a psychedelic coming out.

Well, *slaps knees* here we are. This is a long one, but it’s the start of something big.

How are you? Like, really? How are you? Close your eyes and imagine me sitting across from you, asking you this question. Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth—how are you?

Could you answer? Do you have a canned and scripted response ready to go? Do you even know how you are? Have you ever had the privilege of knowing how you are? Because if I’ve learned anything over the past 42 years, authentically feeling your feelings is a privilege afforded to very few. Babies are the only humans on earth who get to feel whatever comes to them, and from birth, our reactions and responses to their authentic feelings begin to shape and mold their beliefs about the world and whether it’s safe or unsafe.

Right now, the world doesn’t feel safe, and I dare say most of us are ill-equipped to handle this level of everything. When I look back at my life, I can trace a single thread of events and synchronicities to where I am now, but again, I recognize this is an immense privilege that has come with years of practice and consistent work.

Three years ago, I looked at the raw materials of my life and, from ruin, began to see how everything I had experienced up to that point was bringing me to what was next and all the ways I was sabotaging myself and standing in my own way.

My sabotage manifested as addiction and everything that comes with being unable to face *gestures* all of this. What I’ve learned is the substance doesn’t matter, whether it’s in a needle, a cup, a pipe, a bottle, or a screen…addiction is an attempt to not feel something painful, and the smarter you are, the more painful this life can be. For many of us, it can be traced back to when we were itty bitty babies, and our caregivers were unable to meet our needs because, for whatever reason, they were in the position we’re in now…sick, scared, angry, or lonely. I suffered debilitating antenatal and postpartum depression with my first baby, and what a shame-fueled experience that is. I was ready with my second baby and took preventative measures to offset the possibility of antenatal and postpartum depression, and I was successful.

However, I was not prepared for what happened when my youngest was three and I was sexually assaulted in a foreign country. I never anticipated the church I attended to blame me for the assault; I wasn’t prepared for the amount of anger and self-loathing that would overcome me. I wasn’t prepared for members of my family to tell me to get over it, I wasn’t prepared for strangers on the internet to tear me apart, wasn’t ready to lose my entire career, to push my friends away, to push my family away, to even walk away from them for a time. Addiction came in a dozen different forms to fill the holes bleeding out from trauma, leaving me defeated and everyone around me covered in blood.

I went to treatment for the first time in 2018. I learned enough and found enough stability to begin again. I found a part-time job and worked on repairing the relationships I had ruptured. But under everything good remained a well of anger. I was angry that someone could upend my life and come away unaffected. I was furious the options for support were so lacking while also being expensive and stigmatized.

Then 2020 happened. You were there. You know.

I had just enough reserves and resilience to stay home for the greater good with relative ease. I had projects, I had my friends, I had hope. However, the stability I gained in 2018 was exhausted over the next two years, with minimal opportunity to move forward with proper recovery; I merely survived.

In 2021, I began working with a nonprofit that worked to educate parents and educators about the effects of childhood trauma, a job I was qualified for after spending years navigating social media as a mommy blogger. The women I came across were remarkable in every sense of the word. They had overcome unimaginable heartache and turned it into something beautiful to help and support others. I started to see the flaws in the systems we’re immersed in, how simple the solutions can be, and how stacked the odds are against implementing simple solutions into systems that are no longer focused on individuals, only obedience and results.

In 2022, things fell apart again through a series of systemic challenges we were not prepared to face, nor did we have the support to navigate them, and my survival crumbled back into addiction. Knowing the only way out was through, I returned to treatment again, only to come into a program that was more harmful than it was helpful. I was essentially held hostage for insurance money, my friends and family were gaslit about my behavior within the program, and I was unable to say or do anything about it as all communications with the outside world were controlled, monitored, and recorded. I ended up stealing a phone at an offsite recovery meeting and called Cody, begging him to get me out.

The program has since closed down, but the damage was done.

But, as usual, everything happens for a reason, and sometimes it takes a while to understand why.

I entered treatment for the second time exactly 1,000 days ago.

624 days ago, I attended my first-ever college class.

In 194 days, I will finish my first degree at the local community college before transferring to Indiana University to continue with my next degree.

305 days ago, I declared I’m not stopping until I have my doctorate in psychology.

I love learning. I love taking everything I’ve experienced in life and emboldening it with knowledge, science, and wisdom to leave everyone I come across better than I found them and the world just a little bit better, which, if you’ve been in the world lately, you’ll either think I’m delusional or admirable.

Maybe both.

If I’m lucky, I’ll still have 10 to 20 years of practice after I graduate to make a difference.

A lot can happen in 10-20 years.

I’ve worked part-time while attending school and volunteering with a therapeutic equine program. Addie is about to graduate with her first degree, Vivi is about to go into high school as an established member of a championship band program, and Cody continues to do everything he can to support the people he comes across in his career, helping them overcome insurmountable odds to become contributing members of their families and communities.

888 days ago, I took my last anti-depressant, my last anti-psychotic, and my last mood stabilizer, and I haven’t taken anything since.

But wait, how…

908 days ago, on an air mattress under the stars in the desert of Southern Utah, Ayahuasca saved my life.

Perhaps you have a vague idea of psychedelics and plant medicine; it’s possible you know absolutely nothing, or maybe you only know the stereotypes.

Psychedelics aren’t a cure-all or a magic fix for what’s wrong with the world, but when used responsibly, they’re a powerful tool that can serve as a breakthrough when every other resource has been exhausted.

There was a host of promising research before fear and propaganda landed them on the Schedule I drug list in 1970. There has been promising research since the 70s, and there are people and organizations committed to continuing it.

In a 2024 podcast episode about the FDA’s denial of MDMA, the host asked psychedelic researcher Dr. Rick Doblin what needed to happen next, and Dr. Doblin said, “What we need is a really big psychedelic coming out.”

This is mine.

In 2022, psychedelics saved my life.

Given the current state of everything, I don’t know what’s going to happen with research around psychedelics or science, health, and medicine in general. But I know I’m not giving up; for the first time in my life, I feel my purpose is clear, and while I don’t know how I know I will.

I know that last year, SB 139  was passed, which “Establishes the therapeutic psilocybin research fund, administered by the Indiana Department of Health (state department), to provide financial assistance to research institutions in Indiana to study the use of psilocybin to treat mental health and other medical conditions.”

I know plant medicine has been used by Indigenous cultures for as long as humanity has been documented.

I know there was my life before Ayahuasca and after, and perhaps if you’ve been around long enough, you’ve noticed the difference but couldn’t quite put your finger on where the change came from.

I know we’re a country of sick, hurting, and sad people who are doing the best they can with what they have available and what’s available isn’t cutting it.

I have been accepted into an international practitioner program seeking to prepare the medical and mental health community for psychedelic facilitation and integration taking place this spring. Regardless of legalization, people are going to continue to utilize psychedelics, and they will need professional support to understand their experiences. To have this opportunity right now is the culmination of a hundred synchronicities and events that have come together over the last decade, and it’s still only the beginning.

I’m legitimizing my lifetime of experience with education, and I need your help to keep moving forward.

What’s remarkable is that by simply having this opportunity to share my psychedelic coming out, I’m able to unlock a whole new level of authenticity. I’m so excited to bring you along while filling you in on what’s happened behind the scenes.

I’ve wanted to talk about this for years, but it was never the time.

I have qualified for a scholarship covering half of the program but need help with the rest, including travel to the Netherlands. Chances are, if you’re reading this, you’ve known me a long time, so to finally bring you in, thank you for being with me this far and having your support, whether financially or energetically, moving forward, is a blessing.

It’s been a dark few weeks, and I have allowed myself the space and time to feel all of it. I keep coming back with this boundless optimism that I have survived every terrible thing I thought would end me up to this point, so why should this be any different? It may look different than I had anticipated, it may take a little longer, but if I know one thing, it’s worth it to keep going.

I’ve spent the last several years developing resilience, and for the next few, I will be cultivating pluckiness. My name literally means brave.

Three years ago, I looked at the raw materials of my life and, from ruin, began to see how everything I had experienced up to that point was bringing me to what was next and all the ways I was sabotaging myself and standing in my own way.

In 2022, psychedelics saved my life; may I never take this second chance for granted.

…

If you have the capacity to assist with program and travel costs, thank you, it will not be wasted and it will be payed forward in a million other ways:
Venmo: @mooshinindy (last four – 2089)
Paypal or Zelle: mooshinindy at gee mail dot com