Not Everyone Needs to Climb Everest— Why a Gentler Path Is Sometimes the Most Courageous One

Everywhere you turn right now someone is talking about psychedelics. There are retreats in Peru, Costa Rica and right down the road in California, Florida, and Oregon. There are podcasts, documentaries, and bestselling books. Microdosing psilocybin has become mainstream. Ayahuasca ceremonies are being held in living rooms and luxury wellness centers alike. MDMA is on the verge of FDA approval for PTSD as The Veteran Administration just announced a new MDMA clinical trial to treat PTSD and alcohol disorder and has earmarked $23 million for 19 other clinical trials focused on psychedelic therapies for mental health conditions.

And underneath all of it runs a subtle but powerful message: if you are serious about healing, this is the way.

I want to offer a different perspective. Not because I think plant medicine is wrong. I don't. I have done my own deep healing work with these sacred medicines. I have witnessed profound, life-changing transformation in people who have walked that path with intention and support.

But I have also witnessed what happens when someone climbs Everest without the right gear. And it is not pretty.

Psychedelics are not a magic bullet.

I say that as someone who has sat in ceremony, who has done the work, and who continues to integrate lessons that surfaced years ago. Integration is the real work. The ceremony is just the door opening. What you do with what comes through that door, the processing, the meaning-making, the slow and sometimes painful rewiring of old patterns, that can take months or years. Sometimes a lifetime.

There is no medicine on earth that does that work for you.

And for some people, particularly those carrying significant trauma histories, ayahuasca, psilocybin, and MDMA can be far too much for the nervous system to hold. These are powerful, full-throttle medicines that can blow the lid off a system that was already barely holding things together. What was meant to heal can instead destabilize. What was meant to open can instead overwhelm.

I know this from my own experience.

My first ayahuasca retreat was a three-day silent medicine ceremony. I give it zero out of five stars and I also would not trade it for anything, which tells you something about how complicated this territory is. What I can tell you is that it was initially destabilizing to my system. About three months after the retreat, I remember telling my integration coach that the integration process was so much harder than I expected and I had some regrets of sitting in ceremony. In a calm and confident voice, she assured me that this was all part of the healing process. She was right. I had so much to release, to untangle, to surrender, to forgive. And I am completely convinced that I would not be living the peaceful, grounded, faithful, meaningful life I have today without those lessons. There is absolutely no way.

But I also had over a year of continual integration support. I had a stable home environment, a supportive partner, meaningful work that gave me purpose, and a strong personal faith that helped me hold what surfaced. I was not in crisis. I was not isolated. I had a container sturdy enough to hold what the medicine asked of me. Without all of that, it would have been a challenge to integrate and create lasting change.

I have also watched someone I cared about professionally travel somewhere I could not reach.

I had been working with a client for about three years when he had the opportunity to attend a well-supported plant medicine retreat. I supported him with preparation and integration for this retreat. We prepared carefully and thoroughly. We discussed contraindicated medications that he needed to be completely off of for 30 days prior. We addressed dietary changes, eliminating foods and substances that could interfere with or create risk during the experience. We discussed contraindicated supplements. We talked about the importance of a clean spirit and psyche in the weeks leading up to the retreat, avoiding violent media and other negative material while intentionally consuming uplifting music, reading, and practices that would support his system. In session and outside of session he practiced grounding techniques including meditation and breathwork that would help anchor him during his journey. He set a clear intention for the retreat. We took it seriously.

His experience was profound. It shifted his beliefs, deepened his spirituality, opened something real in him.

And then, without telling me, without telling anyone in his life, he continued on his own. More medicine. More journeys. No preparation. No integration support. No one around him knew what he had been exploring so no one could make the connection when things began to unravel.

Slowly and then all at once, he lost his footing in reality. His mental health deteriorated in ways that were heartbreaking to witness. And because he had kept this part of his life completely private, the people who loved him had no context for what was happening or why.

I did everything within my power. But the options available to me were limited. Without meeting a specific legal threshold for involuntary intervention, my hands were tied. I could not force the help he needed. I could only watch, and reach, and hope.

He eventually drifted out of contact entirely.

I think about him often. His story lives in me as a reminder of why this work requires more than intention and courage. It requires the right container, the right timing, the right support, and the willingness to be honest with the people around you about what you are doing.

I want to bring some caution and wisdom into this conversation, not to discourage you, but because I believe you deserve the full picture.

So, before you book your medicine retreat, here is what you should ask yourself:

1. Have you explored your trauma history with a professional and discussed what might surface in an altered state?
2. Do you know why you want to sit with the medicine and have you examined whether that reason is coming from a grounded place or a desperate one?
3. Are you aware that plant medicine is genuinely contraindicated for certain people and have you honestly explored whether you might be one of them?
4. Have you examined your expectations honestly? Many people arrive believing this will be the thing that finally unlocks their healing. That belief alone can set someone up for a very hard landing.
5. Do you have an integration coach or therapist already lined up— not as an afterthought, but as a non-negotiable part of the plan?

If you cannot answer yes to all five of those questions, you may not be ready. And sitting with that honestly takes more courage than booking the flight.

This is where ketamine comes in for me, not as a lesser option, but as a different kind of mountain entirely.

Ketamine is legal and medically supervised. It works at a lower intensity than classic psychedelics which makes it far more manageable for nervous systems that carry a lot. It creates an opening, a softening, without blowing the roof off. For people with significant trauma histories, it can be the first safe step into non-ordinary states rather than a leap off a cliff.

It is important for you to know what ketamine is and what it is not. Ketamine is not a lifelong treatment. Tolerance develops over time which means it loses effectiveness with repeated use. It requires thoughtful, intentional use under proper medical supervision. It can be misused. And like any medicine it works best when paired with real therapeutic support before, during, and after each session. It is a powerful tool in the right hands and the right context. It is not a cure and it is not for everyone.

But here is what I have witnessed over and over in my work:

For someone who has lived with depression or anxiety for years, sometimes decades, a 30-to-60-minute ketamine session can be the first time they have ever experienced their body without pain. Without the weight. Without the noise. For the first time they can feel what it is like to simply exist without suffering. That experience alone can shift something fundamental. Because the person now knows in their body, not just their mind, that relief is possible. That there is another way to feel. That healing is not just a concept someone told them about. And from that knowing, real work becomes possible.

That is the gentler path. And for many people it is not the easy way out.

It is the way in.

If you are curious about whether ketamine-assisted therapy might be right for you, or if you have had a plant medicine experience that left you feeling unmoored and unsupported, I would love to talk with you. This is exactly the work I do.

*Next in this series: The piece nobody talks about: what integration actually looks like, and why it matters more than the journey itself.*