🫠 Ask a Guide Anything

Welcome to Tricycle Day. We're the psychedelics newsletter that can't stop staring at our hands. Have they always been this… liney? 😵‍💫

Ok, you had the journey. Maybe it was beautiful, maybe it wrecked you, probably a little of both. Either way, you’re back.

Only now, the fluorescent lights in the grocery store feel like an insult and your 47 Slack notifications seem like transmissions from another dimension. Welcome to re-entry.

For today’s newsletter, we asked our network of licensed psilocybin facilitators: How do you handle feeling disconnected from ordinary life after a profound journey?

Here's what they suggested.

We know y’all are deep thinkers.

But psychedelics don’t have to be about intellectualizing everything to death. How about something that’ll put you in your body?

The 90-minute microdosing-enhanced yoga classes at Vivid Minds combine 2 mg of psilocybin with gentle movement, sound bath, and breath work.

That’s just enough (carefully measured) medicine to safely quiet the mental chatter and drop you into the kind of grounded presence people spend years chasing on the mat.

Classes are semi-private (8 participants max) and run $150. First-timers more than welcome.

Every facilitator we heard from started from a place of reassurance. What you’re feeling is not a sign something went wrong. As Michelle Harrell puts it, feeling untethered “often means something significant has shifted.”

Clayton Ickes backs her up with the neuroscience. Psychedelics, he says, increase functional connectivity in the brain, which “can make old patterns, old ways of thinking, and ‘ordinary life’ appear very unfamiliar.” It’s easy to lose your bearings. “It's like we've been walking through a snowy field, leaving tracks, and then the snow falls again.”

Kate Schroeder normalizes the confusion from the start with her clients: “When perception expands, ordinary life can feel flat, slow, or strangely unreal for a while.” The disconnection, she stresses, isn't something to fix immediately: “Sometimes the sense of disconnection is grief, returning from something sacred. Sometimes it's the nervous system recalibrating. We stay curious rather than reactive.”

The consensus on what to actually do about it is fairly straightforward.: Prioritize sleep, eat well, move your body, get off your screens. (Not bad advice for anyone, frankly.) LeTa Jussila describes her post-journey anchor as “returning to belonging in my body and moving through the day at a slower, breath-led cadence.” Scott Burd keeps it even simpler: “Walking, cooking, time in nature, or talking with trusted people.”

Amy Charlesworth offers a useful metaphor: “Just like a TV that's gone haywire, sometimes what we need is to unplug for a good reset.” The window of disconnection, in her view, is actually an opportunity. But it’s up to you to use it with intention rather than just waiting for it to pass.

Mikki Vogt plans for re-entry with her clients before the journey even begins. “During preparation, we name ‘re-entry’ as a real phase of care,” building in both individual forms of support (grounding practices, sleep, nourishment) and communal ones (trusted people, groups, aligned community resources).

This is where things get interesting, and maybe even a little confrontational. Jim Hoeffler is direct: “After a profound journey, one does not want to ‘get back to normal.’ Through integration, one should seek to build a new relationship with normal.”

Clayton reframes the discomfort as an invitation: “Is there something important to know about that disconnection? Are you disconnected because you can now see that ordinary life doesn't work for you in the same way?” Answering those questions candidly could turn a crisis into clarity.

Kate brings it back to earth: “The goal isn’t to live in the peak state. It's to weave what was revealed into ordinary reality until ordinary life itself feels more coherent, embodied, and meaningful." And Benjamin Dancer leaves us with a practical reminder to carry the change forward: “21 days make a habit. Connect daily to the guidance of the journey.”

We're gonna let you in on a little secret.

It's not the psychedelics. Ordinary life has always been strange. (Especially those aggressive fluorescent lights. Chill, Trader Joe’s.) You’re just seeing it all with new eyes.

So yes, the post-journey weirdness our guides are describing is warranted and healthy. Give it time, and the world tends to reassemble itself. Maybe not exactly the way it was before, but that's the point, right?

There’s a line to watch for, though. Derealization (feeling like the world isn't real) and depersonalization (feeling like you aren't real) are clinical terms for a reason. If the disconnection isn't fading but deepening, or if it's been weeks and you're struggling to function, that's your cue to get more support. (Check out the Challenging Psychedelic Experience Project for starters.)

As for the rest of ya, relax and touch grass.

Reply to this email to shoot your shot. If it’s a juicy one, we may select it for a future issue.

That’s all for today, Cyclists! Whenever you’re ready, here’s how we can help.

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DISCLAIMER: This newsletter is for educational and informational purposes only and is not intended as a substitute for professional medical advice. The use, possession, and distribution of psychedelic drugs are illegal in most countries and may result in criminal prosecution.