I did Ayahuasca.

(And Lived to Tell the Tale)

Many details are excluded to protect identities and ceremony leaders.

I did ayahuasca for the first time two weekends ago.

It was 2 PM on Friday. I wore all white and drove to a location I won’t say.

I’ve been curious about ayahuasca for as long as I’ve heard about it but never felt “called,” and I definitely didn’t have the guts—or the need—for something so potentially life-altering. Let me be clear: I was scared shitless.

Many of my friends and peers have done it. I’d heard every kind of experience: profoundly positive and healing, horrifying and heavy, confusing, clarifying. It seemed like the experience could land anywhere on the spectrum—from euphoria to hell.

The plant is powerful, sacred, and ancient. And let me tell you, if you don’t respect it, it will humble you. Even if you do respect it, it will humble you.

I’m writing this as an amateur—a complete novice. I’ve done it once. This is just my experience and I’m sharing it because people are curious and I’m sick of telling my friends one by one. And because I’m a writer!

The house was a few hours from LA. I picked a spot on the large, carpeted living room floor. Gongs, traditional instruments, guitars, and drums were at the front. An altar with white lilies stood in the center.

It was beautiful.

I laid out my blankets and comforter. There was already a small floor chair to help you stay upright, even if you became completely incapacitated.

The ceremony was all women—twelve in total. A mix of ages and backgrounds, with five other first-timers. Everyone else seemed like a veteran- calm, collected - ready to meet the medicine again, like an old friend.

I wasn’t as panicked as I could’ve been, knowing I was going “light mode” because of my heart condition (a prolapsed mitral valve). My ceremony leader and I had agreed I’d start with a half dose and, when the second cup was offered, we’d reassess how I was feeling. This plan made me feel way more at ease.

I brought two photos of my mom: one from her high school days and one of her as a brand-new mom holding me when I was a year old. I placed them on the altar.

Before the ceremony even started, I began receiving “downloads.” Snippets of visions, things I wanted to accomplish, things I wanted to bring into my life. I felt emotional but in a good way.

Night fell, and my nervousness started to ramp up.

The ceremony was about to begin.

I kept reminding myself, “She will take care of you.” She, meaning Grandmother Ayahuasca.

Quickly: Ayahuasca, often called “Medicine,” is believed to hold a spirit or consciousness—feminine, Grandmotherly. It’s been a sacred tradition in Amazonian cultures for thousands of years. Westerners first documented it in the 19th century, but archeological evidence hints its use goes back to even 900 BC….which is crazy to me and possibly you?!

The brew comes from two plants: Banisteriopsis caapi, a woody vine, and Psychotria viridis, a leafy shrub. Alone, they don’t do much. Together, they unlock DMT. How ancient cultures landed on this exact pairing is one of those mysteries that blows your mind—like, how deeply were they tuned in to the natural world to figure this out?

Okay, back to the story.

We went around and shared our intentions. Everyone there had a laser-sharp reason why they’d come. As I listened, I started to feel like an imposter. Why was I here? My initial reason felt flimsy: to shed any lingering bullshit before stepping into 2025. To maybe confront my mother’s mortality with her cancer diagnosis.

The past few years have been transformative for me. I’ve evolved. I’ve grown. I’ve worked hard on myself and reevaluated my life and what’s important to me. Choosing “now” felt symbolic— like the perfect thing to do before stepping into a new year. Put a nice bow on everything.

But that reason didn’t feel “good enough” compared to everyone else’s.

At 9 PM, we drank. I took my first half dose. Everyone drinks by the way. Ceremony leaders and guides/sitters.

I thought about my heart rate. It spiked a little but then settled again.

I was thankful that 20 minutes in, I still wasn’t feeling much. Just gratitude.

Then the room shifted —not scary, but charged.

I heard people start to purge (I had zero urge). I felt safe in my cocoon and sent love to them. Someone began hysterically sobbing—deep, heaving cries. I sent them love telepathically. I wanted to hug them.

The icaros began—traditional songs woven into the fabric of the ceremony. I was insanely impressed by the women leading the ceremony— they were deeply skilled musicians.

I still didn’t feel much. Again, I was grateful for this. I decided to manually go inward, forcing the introspection myself, and think about my life.

My friend Brit’s face popped into my head. I thought about how much I love her. How she’s unconditionally loved me since the day we met, how steady and uncomplicated our friendship has always been. She’s never been moody with me, never wavered in her support. Her love has always felt like a fact. Even now, living oceans apart—she’s in Australia—we speak on the phone every week. I don’t know how we’ve managed to hold onto that rhythm, but we have and it’s been easy. I felt so grateful for her.

Then I really felt it. The medicine started scanning me—subtle, like a dog sniffing me. Sussing me out…like the first few minutes of a date where you’re still trying to decide who’s in control of the conversation.

Then the medicine spoke.