Three weeks ago I signed up to become a microdosing practitionner with Thirdwave’s program. Plant medicine and somatic therapy? Those are my two favorite tools; the program called my name like a sultry mermaid. Although my head has been very busy lately with some personal drama (outlined in my last post), I was committed to this journey. The program started 4 weeks ago but I only started microdosing 2 weeks ago and… it’s been brutal so far.
Even though in my future practice, I will most likely use psilocybin because it’s cheaper and more available, I wanted to try the program with San Pedro because it is recommended. Additionally, the program leaders compare it to MDMA, saying it has an uplifting and heart-opening effect. I should have known this would not be the case for me since MDMA and I are not friends. The San Pedro made me much more sensitive (which is not ideal considering I’m already very sensitive). I’ve been crying for nothing, panicking more easily, even leading to a full-on panic attack, the kind I had not had in a long time. I felt myself slowly start to sink into a deep depression, as deep as the panic I’ve felt. After two weeks of microdosing, I could barely get out of bed and experienced the kind of depression that makes you feel like you’ll never be ok again.
At this point, I started thinking the program wasn’t for me. In the last class we had with Dr. Dave Rabin, we were told very clearly that microdosing (as well as most plant medicine) was not recommended for bipolar people. I started thinking my cyclothymia might be too close to bipolar disorder and it just wasn’t for me. I was already mentally thinking about the email I would write to drop out and potentially ask for a partial refund.
As I sank deeper into depression, I started rewriting my identity. See, I didn’t realize I could still be THAT depressed, and it was terrifying. I started thinking that certain projects that I had were unattainable. Certain people I wanted to be friends with were too much work and I didn’t need them; I have good friends already… Little by little, I shed ambitions and desires, feeling as though I was letting myself down and regressing. I was sad, hopeless, and grieving a vision of my future self that I had for months or years, depending on the project. Eventually, I reached what seemed like the bottom of the barrel, and I only had a few things left in my hands… and I remember thinking, “No… not this. This I cannot let go; I’d rather die. This is what keeps me here, gets me going.” When I realized what had happened… I started laughing. 10 years of psychedelics and I still get played.
I’ve heard it said in the program that the microdosing will show you what’s important. I had imagined divine inspiration and clear intuition. What I had not imagined was being so completely emotionally drained that you can only give energy to what matters. Once a much more realistic (at least for the time being) version of my current and near future selves was designed, I realized how long I had been living in the shadow of everything I wanted to become. Always living in limbo, not knowing whether or not I’d make it through. Awaiting success to allow myself to believe in myself. I thought I was ambitious, but I was letting the mainstream vision of what a coach is polluting my mind and keeping me from my authentic mission. Once I rid myself of what wasn’t truly me, I felt so much lighter and so much more present. I realized how I interpreted every failure as a confirmation that I was on the wrong path, growing more and more scared of moving forward, but now that I built my ambition from rock bottom, there is nowhere to go but up.
I was so afraid of what it meant about me if I failed; that I was just like my mom, completely deluded about my skills, my wisdom, the value of my teachings, only wanting to help as an ego trip to feel validated. I didn’t realize that failure would mean death, and who can create with a gun to their head? I know I would be happy with the goals I have now, even if it never blows up, even if I don’t ever become a best seller author. My motivation was always pure, I think, but I didn’t realize the how much fear of failure hid in the grandiose ambitions that I had; I thought they were the proof I believed in myself, when in fact, it was an overcompensation.
I feel a great sense of release, letting go of control. Not only towards my career but in a general sense in my life. My failures don’t mean I am incorrect, or not something enough… it’s just the chaos of life and I need to keep moving and creating because I am inspired to, not because I’m trying to be great.
Another drop in the ocean 
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