For most of my career, I trusted the tools I had been given. I trained deeply in addiction and recovery, sexuality, trauma, Internal Family Systems, cognitive-behavioral, psychodynamic, and transpersonal approaches, to name a few. I built a practice, supervised clinicians, and spent years helping people navigate some of the most complicated moments of their lives.
 

When psychedelics or earth medicines entered the conversation, particularly with clients in recovery, I was often cautious. Sometimes very cautious. I understood the risks, and my own recovery made those questions deeply personal.
 

Then my life changed.
 

After eleven years of sobriety, I relapsed during a period of profound personal upheaval. What followed were several difficult years of trying to regain something I thought I already knew how to do. I returned to the practices, therapy, recovery work, and spiritual disciplines that had supported me before. And still, something was missing.
 

Eventually, my own search led me to an earth-medicine retreat in Mexico. That experience changed the trajectory of my life.
 

It did not give me a universal answer. It gave me a deeply personal one. My relationship with recovery changed. My spiritual life changed. And after a period of uncertainty about the next chapter of my professional life, my direction became remarkably clear.
 

I began studying. I trained in psychedelic medicine and indigenous medicine traditions in Mexico, pursued additional education in the United States, and began working more intentionally with psychedelic and earth-medicine preparation and integration.
 

Since then, I’ve facilitated over 100 sacred medicine ceremonies.
 

I’ve accompanied people through experiences of grief, wonder, fear, connection, uncertainty, and profound personal meaning. Sitting with people in both the therapy room and the ceremonial space has deepened my respect for what these experiences can open—and for the care they require.
 

I’ve also learned that a profound experience does not automatically become a transformed life. What comes before matters. The support around the experience matters. And what happens afterward—in our relationships, recovery, choices, and everyday lives—matters enormously.
 

Along the way, I recognized something in myself. I had gone from being cautious enough to sometimes become the gatekeeper to being enthusiastic enough to sometimes become the cheerleader. Neither was sufficient.

What emerged was a more grounded way of meeting this territory: openness without losing discernment, curiosity without imposing an interpretation, and respect for transformative experience alongside careful attention to risk, readiness, and responsibility.
 

That perspective shapes how I work with people exploring their own journeys. You may be considering an experience and wondering whether it is right for you. You may have returned from a ceremony feeling changed, confused, hopeful, or unsure what to do next. Or you may be navigating questions about recovery, sexuality, spirituality, relationships, or who you are becoming.
 

You don’t need to arrive with a clear answer—or even a perfectly formed question.
 

My role is to help you slow down, listen more closely, consider what deserves attention, and find thoughtful next steps. My own experience informs that work, while leaving room for yours to be different.
 

And then my colleagues began calling. Clinicians and supervisees were encountering psychedelic experiences in their own caseloads and asking increasingly urgent questions: What am I supposed to do with this?
 

Those conversations expanded my work. I realized that the questions I had encountered personally and in ceremony were already entering therapy rooms everywhere—and that clinicians needed support, too.
 

Today, my work includes individual support, Journey Guides for personal exploration, and education and consultation for clinicians. I am also writing The Psychedelic Clinician.
 

Across all of it, I remain interested in the same question: How do we bring what we discover into the lives we actually live?