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I used to think visibility was the same as meaning. I had followers, a loud online life, and an identity everyone could point to. Inside, I was breaking. Depression made the days blurry. I didn’t know how to stop the spiral, and I didn’t remember what self-respect felt like. Then I met the jungle. Then I met an Ayahuasca retreat.
The day the mask cracked
It didn’t happen with a lightning bolt. It was a whisper. A tired afternoon. I realized I had run out of clever explanations. I wanted different, not louder. I told myself a truth I had avoided for years: “I can’t do this anymore.” I asked for help in a way I never had before—not from a person, but from life itself.
Within days, a word kept showing up in random corners of the internet: Ayahuasca. I couldn’t ignore it. I didn’t want an underground fix or a half-measure. If I was going to do this, I wanted the real thing: a legitimate Ayahuasca retreat in the Amazon, guided by a real shaman, held by the forest that birthed the medicine.
Touching ground in Ecuador: My First Ayahuasca Retreat
The first breath I took stepping out of the airport felt different, like the air was denser with possibility. The drive into the Amazon was a slow unraveling of noise. The trees got taller. My mind got quieter. At the retreat center, I put my bag down in a simple cabin and realized I had already started: my nervous system felt… relieved. I wasn’t alone with my chaos anymore.
That night I sat in a maloka for the first time. The candlelight made the wood glow. A shaman opened the space with a prayer that made my skin buzz. I drank. I waited. And then something began to reorganize inside me—like a room being aired out after years of stale air.
What healing actually felt like
My first Ayahuasca retreat was not gentle. I had not honored the preparation. My body needed to purge, and it did. Waves of shame and grief rose and fell. The medicine didn’t punish me; she told me the truth. I saw the cost of my numbing. I felt what my choices had done to my body. And then, in a mercy I didn’t think I deserved, she gave me a clean horizon. The night ended, and I felt alive. Not manic, not euphoric—alive. The kind of aliveness you feel when you stop lying to yourself.
People noticed. Friends wrote to ask what happened. My social feeds turned from performance to honesty. I didn’t try to sell healing. I just told the truth about it: that it was messy, that it hurt, that it was worth it.
Going deeper without disappearing
A month later I traveled to Peru for more ceremonies. This time I prepared. My dieta was cleaner. My intention was precise. I experienced visions—not as entertainment, but as teachings. I watched a younger version of myself finally be held. I watched an older version of myself forgive who I had been. I understood that an Ayahuasca retreat doesn’t make you someone else; it helps you become who you were before the noise.
I won’t pretend I took the perfect path. I moved fast. I let go of people and patterns that had shaped my identity. I kept working where I had to until I could afford to change. I made a promise to myself: I would leave the performance behind and build a life that felt like the jungle—honest, alive, unedited.
The shape of a new life
I returned to Ecuador. I spent days by the river and nights at the ceremony. I met a shaman whose presence felt like a mountain—steady, kind, uncompromised. Under his guidance, I realized I didn’t want my story to end with recovery. I wanted it to continue as a service. Not as a guru, not as an influencer of healing, but as someone who could hold a lantern for others in the dark.
Together we built a program with the essentials I wish I’d had from the start: a small group, a shaman with real lineage, assistants who stay present all night, and days designed for integration, not distraction. We call it an Ayahuasca retreat, but what we offer is more than ceremonies. It’s a space where people can tell the truth to themselves and not be rushed.
What I know now
Healing isn’t a highlight reel. It’s a daily agreement with yourself. An Ayahuasca retreat can open a door, but you still have to walk through it. You still have to choose kindness in the parts of your life where it’s easier to be numb. You still have to choose honesty when it’s cheaper to pretend. The medicine doesn’t replace responsibility; it restores your capacity to live it.
I’ve seen people arrive with heavy eyes and leave with a softness they forgot they could have. I’ve seen stories change mid-sentence. I’ve watched the jungle teach people how to breathe again. None of that is magic. All of it is miraculous.
An invitation, not a pitch
If your life is loud but your heart is quiet, if you’re tired of your own excuses, if you don’t want another performance but a place to begin again, I know the way the first step feels. It’s scary and simple at the same time.
When you’re ready to sit in a circle where your truth is welcome and your pace is respected, you’re welcome to join us. We’ll meet you where you are and walk with you from there.
Choosing the right Ayahuasca retreat is not just about the ceremonies themselves, but about the environment, the people , and the energy you feel when you arrive. A safe retreat provides structure, guidance, and integration, helping you return home not only transformed but also deeply grounded.
Discover our Ayahuasca retreats in Ecuador
Your story won’t turn into someone else’s. It will turn into yours—finally.