing this in front of some stranger I would never have to see again. I had to face the reality that in order to do this affordably, I would need to do it with someone I knew and loved. It’s scary enough to imagine the fetal-positioned sobbing or the shame-filled confessing in front of strangers. Imagining it in front of my husband was downright terrifying. So terrifying, in fact, that my original plan was to trip completely on my own and to simply text him if I needed anything. My therapist quickly put an end to that fantasy. Pout.

She said it was part of the healing for him to be there. Eye roll. She wanted me to let go of control in front of someone I loved and see that they still loved me unconditionally. And dammit, she was right. Double eye roll and super pout.

You’re still reading this? Wow! Well, here’s what happened: I did it. I took shrooms. Twice, actually! But before I ever took the first mushroom I put in the work with my therapist to set my intention for each trip (this part takes weeks). And then after each trip I worked with my therapist again to integrate the insights into my everyday life (this part takes weeks/months/years). This is what differentiates psilocybin-assisted therapy from “that one time I took shrooms and had a cool experience”. The intention-setting and the post-integration are just as important — if not more important — than the trip itself. And it worked. I reached my healing goals. Not at all in the way I ever would have predicted, but I did.

For those who are thinking, “Well what happened? What did you see on the shrooms? What did it teach you?” — I’m not telling (at least not on a public blog). For two reasons: First, it is a very personal experience — and I’ve listened to maybe two dozen trip stories and none of them helped prepare me for mine. Second, I find that sharing psychedelic experiences with people who haven’t done it is a little like telling someone about a dream you had. It’s really hard to articulate and leaves most people more confused than inspired when you’re done. So I won’t waste your time. All I’ll say is that it worked. I don’t know if it would work for you, I don’t know if you should try it, I just know that it got me to a place in my healing that I could always see but never quite reach.

And in case you’re wondering: Yes, I sobbed. Probably in the fetal position — who the hell knows. Yes, I said and did weird things. And all the while I fell in love with myself. I connected more deeply with my husband. I healed old wounds and I liberated myself of things I didn’t even know held me prisoner. I set myself free.

So that’s my badass-pioneer-healing-journey story. I didn’t see a path for me so I made one. I, by no means, am the first person to take psychedelic mushrooms and have a profound experience. I’m also most likely not the first one to do it in exactly the way I did. But I was the first in my world. My little regular person world where I’m a wife and a mom, a dedicated professional, and anything but special. But for my little world, this was my way of being just like those 19th century scientists I’ve always admired — who went where the research took them, and then — when the path ran out — went one step further. I created a place for someone like me to go to heal.