Greetings!
I’ve returned from the Vital Conference in Breckenridge, Colorado. Well, technically, I’m writing this from the plane as I make my way home.
For those unfamiliar, Vital is an educational program for mental health and wellness professionals, and others interested in exploring psychedelic medicine and altered states of consciousness. Its work extends beyond the medicines themselves, exploring what it means to support people through profound experiences of healing, transformation, and self-discovery.
This was the inaugural Vital Conference, and I left feeling called to share a little of what I experienced.
If you don’t already know, I’ve been incorporating Ketamine-Assisted Psychotherapy (KAP) into my practice since 2024.
My interest in this work began after several years of practicing trauma therapy and finding myself asking a question that felt both uncomfortable and important:
Is this it?
I had witnessed meaningful healing through traditional therapy and approaches like EMDR, but I also found myself wondering what else might be possible. What other depths of healing existed beyond what we could access through conversation, cognition, and even some of our more experiential therapeutic approaches?
That curiosity led me into the world of psychedelic-assisted psychotherapy.
And this journey has been just as personal as it has been professional.
Before incorporating KAP into my practice, I participated in numerous sessions myself. I continue to engage in my own experiential work because I believe deeply in the importance of knowing a process from the inside, not simply understanding it intellectually.
While Texas currently limits the psychedelic medicines that can legally be incorporated into psychotherapy, my curiosity and education extend far beyond ketamine. I’m also licensed as a professional counselor in Colorado, where I’m pursuing additional training in psilocybin-assisted work.
Perhaps another day I’ll write more about the medicines themselves, how they work, and their place in therapy.
But for now, back to the mountains.
The conference explored everything from ethics, biochemistry, spirituality, and chronic pain to mindfulness, indigenous traditions, therapeutic relationships, harm reduction, and the importance of setting and environment.
It was vast, nuanced, and rich.
But I don’t want to give you a full conference download. I want to share what happened a little further beneath the surface. The things I felt, the conversations that stayed with me, and the reflections that have already begun to take shape.
P.S. If you’re reading this thinking, “Abby? Psychedelics? What?” please reach out. I’ll tell ya all about it.
01. The Medicine of Belonging
I didn’t personally know a single person attending this conference.
Of course, I recognized some names and faces from Instagram, podcasts, and the teachers and mentors I’ve followed over the years. But walking into a room full of unfamiliar people?
Was I a little nervous? Absolutely.
I do great with new people one-on-one, in the safety of my office. Large, unfamiliar crowds? Not exactly my nervous system’s favorite environment.
But something interesting happened.
Within minutes of arriving, meeting people, and beginning conversations, I felt my whole body relax.
Ahhh. These are my people.
And it wasn’t simply because we shared an interest in psychedelic-assisted therapy.
It felt deeper than that. Almost cellular.
Within ten minutes, I was having conversations with people who felt like kindred spirits. People I’d never met, yet somehow felt familiar.
It melted my heart.
And honestly? I think we need more heart-melting in our lives.
It got me thinking about how much of our world encourages us to experience ourselves as separate. Individual. Different. Other than.
I have some thoughts about why that is, but we’ll save those for another day.
Because what I really want to talk about is how magical it feels to enter a room and experience belonging without having to earn it.
To feel accepted without explaining yourself.
To feel understood without translating every part of who you are.
To feel your body soften in the presence of other people.
You don’t need to be interested in psychedelics, therapy, wellness, or what I lovingly call the woo-woo world to understand this.
But I do encourage you to seek out the people and places where your nervous system can take a deep breath.
Where connection feels deeper than what can be explained on the surface.
Where you feel seen, welcomed, and free to be exactly who you are.
That, my friends, is some of the strongest medicine we have.
02. The Medicine Is Not the Healer
Okay. Let’s talk about the actual medicine piece. Just a little.
In Texas, I work therapeutically with ketamine. In Colorado, I’m pursuing training that may eventually allow me to incorporate psilocybin-assisted work within the state’s legal framework.
But one of the most meaningful themes of this conference, organized by people deeply invested in psychedelic medicine, was the importance of healing without medicine.
Let me say that again.
The medicine is not the healer.
It is not a magic fix. It cannot do the work of healing for us. And it cannot replace the importance of relationship, intention, safety, and integration.
It can be a powerful tool, absolutely. It can help open doors that may otherwise feel difficult to access.
But what happens when those doors open matters just as much as the experience itself.
One speaker compared therapeutic medicine work to a wedding.
I loved this analogy.
You are entering into a deeply intimate relationship with the medicine, with yourself, and with the people you invite to accompany you through that experience.
And just like a wedding, we should be intentional about who receives an invitation.
Who do you trust to witness you in your most vulnerable moments?
Who can sit beside you when things become uncomfortable, unfamiliar, or difficult to put into words?
Who understands that their role is not to direct your experience, but to support you as you discover what is yours?
I believe psychedelic medicines can be extraordinary gifts. But gifts deserve care, respect, and discernment.
In my own practice, I may work with someone for several sessions, sometimes months or even years, before we explore whether medicine-assisted therapy might be appropriate.
Because the relationship comes first.
The safety comes first.
And the person comes first.
I don’t see myself as the person who heals my clients. I see myself as someone who can witness, support, guide, and help create the conditions in which healing becomes possible.
The medicine, when appropriate, may help us journey into places that are harder to access in our ordinary, day-to-day consciousness.
But the wisdom that emerges belongs to the person experiencing it.
You are not a passive recipient of your healing. You are an active participant in it.
And I think that’s a beautiful thing.
03. Making Room for the Unknown
Oof. This one.
As humans, we love predictability.
Structure. Routine. Knowing what’s coming next.
And there’s nothing inherently wrong with any of those things. In fact, they can be incredibly important to our sense of safety.
But sometimes our need to know becomes the very thing that limits our capacity to experience something new.
Deep therapeutic work, with or without medicine, often invites us into unfamiliar territory.
One of the most common questions I hear is:
”What can I expect?”
And my answer is often some version of:
I don’t know.
We can talk about possibilities. We can prepare. We can create a safe and supportive environment. We can establish intentions and discuss what to do if something feels difficult.
But we cannot predict exactly what will unfold.
You might encounter grief.
You might feel immense joy.
You might experience vivid imagery, memories, or a sense of connection with someone you’ve lost.
You might leave with a profound sense of clarity.
Or you might leave with more questions than answers.
Your experience may be gentle and subtle, or intense and emotionally demanding.
And none of those outcomes necessarily tells us whether the work was meaningful.
I think this is where the invitation to surrender becomes so important.
Not surrendering our judgment, our boundaries, or our sense of safety.
But surrendering the belief that we must control every part of the process for something valuable to happen.
We live in a world that is constantly promising outcomes.
Do this, and you’ll feel better.
Follow these steps, and you’ll become the person you want to be.
Reach this milestone, and you’ll finally arrive.
But what if healing isn’t about arriving?
What if there is no final destination where we become completely healed, perfectly regulated, entirely self-aware human beings?
What if it’s a lifelong process of discovering ourselves, meeting the parts we’ve forgotten, and learning how to live more fully within our own lives?
A journey of coming home.
There is something incredibly beautiful to me about entering a process without needing to know exactly where it will take us.
About trusting that we can meet what arises, with the right support and care.
About allowing ourselves to be surprised.
Perhaps healing isn’t always about finding the answer.
Sometimes it’s about becoming more comfortable living inside the question.
A Little Mountain Magic
Like therapy itself, meaningful experiences often need time to settle.
Over the coming weeks, I’ll be intentionally making space to integrate what I experienced at the conference. To let the conversations, connections, and ideas find their place in my life and work.
There’s no pressure to make meaning immediately.
No need to analyze every moment or turn every experience into a lesson.
But these three reflections already feel clear to me.
Belonging matters.
Relationship matters.
And there is profound beauty in making room for what we don’t yet know.
Beyond all of that, there really is something magical about those Colorado mountains.
I’m coming home feeling refreshed, energized, and grounded.
And when my Uber driver picked me up from the airport, one of the first things he said was, “Wow, you have very zen vibes.”
So I’d like to think a little of that mountain magic made its way home with me.
I’m wishing you some of those same zen vibes this week. A little more peace, a little more groundedness, and maybe a moment of unexpected connection that melts your heart.
And if you’re ever curious about KAP or how it might fit into your own therapeutic journey, you’re always welcome to ask.
With love,
Abby
