Psychedelic Journey

This past Thursday evening, I came home from work with the kind of focused energy one reserves for Very Big Things. I slipped into comfortable clothes, the kind that whisper, “You’re about to go somewhere extraordinary.” I made sure the air conditioner in the Pink Room was working—because somebody always closes the vents when the baby is sleeping in there. I plumped the pillows, checked the blanket (soft, not scratchy), and positioned my tablet with its carefully curated playlist, downloaded specifically for the purpose of doing this Very Big Thing.

All systems go.

When the doorbell rang at 6:30pm, in walked the nurse practitioner, armed with a collapsible IV pole, syringes, Zofran (a gift for the nausea-prone), and ketamine. My stomach did a few gymnastic routines of its own—nervous flip-flops I hadn’t experienced since I first booked this session weeks ago. This wasn’t my usual Thursday evening.

I had prepared like a disciplined student cramming for a final exam.No heavy foods. Nothing after noon. Water only. I even set an intention for the evening: to let go of what no longer serves me and to embrace what is. (Yes, I know, that sounds like something you’d read on a motivational mug, but intentions work best when they’re simple.) The plan? Release some of those crusty old hurts I’ve been clutching like heirlooms—because, honestly, enough already. And then to luxuriate in the good that fills my life now. My beautiful and exciting life. The love I have for the most magnificent beings that people my existence, how much love surrounds me, runs through me.

As I lay back on the bed, eye mask in place, IV needle doing its unglamorous job, I felt an almost childlike anticipation, a thrill of the adventure. Not just for the inner journey, but for the education—because you know me by now: is there any greater thrill than learning something new while simultaneously experiencing it?

Ketamine is a powerful pdrug. I know the connotation of the word drug, makes one think of illegal substances that are the stuff of addictions. However, the word  drug is an all-encompassing word that actually refers to any substance—natural or synthetic—that, when introduced into the body, alters its normal functioning in a way intended to prevent, diagnose, treat, or alleviate disease or its symptoms.

In this context, a drug isn’t inherently “good” or “bad”; it’s simply a tool with a biological effect. Aspirin is drug, just as chemotherapy agents a drugs. What differentiates apsychedelic drug from the way we think of drugs that cause an addiction is purpose, dosage, and oversight—it’s about using a compound in a controlled, evidence-based way to achieve a therapeutic/medical outcome, whether that’s lowering blood pressure, fighting infection, or regulating mood.

In therapeutic settings, psychedelic drugs  are used to facilitate a state of heightened awareness and neural flexibility that can help individuals process trauma, reduce symptoms of depression or anxiety, and break free from entrenched patterns of thought. When paired with psychotherapy, these substances often allow patients to access repressed emotions, view past experiences from a new perspective, and build healthier narratives about their lives.

This class of psychedelic drugs is currently being used by  by neuroscientists as[potentially] revolutionary treatment” for depression, PTSD, anxiety, and the deep, tangled roots of trauma.

As mental health needs surged and conventional treatments often plateaued in effectiveness, researchers dusted off old studies and began asking new questions. And the answers have been intriguing: these substances appear to “reset” certain neural pathways, creating a state of heightened neuroplasticity. In plain English, they make the brain less stubborn and more open to change, which is precisely what trauma healing often requires.

Ketamine is actually not considered a psychedelic drug. It’s in a different class, but because it is the only one that is legal in NY at this time, and because it offers a psychedelic-like experience, I’m using it to discuss the broader context of psychedelic drugs.

So, this is where’s where ketamine enters, stage left. It was developed in the 1960s as an anesthetic—safer than its predecessor, phencyclidine. Over the years, ketamine, as anesthesia, found its niche in operating rooms, on battlefields, and in veterinary medicine. Meaning, whenever someone is going in for surgery, ketamine is already being used to anesthetize that person. It’s not something new, obviously. You just may have not realized that when you went in for the operation, it was ketamine that was being used to “put you under.”

In the past two decades, researchers discovered something fascinating: at low, controlled doses, ketamine has a rapid and robust antidepressant effect. Unlike SSRIs, which can take weeks to alter mood, ketamine can lift the crushing weight of depression within hours, sometimes after just one session. It’s not magic, though—it’s science. Ketamine acts on the brain’s glutamate system, increasing the production of BDNF (brain-derived neurotrophic factor), which helps repair and grow neural connections damaged by chronic stress or trauma.

Therapists and clinics use ketamine in several forms:

• IV infusions, the gold standard, which allow for controlled dosing.
• Intramuscular injections, quicker and slightly less technical.
• Lozenges or sublingual tablets, often used in at-home or hybrid therapy models.
• Nasal sprays, such as FDA-approved Spravato (esketamine), primarily for treatment-resistant depression.

In a clinical setting, ketamine is administered with medical oversight, often paired with psychotherapy—commonly referred to as ketamine-assisted therapy (KAT). Here, the journey isn’t a solo flight into the cosmos but a guided exploration with therapeutic goals: unpacking trauma, rewiring beliefs, finding new perspectives.

Two psychedelic drugs currently undergoing clinical trials for mental health issues are psilocybin and MDMA.

Psilocybin believe or not are made from mushrooms (yes, mushrooms!—not the ones you find in the fruit store, although they can look very similar!), currently in clinical trials for depression, PTSD, and existential distress in degenerative illness. MDMA another which is in advanced clinical trials for PTSD, known for its ability to reduce fear responses and promote emotional safety during trauma processing.

As I mentioned previously, unlike psilocybin or MDMA, which are not yet been made legal for therapeutic use at this time in most states, ketamine is legal for medical use throughout the United States. Its approval as an anesthetic decades ago created a legal opening that allows clinicians to use it “off-label” for mental health treatment. Each state regulates clinics differently, but ketamine doesn’t face the same sweeping prohibition as do others.

In 2024, the FDA declined to approve MDMA-assisted therapy for PTSD despite strong research support, citing concerns about study methodologies. This was really upsetting for many people, therapists, doctors, and their patients. But the writing is on the wall—approval is coming; it’s just a matter of time and politics.

So now, before the question of why I am doing a ketamine session, I want to tell you why I wrote this column now, for the Rosh Hashanah edition of Binah.

A few years ago, before I knew about ketamine, I had been reading with avid interest about how many teaching hospitals were doing trials in psychedelic drug treatment for trauma. Tthen I found an amazing book, How to Change Your Mindy, written by a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, Michael Pollan in which he wrote about the different pharmaceuticals he experimented with in Brooklyn! Imagine, I thought, that this is going on all around me and I had no idea!

But what truly captured my attention with his erudite book about this journey was an interesting comment he made somewhere deep inside its pages. He said something like, “People who do these treatments talk about their deeply spiritual experiences and finding their roots back to their religion and faith.” He then went on to say something to this effect: “I wonder if it means that when someone is in the altered state of consciousness in which everything conscious is stripped away and they are left with only the ultimate truth of themselves, of life, of its meaning and purpose, what they find is G-d.”

Awe-inspiring, no? To think that an agnostic would come to this conclusion that when all earthly masks are pulled aside, what reveals itself is a higher spiritual realm, G-d..

So why did I decide to try ketamine? As a trauma therapist, I believe I can’t responsibly guide clients through something I’ve never experienced myself. I can’t lead anyone along a path I’ve never traveled.

You may ask me, then, “So you can’t treat anyone who has symptoms or a problem that you never had?”

Of course I can. As colorful as my various diagnoses might be, I don’t have ALL the ones my clients have, just a large range! Joking aside, no, therapists do not have to be personally acquainted with all their clients’ issues to treat them. However, I DO have to be personally acquainted with any modality that I use to treat them. I work with various modalities: IFS, Sensorimotor, EMDR, Somatic Experiencing, and breathwork, to name a few. I have personally done therapy and work in each and every one of these modalities in order to practice them in treatment with my clients.

In any case, ethics and responsibility aside (which I technically NEVER put aside ever, ever, ever!), I’ve always been slightly adventurous—though I prefer adventures that come with IV poles and a nurse practitioner rather than bungee cords. Sometimes.

So, after all  this talking about ketamine, let me circle back to the beginning and try to convey a little of my ketamine journey.

It is 7:15pm and after I am prepped both physically and mentally for my ketamine infusion, the IV needle goes in. Almost immediately, I feel it—lightheaded, heavy.

Memories come in no special order. There is a sensation of my daughter, of me hugging her, and then my boys joining us. They come reluctantly but happily, their ambivalence warm, not sharp and the walls of the world fold upon us, embracing me as I embrace them.

And then Hillel, my son who died almost 8 years ago at age 16.
I’m happy to see him, yet puzzled by the absence of grief. I search for it and can’t find it. It is good to see him—although it is not a seeing with my eyes, but with my entire being.

Then the music must have shifted because suddenly I’m rushing through blackness—geometric black shapes edged in gold, clear as if my eyes were open. I marvel at being able to see through my closed eyelids with no effort or strain. The rushing grows stronger, and there is the presence of Hillel pulling me forward. I fly through a narrowing tunnel, chest tightening, pain pressing down, breath hard to catch. Panic hovers, but I wiggle my toes, remind myself I can move, and calm returns. “Hillel, where are you taking me?” I ask, and in that moment he is gone.

The light gives way to darkness, just apinprick of light in the far distance. The world collapses in on itself like Lego blocks tumbling, cities crumbling into mountains, everything disintegrating—including me. Yet I am unafraid. “Just observe, Mindy,” I think to myself, “ If it all falls apart, you won’t know because you wil be gone with all of it. It’s okay. Go with it.” And there is this deeply satisfying sensation of knowing that I am truly who I always thought I was: curious, adventurous, courageous, unafraid to face myself, deeply joyous and content.

Again the rushing, deeper and deeper into the abyss, a total darkness descending. Hillel’s name rests on my lips, whispered again and again, until the syllables feel like a mystery. “I know this word, Hillel, but why is it so important?”

And then even stranger is the loss of memory, a loss of past, present, or future. The thought comes in to my mind as I rush towards the unknown, the geometric shapes now only shades of black. I think, “I don’t know where I am, what I am doing here, and why I wanted once to be in this place, but I know I once knew the answers to these questions and I will sometime know the answers again, that there was someone, something waiting for me on the other side of this loss of memory.”

Slowly memory returns, and I marvel: “How could I ever have forgotten Hillel?”

And I marveled that I had ever forgotten Now, I think back to that experience and remember Rabbeinu Bachyai’s words that we choose our life’s journey before we are born, when we are still just souls before conception. Once on Earth, we forget what we have chosen, what we agreed to before we start our lives and that clarity only comes once again after we die.

There is the sensation of this knowledge inside of me that this is what it means to know Hashem, that absolute trust and belief that everything Hashem does is for the good; and that is why it is possible for me to feel good even knowing Hillel is not here but there, wherever there may be.

There is the sensation of the IV being pulled out, of me sitting with the joy of being one with the world.

It feels only moments later that I open my eyes.

It is 8:13 p.m on a Thursday evening.

***

At this time, I am a certified practitioner with IPI, a prestigious institute that trains therapists and doctors to facilitate psychedelic treatment, including preparation and integration, for their clients. I feel both humbled and grateful to be on this journey that has the potential to alter the way healing happens for so many of our struggling clients. I invite you to join with me on this journey!