In 2020, I was in an ayahuasca ceremony in LA when my friend called out to the three shamans, “I need to go outside to throw up.” One of them walked up to her and scolded her for talking as it “disturbed the other participants.” I spoke up and said she should be allowed to ask for help, leading him to go on a tirade: “I’m here to teach you, not the other way around. No talking in ceremony! You are ruining the journey.” He then reached out and grabbed my leg, which was shaking from the medicine and nerves, and declared, “Do not kick.” Scared for my safety, I found my way outside to spend the rest of the night with a different shaman.

But that wouldn’t be the last time a shaman would use his power to degrade me. Three years later, I was struggling in a Wachuma ceremony and ran inside to cry on the couch so I wouldn’t disturb the circle; I was embarrassed to be seen in such an emotional state. A shaman followed me, calling me "hysterical" and "aggressive" and saying this was a "place of peace" I was disturbing, which of course made me cry more. Later on, when the mood lifted, he said I was a “lovely girl,” and he did not mean to scare me. This was my third ceremony with him and his wife, so they felt like family. So three years later, I signed up for another of their ceremonies, thinking it was water under the bridge. To my shock, they informed me that I was no longer welcome because I had "disrupted the space" and they needed to protect "the safety, integrity, and harmony of the ceremonial container." As if the leader himself had not compromised those very values by scolding, shaming, and excluding me.

In May 2022, Randall Hansen, health educator and author of Triumph Over Trauma, gathered with a group at a retreat center in Elma, Washington, to meet the shaman who would serve them ayahuasca. “He told us we could not touch or hug him, as our energy could upset his perfect energy,” he recalls. When someone said he was feeling the effects of the medicine after just a few minutes, the shaman claimed he was “over-reacting” as that wasn’t possible. “They actually made him leave the yurt for a while,” Hansen says. Afterward, a participant asked why she was not healing after several ceremonies, and he told her it was because she “was not doing the work, was lazy, and really should just give up until she was ready.”

Some leaders abuse their power to convince participants that sex is part of their healing. Tina, a 38-year-old medicine woman in Central America, was sexually assaulted years ago in the Amazon by a shaman who claimed it was a fertility treatment. He later began targeting other women to sleep with him under the guise of healing — and threatened Tina when she tried to stop it by saying he could “hurt her spiritually.” 

There’s also been disturbing footage found of ceremony guides, such as Mexican “doctor” Octavio Rettig, physically abusing participants while they are under the influence of powerful psychedelic substances. 

Often, though, shamans get away with more subtle forms of verbal and emotional abuse. Federica Bressan, a 44-year-old author in Italy, was yelled at by a shaman because she became violently seasick on a boat during a retreat in Portugal and asked to get off the boat; they were on a spiritual excursion without plant medicine. “[The shaman] said, ‘no, this is you imposing resistance because you’re not in control; you have to learn and surrender,’” she recalls. The shaman kept emphasizing that nobody else experienced this, as if getting seasick was wrong. The captain eventually saw how sick she was and turned the ship around, even after the shaman made comments like, “Let her be sick. She is fighting with demons.”

When someone experiences emotional abuse while under the influence of any substance, but especially psychedelics, it can have an even stronger impact on their mental health and self-esteem than it would in a sober state of consciousness. Not only that, but a person under the influence may have a compromised ability to say “no” or stand up for themselves. “One of the biggest risks in plant medicine spaces is that altered states can make people unusually open, suggestible, and physiologically disinhibited,” says licensed psychologist and psychedelic integration therapist Christina Chick. “These substances affect neurochemistry and stress hormones in ways that can soften boundaries, reduce critical evaluation, and impair a person’s ability to clearly sense or assert consent in real time. That is precisely why facilitators must exercise restraint and uphold exceptionally clear ethical boundaries.”

Misuse of authority is especially harmful to trauma survivors, who constitute a significant portion of people who attend medicine ceremonies, Chick adds. “It can recreate core dynamics of trauma: powerlessness, confusion, fear, and pressure to override your own internal signals in order to accommodate someone more powerful. At that moment, the nervous system is not learning safety. It is learning compliance.”

Psychedelic facilitators are powerful figures in many people’s lives. “People are voluntarily opening their psyches and trusting the facilitator to guide their journey safely,” says Tony Moss, a medicine musician with 30 years of ceremony experience. “This puts many people in a vulnerable position. And if they haven’t done their homework and vetted the group or facilitator they’re sitting with, there’s a false sense of safety and unearned trust.” 

It’s best to find ceremonies via referrals from people you trust, says Erica Siegal, a licensed clinical social worker and harm reduction specialist. She also recommends observing whether the leader introduces themselves in advance, conducts a medical intake, and gives you information about the medicine beforehand; these are signs they are competent and attentive enough to keep you safe. “There’s a lot of ‘just trust me,’” she says. “‘Trust the mystery of it’ is not really the way to go.” You can also check out Epic Psychedelic’s list of red, orange, yellow, and green safety flags to help you vet ceremonies and facilitators, and the ways in which abuses of power show up in these settings.

Shamans can also be master manipulators. They may assert control over participants by claiming to understand the spirit realm better than anyone, or by convincing a participant to override their own intuition — for example, by reframing boundary-crossing behavior (such as unwanted touching) as spiritually necessary for healing the body or soul. “Instead of going to college to get a doctorate, shamans are going to the ‘University of Life’ to learn how to be the bridge between the spirit world and the physical plane,” explains psychedelic facilitator Le’ Jai’ La Troi. “Their extensive years of training in their craft [can] give them an advantage and the ability to manipulate or exploit others in the [container] if they choose to.” 

Some communities fall prey to groupthink, a psychological phenomenon where the desire for harmony or conformity within a group overrides people’s ability to think critically or independently. This can show up in ceremony spaces as participants defending an abusive shaman. Noami Lievens, a 31-year-old architect in Ibiza, was in an ayahuasca ceremony in Peru when shaman Guillermo Arévalo put his hand up her shirt — and other women at the ceremony said it was part of the healing or that they would have liked it. “He was manipulating the minds of the people,” Lievens recalls. After that, she began asking around to make sure she attended ceremonies that were safe for women. “People say, ‘I will go with the flow that the healer, the almighty, is telling me to go with; I have to follow what this man is telling me to do," she says. Arévalo has faced multiple accusations of sexual abuse.

“There’s a lot of unqualified people [facilitating plant medicine],” says Tatiana Aya Tupinambá, an Indigenous curandera who runs ceremonies in Brazil. “A lot of people have bad intentions, people who know nothing about the medicine.” Before attending a ceremony, Tupinambá recommends researching not just the group you might sit with, but also the medicine and the culture. “Some men think: ‘I am in this place of power. Now I can have any woman in my life.’ ...They want to sleep with as many women as they can.” Siegal suggests educating yourself on different medicines and cultures by reading through articles on DoubleBlind, Psychedelics Today, and Psychedelic Support. 

Male supremacy paves the way for male facilitators to get away with poor behavior. What’s more, narcissistic men (and women) tend to flock to industries and especially underground spaces where power dynamics are at play and tenuous legality prevents people from reporting incidents to authorities. Randall Hansen recalls the emotionally abusive shaman he encountered: “He probably has never done the necessary work on himself, and we know that psychedelics can sometimes inflate the ego, especially of middle-aged white men. This is partly why I support decriminalization and legalization—so [abuses] can be in the open, not hidden.” The criminalization of psychedelics discourages people from reporting abuse because they or others involved in the ceremony could be penalized for using plant medicine in the first place. However, support with the choice to report an incident is available. Those who have experienced harm in medicine ceremonies can contact the Shine Collective to learn what their options are.

Many are eager to respect shamans’ work rather than question them, especially in a world where Indigenous traditions are in danger. “I fully believe in the power of the medicine and the power of a good lineage passed in a clean, transparent, good way,” says Tina, but “it’s important to express that even in these lineages, you can find people who want to hurt as well.” And of course, modern-day Western psychedelic facilitators have also been guilty of manipulation and coercion.

Despite all of this, there remains a need for rules and boundaries in a psychedelic session. It’s important to hold “a well-structured ceremony that allows participants to be in their undisturbed process,” says Boris Kon, co-founder of ALP Shamanic Journeys. “It is a challenging chemistry where every component matters: preparation, screening, proper dosing, a clear explanation of the container, the creation of the right mindset for the group, and the dynamics between participants.” What works, in Kon’s experience, is not rushing the ceremony — longer retreats allow time for preparation, discussion, and integration — and involving a variety of facilitators, including Indigenous shamans and trauma-informed therapists. 

Education about the abuses that take place in ceremonies is important for prevention, especially in remote villages where shamans play a prominent role, and people are unaware of these dynamics. “I think the people who live in these places need to be more informed about how this is happening,” says Tina. “Do not be alone with men if you go to a village to do a treatment or study. I don’t think all shamans are bad, but there is certainly a lot of temptation and abuse of power because people are putting shamans on a pedestal. Shamans are getting away with it because people are not speaking up.” 

Siegal recommends asking facilitators what their policies are around consent and boundaries as well as what support is available in case of an adverse event. It’s a positive sign if they practice informed consent around the medicine itself — i.e. letting participants know what to expect and letting them have a say in things like dosage. “There are abusers in all types of spaces,” she says. “Recognize that your facilitator can be friendly toward you and you can have a deep, meaningful relationship — yet the power dynamic still persists. Be aware that good facilitators hold good boundaries.” 

The signs of emotional abuse can be subtle and hard to spot, especially if the leader is invested in being seen as ethical and competent. So, participants should be on the lookout for common manipulation tactics like using spiritual language to avoid accountability (such as “your ego is telling you that”), claiming to be the only person who can heal you of a certain malady, or “love-bombing” by giving special attention to you or another participant, says Ann Russo, a licensed clinical social worker specializing in spiritual trauma. Leaders should welcome and encourage questions and opinions from participants. 

Often, more than one person runs a single ceremony, so some participants gain reprieve by speaking to another leader if one engages in misconduct. “A Peruvian elder kissed me and touched me without warning before an ayahuasca ceremony in upstate NY,” recalls La Troi. “I spoke with the shaman in charge, who was serving the medicine. He confronted the elder and held space for me as I was in utter disbelief.” Lievens suggests having a mentor in the plant medicine community whom you trust, so you can talk to them if another leader mistreats you. “There’s a lot of very manipulative people who want to do harm,” she says. “In the spiritual world, there are a lot of people who are there for the wrong reasons.”

“Ignorance is a big part of how they get away with what they’re doing,” La Troi adds. “Many people are unaware of the ceremonial or energetic space and lack a deep understanding of how to protect themselves while in ceremony. Vetting your team is a priority. Who are you working with? Does the shaman have a history of sexual misconduct, manipulation, or control? Is the ratio of space holders to participants balanced? Ceremony leaders have to maintain integrity, which is easier said than done for some. For me, that requires ceremony leaders continuing their healing journey, plant diets, personal ceremonies, and daily practices that support their wellbeing to help others. Trust your instincts if you feel something is off; leave the ceremony before it starts. If you’re unsure of the space but decide to stay, take less medicine. Start low, and be observant to see how you feel.” 

Since some shamans give off an air of superiority and expect to be idolized, it’s important to remember they’re not superhuman beings. “A very common occurrence is participants projecting the facilitators into various roles or fantasy bonds,” says Moss. People may come to ceremonies to work through their relationship with their parents, or even their relationship with God — and the shaman can become a stand-in for these people or figures. Old wounds can be reopened and cause people to become submissive to the shaman if they don’t understand what is happening.  

Even when a shaman is gifted or enlightened, nobody is obligated to do anything just because they said so. Tupinambá remembers a shaman who told her to take off her clothes for a healing ritual. She told him: “I don't need to be naked; if I need to take my clothes off, I don't need that blessing in my life.” She adds: “Psychedelics are here to bring awareness, not to bind our mind. Not to make us even more enslaved. So instead of me blindly following someone, I have to take it into my own hands by educating myself.”

“I decided I was not going along with what she was saying,” Bressan echoes of her experience with a verbally coercive, dismissive shaman. While facilitators can offer suggestions, it enters dangerous territory for them to tell a participant what is happening in their own body or brain. “Never believe them over yourself,” Bressan says. “Never put yourself in their hands. Listen to what they say, see if it works for you, and have an open mind, but never believe them over what you feel.”

This isn’t a warning to stay away from ceremonies or psychedelic therapy. It is, however, an invitation to show up wiser to these spaces so we can hold the community to a higher standard. The medicine deserves better stewards — and so do we.

💌 If you loved this email, forward it to a psychonaut in your life.

Editorial Process

DoubleBlind is a trusted resource for news, evidence-based education, and reporting on psychedelics. We work with leading medical professionals, scientific researchers, journalists, mycologists, indigenous stewards, and cultural pioneers. Read about our editorial policy and fact-checking process here.