Disillusioned With the Modern Psychedelics Movement
Yet again, humans are bastardizing a deeply powerful tool for healing.
Read time: Approx 5-7 mins
I didn’t get into psychedelics because I wanted to be a better version of myself. I didn’t do it to optimize my brainwaves, “beat” depression, or “integrate my trauma.” I wasn’t looking to hack anything or increase my productivity.
I took my first psychedelic because the entire narrative of my being no longer made sense, and I saw no real point anymore…to anything. My purpose…the world and the “important things” I thought I believed in…no longer felt like they were mine. I was slowly unraveling, negotiating with myself on my daily commute whether closing my eyes in mid-traffic wouldn’t be the worst idea. Disillusionment and burn-out are an understatement. Because the glue of it all (the structures, the identities, the stories, the “that’s just the way it is” dismissals, the “just do this and you’ll get there” promises) had started to feel like cages. Deep down, some feral, half-starved part of me knew that the only way out of this bullshit was through.
Having recognized healthcare’s inability to “heal” me in the way I truly needed, I listened. Or rather, I finally shut up long enough for something older and wilder to whisper.
When I first got into this world, I did what any modern, data-literate, millennial would do: I researched it to a pulp, until I gained a sense of “control.” I read the papers and scienced-the-hell out of it. I bookmarked the maps.org site like it was the Dead Sea Scrolls. I nodded along to the fMRI brain scans showing decreased activity in the Default Mode Network, which, at the time, I thought was a cool way of saying “turning down the inner asshole.”
I wanted to understand what was happening to me and why everyone else seemed so content with navigating the seemingly-nonsensical hamster wheel of existence. I wanted to feel safe, legitimized. I wanted language to wrap around the ineffable.
But then I actually started doing the work. And let me tell you…no journal article or “tell me more about that” therapy session prepared me for being folded into a mushroom vortex…sobbing into the fibers of my carpet floor, cradled by something that felt like both mycelium and memory.
It didn’t feel like “therapy.” I had already overly-intellectualized my “problems” to the point that it was no longer serving me at the time. It felt like being composted.
And that’s the moment something clicked. Or maybe it un-clicked? All of this scientific framing…as helpful as it was…suddenly felt…flat. Useful, sure, but incomplete. It was like trying to explain the Sistine Chapel with a Pantone color guide.
As someone who understands and appreciates science…biology…this was more than “brain chemistry.” It was about being reintroduced to reality and the essence of being human. To the trees. To the sky. To every single blade of grass I’d ignored in my quest for personal development. Psychedelics didn’t show me some magical staircase towards “fixing” myself…but they did help me remember the innate healing and “knowing” we all contain. We’ve just buried it under centuries of dissociation-driven productivity, religious bigotry, systemic trauma, inherited shame, and useless accolades.
Somewhere along the way, the word “healing” got hijacked and institutionalized. And it is blatantly obvious when you walk into a traditional clinic these days… Everyone is an “expert,” everyone wants to sell you a cocktail of bullshit labs and supplements, and everyone holds the secret pill that will “revolutionize” this or that. But just stop and really…truly look around. We are a sick, miserable society.
Mentally. Physically. Spiritually…We’re lonely, more than half of the population is on mental health medication, everyone suffers from chronic pain, everyone’s got diabetes, everyone’s blood pressure is chronically elevated, nobody sleeps, our food sucks, our air quality sucks, our relationships are suffering, our kids are suffering, and we’re all one red light away from ramming the neighboring car off the road. If that’s “normal”…what a thriving society is supposed to feel like…then I’m no longer interested. And I’m no longer buying it. The narrative keeps recycling itself, because it feeds off of our productivity, attention, and consumption.
We’ve mastered the art of “pretending” happiness, sure…bypassing our way through life with "good vibes only,” “aligned chakras,” and #Blessed Facebook posts. But they all seem a bit…off, don't they? Lacking truth and stuffed to the gills with bullshit. Because behind many of those glossy posts are individuals suffering from depression, substance abuse, failed marriages, and deeply-rooted trauma. And perhaps most importantly, it's recognizing that, someone who has truly “healed” likely no longer needs the validation.
The same cultural machinery that made us sick—the individualism, the extraction, the colonialism, the relentless monetization of everything historically sacred—has now dressed itself up in shamanic white linen…pulling “spirit cards,” waving a Palo Santo stick, and asking for your insurance provider.
Classic psychedelics grow from the Earth. They always have and they always will. They are not ours. We do not own the planet. They have been used for thousands of years in community, in ritual, and with deep Earthly connectedness and humility. And what have we ‘oh righteous humans’ done? We’ve shoved them through the clinical pipeline…extracting the “active ingredient” from the inherent synergy of the plant, all so we can serve them back to ourselves with tasteful pastel branding and a sliding-scale payment plan.
It’s a bit self-flagellating even calling it “psychedelic-assisted therapy.” But humans love to amass a bunch of fancy certifications and letters after their names in the name of being coined “healers” or “gurus.” Let’s be honest…much of it is just capitalism doing what it does best…only this time with a thick layer of sage smudging. The ego still remains, hidden beneath the hyper-spiritual verbiage.
I want to be very clear. I’m not against science. I love science. I live and work in science. I’m not against therapists. I love a good post-trip emotional breakdown with a journal and some gentle acoustic guitar playing in the background.
What I’m against is the reduction. The sterilization. The assumption that healing happens in 90-minute sessions, behind closed doors, with legal disclaimers and HIPAA forms. That mushrooms are medicine only once they’ve been extracted, scaled, processed, measured, and administered by someone in a lab coat.
Healing doesn’t happen to you. It happens with you. In relationship and in reciprocity.
You can’t put that on a bottle, and there isn’t a single provider or clinic that holds that power.
Here’s the theme that keeps coming up for me, again and again, every time I have my own journey with the medicine: everything is conscious. Not in the way we define consciousness in psychology textbooks…all that self-reflexive, human-centric, ego-bound chatter. No. I mean something slower…quieter. Something relational.
There is a way a fungal mycelial network moves through the forest that feels like a conversation. The way crows warn each other. The way plants respond to the presence of kin. The way your own body, when you finally stop resisting it, speaks in images and sensation. That’s your intuition…guiding you toward what you forgot.
This world is alive. Every part of it. And we are currently treating psychedelics like we treat the rest of the planet: “What can I take from this? How can I monetize this?” When we treat psychedelics as isolated “active ingredients,” we are, frankly, missing the point. We are severing the very web they are trying to reconnect.
You don’t just “ingest a mushroom.” You enter into an agreement with it. You hand over the reigns…in full trust. You don’t “take” ayahuasca. You meet the medicine and lessons it has to offer. You don’t extract ibogaine and call it medicine…removing it from its synergistic plant compounds and its historical lineage.
And yes, that matters. Healing is not a one-way transaction. It is a co-creation. You have to bring something. Your grief. Your honesty. Your willingness to listen. And most of all, your reverence.
Here’s what really gets under my skin…and by “under,” I mean DEEP into the fascia of my being—the idea that someone, somewhere, gets to own this space. That access to healing should be mediated by money, credentials, nonprofits with suspicious funding sources, or companies looking for a scalable ROI. That the psychedelic experience…which, at its core, dissolves ego and reweaves connection…is now being parceled out by people who still believe in scarcity. Scarcity of access. Scarcity of control. Scarcity of worthiness.
It’s the same colonial playbook…over and over again. Look back over the course of human colonization—particularly that of white European settlers. When have we not trampled over culture and history to pad out own pockets?
I’ve come to a crossroads with where my passion for psychedelics and my innate need for authenticity are clashing. Particularly in recognizing the path we’re inevitably headed down. When for-profit companies file patents on molecules that have been in sacred use for centuries, they are stealing in the name of “innovation.”
When psychedelic training organizations promote “inclusivity” but require you to sit through a 6-week training that costs thousands of dollars to become a “licensed guide,” they are not building safety. They are building a wall…a wall of privilege…of wealth…of control…of “we know the answer.” And of course…all neatly packaged behind their veil of spiritual narcissism.
When people ask, “How can I monetize this medicine?” instead of “How can we protect its integrity?”…I’m sorry. They are not serving the medicine. They are serving themselves.
So what do we do with all this? I don’t have a perfect answer. If I ever do, you can be sure I’ll create a subscription-model or “Masterclass” to sell on the matter…barf.
But I do know this…someone “telling” me to be excited about the medicalization of the psychedelic space and me recognizing…feeling…how completely disconnected that very movement has become. Talk about cognitive dissonance…I’ve felt myself silently stepping back from the excitement that once pulled me into the space. I’m not looking for a more protocol, red tape, and privilege. I’m looking for a relationship. One where healing strips free from the authoritative model and looks like “remembering we belong to something bigger than ourselves.” Bigger than humanity. Where nature isn’t a backdrop for a healing journey…it is the healing journey. Where a mushroom isn’t a compound. It’s a living entity.
Maybe that sounds crazy. But I’ve seen what “sanity” looks like in this world, and I’m no longer interested.
So if you’re reading this, and you feel like the industry is missing something vital…some pulse, some presence, some inconvenient but beautiful truth…thank you for questioning the status quo.
Healing does its best work without a platform or sales pitch. It doesn’t need more scientific processes or algorithms…or overpriced Burning Man tickets…or thousand-dollar Peruvian jungle Ayahuasca retreats. And it definitely doesn’t need capitalism and wealthy investors. It just needs a place and the courage to show up without needing to be fixed.
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