Psychedelic Assisted Therapy

By Amy Ebbeson, LCSW

Since the beginning of recorded history, people have been misled about their parentage and origins. This is a foundational story in Christianity. And even in a galaxy far, far away. In Star Wars, Darth Vader’s declaration, “Luke, I am your father,” is probably the most quoted line in science fiction history. In 2024, it’s not an epic battle that brings people this information, but rather a computer screen.

People of all ages and stages of their life can now discover by spitting into a tube a hidden truth about who they are genetically. Being able to find out a long-held secret from an inexpensive and widely available commercial DNA test is a completely novel trauma. Never have we had the ability to find this truth without the consent, knowledge, or genetic material of both parents.

When people find out that their genetic content is not what they thought it was, it can lead to a crisis of identity, fraught with confusion, disillusionment and the pain of disconnection. For people to recover from this trauma and emerge as healthy, well-adjusted individuals, they must take time to process the implications and make sense of their new origin story.

Since 2020, I have been leading twice monthly therapeutic support groups for this population and have built my understanding from direct experience. Prior to my knowledge of my own misidentified parentage, I sought healing through many means and modalities, as I felt the internal conflict before understanding it. DNA journeys are often talked about as if they are puzzles: Where do I fit? Who am I connected to? In my own healing, I’ve been excited by the accelerated insight gained by psychedelic plant medicines. These substances can alter your sensory perceptions, giving you a new perspective. They allow you to see things from a different angle—like being able to flip the puzzle sideways. The new view allows for a reinterpretation of the events. This reassessment can bring greater peace in the knowledge that you are one piece in the much larger picture of the whole puzzle of humanity.

Discovery is Often Traumatic

NPE is a genealogical research acronym for non-paternity event that’s been expanded to mean not parent expected to be more inclusive in a modern context. The affordability of testing, and the marketing of it as entertainment, has led to an unexpected upending of family life. Discovering that one has no genetic connection to one or both parents is traumatic, it maps to the definition of trauma accepted by the American Psychiatric Association. The event is sudden or unexpected, as many people affected took the test for recreational purposes, not knowing it could reveal unknown relatives. The experience is perceived as overwhelming and/or uncontrollable. It can result in feelings of helplessness, a lack of a sense of safety, and a lack of control. Unknown paternity, for any reason, brings social judgment, distress, and shame. Individual situations may result in additional stigmas, such as those related to perceived illegitimacy, having a single parent, infidelity, rape, incest, adoption, infertility, donor insemination, and/ or being in the child welfare system. This judgment, distress, and stigma happens at all levels. The individual themselves may experience emergent mental health symptoms. Within families, the person making this discovery is typically blamed for causing the family shame and for their ensuing symptoms of anxiety and depression. Like every other trauma, it often generates secondary adversities, life changes, and distressing reminders.

In a 2022 study, Grethel et al. found NPEs often reported a profound sense of grief and loss and an unstable sense of who they were in their family contexts. They reported feelings of shock, denial, anger, fear, confusion, isolation, extreme emotional responses, and bodily sensations such as feeling frozen, dazed, and dysregulated. Though the situations were not their fault, many felt the discovery brought about shame and a desire for secrecy. Those who chose to reveal their findings often found their difficulties were minimized and dismissed by friends and family. According to 2021 research by Gina Daniels, PhD, the traditional mental health system is not equipped to support and help people with a not parent expected experience. Her findings indicate that relationships are altered, identity is changed, and support is sought to cope with the new information. Research in this area is sparse yet conclusive with respect to the magnitude of impact and the need for effective interventions.

Intergenerational Trauma

An NPE discovery is often a manifestation of a traumatic or shame-producing experience of a child’s mother. There are different mechanisms and layers of generational trauma beginning in utero and inclusive of bonding in early childhood. When individuals have gone through something traumatic, they may pass triggers of that trauma along to their offspring through modeling, social learning, and even at the genetic level. Articles by Campbell & Stanton (2019) and Grethel et al. (2022) explore the influence of adult attachment styles on trust in romantic relationships and the psychological impacts of unexpected paternity revelations on relationships with significant others. These articles highlight the importance of understanding attachment dynamics in shaping relational support and counseling services for individuals navigating the aftermath of genetic revelations.

A study by Dias et al explores the transgenerational transmission of fear behavior in mice generations resulting from parental experiences. The researchers exposed male mice to an odor (acetophenone) paired with a mild foot shock, resulting in a conditioned fear response. They found that the children of these mice exhibited increased sensitivity to the odor and enhanced learning of fear response, despite never being exposed to the shock themselves. Furthermore, the researchers observed similar effects in the subsequent generation (grandchildren), suggesting transgenerational transmission of the fear response. We have discovered via epigenetics that trauma in individuals’ environments can change their genetic coding, potentially having an impact on grandchildren they’ve never met. This can give additional insight and validation to the trauma of the NPE experience and the need for healing.

According to the Healing Foundation in Australia, “If people don’t have the opportunity to heal from trauma, they may unknowingly pass it on to others through their behavior. Their children may experience difficulties with attachment, disconnection from their extended families and culture, and high levels of stress from family and community members who are dealing with the impacts of trauma. This can create developmental issues for children, who are particularly susceptible to distress at a young age. This creates a cycle of trauma, where the impact is passed from one generation to the next.”

Alignment with Psychedelics

Both the technology of DNA mapping and the emerging field of psychedelics are modern frontiers. It’s been suggested that Francis Crick co-discovered the helix structure of DNA while under the influence of LSD. Psychedelics theoretically helped uncover something previously unseen that was always there. NPEs and psychoactive plants have both been around since recorded history, yet it’s only now that we have the scientific backing to explore their rightful position in our culture.

Psychedelics refer to plant-based medicines with mind altering properties found in nature or compounds created in labs with similar properties. Some examples are MDMA, psilocybin, LSD, and ayahuasca. They have been used to assist in traditional therapy and have shown promise in addressing a range of mental health issues, including anxiety, depression, PTSD, and existential distress. These substances were classified as drugs of abuse yet were widely used in the 60s and 70s with great influence on individuals and in our culture. They became symbolic of the counterculture and in the 80s and 90s were victims of the War on Drugs and prohibition. Since then, advocates like Lycos Therapeutics have been jumping through academic hoops to bring psychedelics back into therapeutic use by seeking reclassification from the FDA. In the US, the Center for Psychedelic and Consciousness Research has been operating at Johns Hopkins since 2000 to get psilocybin approved for treatment of psychiatric conditions. Currently, only Ketamine is legally available for therapeutic use outside of research studies. Some states and municipalities have decriminalized psilocybin, and the push continues to make these treatments legally available and accessible to those that can benefit.

Individuals who discover unexpected paternity or other genetic revelations may experience a range of psychological and emotional reactions including confusion, grief, identity questioning, and relationship strain. Psychedelic therapy, with its potential to induce altered states of consciousness, may offer a unique opportunity for individuals to explore and process these complex emotions in a supportive therapeutic environment.

Psychedelic therapy stresses the treatment environment as a key factor in successful outcomes. The mindset of an individual entering the psychedelic experience is vital to the expansion of consciousness and amplification of awareness. Misattributed parentage discoveries cause people to reevaluate everything in their past. It triggers an unburdening of past harm. That reevaluation can be a way to reclaim their right to happiness through acceptance of pain, seeking relief, and being open to what comes. Given this, it will be important to center self-compassion. We hope compassion for ourselves can lead to compassion for others in the larger picture of what we are experiencing.

Psychedelic therapy may foster increased self-awareness and insight into one’s identity, allowing individuals to explore their sense of self beyond biological lineage and familial relationships. Through guided therapy sessions at all stages, individuals may be able to integrate newfound knowledge about their genetic heritage into their sense of self and develop strategies for accepting and integrating this information into their lives. Psychedelic experiences often evoke profound existential and spiritual insights, which could help individuals find meaning and purpose beyond biological connections, fostering a sense of belonging and interconnectedness with humanity in the larger sense. The therapy often facilitates profound and transformative experiences that can lead to increased self-awareness, personal insights, and emotional processing. These effects may be particularly beneficial for individuals grappling with identity-related challenges stemming from misattributed parentage.

 Healing through creation of a new narrative

For NPEs, their given origin story was a lie. In “Research Suggests People Who Believe They Were Unwanted or Unplanned Babies Likely Have More Troubled Close Relationships,” the authors examine the impact of family narratives on personal identity, self-concept, and psychological well-being. The article illuminates the ways in which narratives about conception and birth shape individuals’ perceptions of themselves and their relationships with family members. These authors’ findings underscore the long-term psychological impact of perceived circumstances of birth on individuals’ interpersonal dynamics and highlight the importance of addressing such factors in psychological interventions and counseling. Ogden and Syder’s research emphasizes the importance of understanding the socio-cultural context of family storytelling and its implications for individual mental health. This study contributes to a broader understanding of the role of narrative in shaping human experience and identity.

These articles highlight the significance of family stories and personal narratives in individuals’ sense-making processes, emphasizing the need for culturally sensitive approaches to understanding unexpected paternity disclosures. Healing requires people to have insight, and insight is the greatest indicator of mental health. In psychedelic therapy, psychedelic medicines are used to access inner healing wisdom and help people make sense of a previously unknown situation and put it in a context of generations past and generations forward.

Conclusions

I recently completed the California Institute of Integral Studies Certificate program in Psychedelic Therapy and Research. Although my experience with psychedelic treatment modalities is limited by current legal access, I believe in this treatment. Both my experience as an NPE and having participated in this program have validated that trauma is underneath most mental harm and distress. When we address trauma in whatever way we address it, we are helping individuals, families. and our culture become whole.

The NPE experience and psychedelic assisted therapies both promise to disrupt the status quo and our understanding of the ways in which society is organized. In my experience, I recognize that self-trust has been the most damaging loss. Growing up, things were not as they seemed—my internal experience did not reflect the external world. Because this happened when I was a child, I learned to ignore my internal experience and trust the external world. That lack of self-trust has led to mental health problems, problems in relationships, and challenges in the world of work as well. A treatment that relies on inner healing wisdom and restoring belief in self is exactly what NPEs need. I believe psychedelic therapy is an important treatment intervention for a population that is desperate for help and support. If you are an NPE in need of support, you can apply to join the twice monthly DNA NPE Healing Hearts Free Live Zoom Discussion Group led by Nancy Patchak, Sharon Potter and me. If you are interested in learning more about psychedelic therapy, email me at aebbeson@gmail.com or find me on social media.

Amy Ebbeson, LCSW is the director of Worcester ACTs (Addresses Childhood Trauma). She has a master’s in clinical social work from Boston University and a Certificate in Psychedelic Therapies from the California Institute of Integral Studies.  She has taught mental health content to students at the undergraduate and graduate level at colleges including Worcester State University, Springfield College, and the Wheelock College School of Social Work. She considers trauma to be the thread that connects all her work. Ebbeson has a solid understanding of the trauma knowledge base but has recognized that learning from lived experience is very different from learning in the classroom. It’s her hope that recognizing the impact of trauma will help us heal as individuals and that this will lead us to healing our communities. She is also a maker of bold necklaces, a mom, and a dog lover. Find her at https://www.worcesteracts.org/ and on LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.




Who’s My Daddy?

Gina Cameron was always aware that something in her family wasn’t quite right. Her relationship with her father was volatile—strained and lacking in warmth and closeness. Her mother was critical, controlling, and went to great lengths to point out the ways in which the mother and daughter were different. But Cameron had no idea that for 63 years her mother had been keeping a profoundly disturbing secret.

It wasn’t until Cameron was in her sixties and her mother had died that the secret tumbled out. At a family reunion, her cousin Dan inadvertently dropped a truth bomb in a casual conversation, commenting that Cameron and her sister had different fathers. Her family had always been aware, he said, and had been told not to tell her, but he was certain that by that time she’d have known. She was blindsided by this revelation that, in turn, triggered a childhood memory: an aunt saying, “Louie isn’t Genie’s father.” When she later confronted her mother about what she’d overheard, her mother not only insisted it wasn’t true, she also accused her of being ungrateful, shameful, impertinent. She was ignored for days by her parents and stuffed this experience deep down, only to have it resurface five decades later.

Rattled by her conversation with Dan, Cameron arranged a meeting with her father’s niece Ellen, and got a lead for another piece of the puzzle of her origins while strolling together on the High Line in New York. Ellen called her sister Karen, who in turn phoned Cameron and recalled that they two had met when Cameron was three years old—when Louie had met her mother. And again, a memory arose from deep within her—from the time her father, in a letter, disowned her when she was 42 years old. “You’ve been a thorn in my side since you were three years old,” he wrote. She was sick, he’d said, selfish, hurtful.

Looking back after all those years, it all began to make sense. “Scenes from my past crowded my waking hours,” she writes. “The revelation about my paternity was a new frame for the puzzling, troubled undercurrents I’d always felt in my childhood home. For that, I was grateful.”

Grateful for a reason why she’d been seen as the family’s problem, why she’d been branded bad, a compulsive liar, a stubborn and willful child, why she’d been locked in a closet as a punishment as a child, locked in her room when her parents went out, and locked in a hotel room during a family vacation. That gratitude found expression when, at a family visit, her cousin, Carol, asked if Cameron had felt that she’d been treated differently as a child—something she and other relatives had clearly observed. When Cameron acknowledged those feelings, Carol took her hand and said, “Now you know you weren’t crazy to feel that.”

“I bathed in her words and gesture—a simple acknowledgement of my perceptions, believed as fact, no judgment. Seen, and accepted, I felt more and more at home.”

The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to take shape, but there was no one involved who was still alive and could confirm all the details of what had happened or answer a burning question: Who was her father?

Who’s My Daddy? Exposing the Roots of Family Secrets, is Cameron’s memoir of a journey to find her roots, her identity, her father, and herself. It’s also a retrospective examination of her relationship with her mother—a reassessment made necessary by the discovery of her deception. “Now, in light of the revelations of lies and deception that permeated every aspect of our relationship, I realized my mother had an intimate familiarity and comfort with fabrication and prevarication.”

Cameron began to create a revisionist history of her family—to see the story anew based on new facts and, thus, see herself anew. It’s a well-written, deeply moving story that certainly will resonate with NPEs (not parent expected) and adoptees as well—with anyone who’s sense of self has imploded and who had to recreate, brick by brick, their identity and reestablish their place in their family and their world.

—BKJ

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Gina Cameron is a founding member of San Diego Writers, Ink, a nonprofit organization that offers classes and literary events. She holds a Master of Science in physical therapy from Boston University. After decades as a pediatric physical therapist, Cameron is now retired and enjoys writing, swimming, hiking, and traveling the globe. Her work has been published in

A Year in Ink, Volumes 13 and 17 and Active Voices, Volume 3.  Who’s My Daddy? Exposing the Roots of Family Secrets is her first book. She can be found on Instagram @ginanataliecameron.




Daisies and Dice

By Lori Black

I am still searching. I have been for quite a while. It’s tiring, this never ending need I’ve always had to prove my existence, but the need has not and will not leave me alone. My parents adopted me as an infant in the 1950s, when secrecy was an art form nigh unto gospel. My lack-of-information-wound has always festered at whim. In the year 2000, that wound split wide open when I acquired a life-changing piece of paper— my pre-adoption birth certificate, courtesy of a new law passed that year in my home state of Oregon. Since that day, I’ve met a few maternal birth family members, including an aunt. Aunt Mary knew of my existence and delighted in meeting and getting to know me, as long as I asked no questions about my beginnings. Believe me, I tried, eventually coming to realize that, of all the secret keepers surrounding my origins, she had to be in first place. Mary remained tight-lipped even after all the important players had passed away.  Then she passed away.

So did my birth mother, after having declined to meet me. Through what she had shared with the adoption agency, I knew my father had been middle-aged at the time of my conception so he had likely passed away. Despite all of this (or perhaps because of it), the legacy of secrecy still churned within. Quietly, I demanded more. The year my birth mother died was the year I turned my attention to the pristine blank space on my pre-adoption birth certificate just above the word father.

***

The date is summertime. It is 2006, the year my birth mom dies.

Between the information on the pre-adoption birth certificate listing my birth mom’s home state as Nebraska and the information I’d gathered from the adoption agency years earlier saying both my birth parents came from a small town in the Midwest, I had a strong suspicion that I hail from Nebraska, at least conceptually speaking. But I was born and raised in Portland, Oregon, and the closest I’d ever been to a farm is a Christmas tree lot. Rural happens only on vacations, and I’ve killed marigolds with a single glare. Nebraska seems as alien and as far away as the moon to me. Yet such a confluence of rural biology and urban adopted upbringing has whetted the moth-to-a-flame instincts that I’m convinced I inherited. It compels me to journey to the heartland, privately hoping there will be clues about father.

Landing at the Omaha airport, I meet the wonders of rural-ality when a car rental guy hands me a set of keys, points to a car lot, doesn’t “offer” me insurance and says, “Uh, take the white one over there.” I do, quickly, before urban commerce appears.

By seven o’clock that evening, I arrive at a nondescript building called “The Child Saving Institute” where I am to meet my fellow adopted e-mail pals during their monthly meeting, while idly wondering how one might save children, institutionally speaking. This I will never know. I do know that members of this group consisting of birth parents, adoptive parents, and adoptees, the “Adoption Triad of the Midwest” will always be my friends. All five of them.

One is my hero: Puffy and bent, well over eighty years old, Lillian could barely make it up the stairs for this informal meeting to which I’ve invited myself. She is the beautiful woman who persuaded me to make this trek in the first place. An adoptee herself, she has listened, searched, and helped others with various adoption afflictions over the years. Tirelessly she’s found pieces of the past for everyone she has helped. Except herself.

 Everything Lillian ever uncovered about her own heritage is a legacy of hand-me-down lies. I’d give anything to help relieve the emptiness of a little baby born in the 1920s who just wants to know something of her beginnings before she meets her end. But instead, I thank her and all my kindred spirits for the gift of my own sacred trek.

Morning comes. I drive, heading for Lillian’s suggested destinations: A couple of small towns I call Anywhere and Everywhere. I do this while fighting off a caffeine headache spawned by the absence of Starbucks and fueled by little orange packets that I’ve not seen since 1974. Sanka. They are definitely not up to the task of assuaging my industrial strength Pacific Northwest caffeine addiction.

The drive through simple, unthreatening landscape lulls away the pain. The unbending ruler line known as Interstate 80 soothes. Crops, random grain silos, and scattered trees punctuate an otherwise flat land offering little artifice to mar the horizon. The sparse little towns that pop up are unexpected. To one coming from a place where urban sprawl lays like carpet, these towns seemed rolled upon the earth like a handful of dice tossed on a board game, tumbling at random upon the grassy heartland. I am heading to various cemeteries, looking for men with a particular birth year in a particular part of the state, but suddenly the entirety of Nebraska feels like his final resting place. I’d brought a bunch of Wal-Mart-purchased fresh daisies, one of which I donate out my car window. A fresh flower onto everyday existence. So far, my only disappointment is The Platte River. I expected a rampage but get a trickle between sandbars.

The sun is out, my windows are down and the unimpeded wind blows steady through my mind along with the fleeting memory of Nebraska’s state motto. “Equality Before the Law.” I forget what sign I saw this on, or where it was, but I will believe this motto nonetheless and lay a few demons to rest in Middle America. The white car takes me west, to a town with at least one flower shop, still no Starbucks, and two and a half cemeteries (half because the Veterans’ cemetery is more of a drive-through event.)  At my first stop, I’m greeted by a willow-branch shaped woman who comes out of a trailer, crunching gravel with lengthy, deliberate steps like those of a praying mantis.

 “May I help you?”

Adoptee guilt is a very real thing. She knows I’m grave hopping for my dead dad. My heart tries to throw itself onto the crushed rock beneath us. Caught. I have no right to be here, invading the secret.

“Are you looking for a relative?”

Yes. No. “Well, I’m actually traveling around trying to find something—someone—for a friend.” I hand her a list of names, culled from past sketchy Internet searches and past excursions of white-gloved museum page turning and microfiching. Praying mantis gives it a glance, hands back the paper, and says, “Those people aren’t here. I know every name of every grave in this cemetery.”

“Oh.” She does? There must be a thousand graves here. “Do you mind if I look around anyway?”

“That’s fine, dearie, but you won’t find what you’re looking for.”  

I walk among the names, treading upon the driest grass I’ve ever heard or felt. He could be here. He could be anywhere. But the best thing would be if his spirit knew I was here. He: My birth father, perhaps noticing someone with some similarities to him. A short person with rapid thoughts and quick moves. Dry wit. Hatred of mathematics. Allergy to codeine. Something. Anything I can call a connection.

I drop a daisy into the parched grass.

 The next cemetery produces a generic caretaker in a nondescript suit. He smells of eau de embalming but gets extra marks for not memorizing every inhabitant in his backyard. His card catalogue holds no contenders. I take the sacred walk, feel nothing, keep my daisies, and realize that preying-mantis-woman is right. I will not find father on this particular day.

Remembering Lillian’s strength in the face of her fruitless search buoys my resolve as the white car takes me away from Anywhere and toward Everywhere. I found Everywhere just outside a town, between dust and wind-battled grass, the best place I’ve ever found to sit down next to existence and write to an illusion.

Dear Dad,

This is my first letter to you. Forgive my being less than articulate. It’s hard to talk to a dead man I’ve never met whose identity remains deliberately out of reach. In reality, if not law, I am your daughter, writing to get to know you through the only thing I know about you. Me.

 There’s so little of you in my mind, so much of you in my genes. Few details to steal. The rest, implied: I believe you were a hard worker all of your life, a life that could not have been easy in rural America so long ago. Tell me about your childhood, your life, whatever war you may have fought in. Your affair with my mother, the one you wish you’d never had.

I’ve conjured you from a handful of words—the only things the adoption agency would relinquish. Stout of build, blond, driven to the point of a hardened heart, grey-blue-eyed with simple dreams. Did you ever try to imagine me? Small of build, more or less blonde, driven to the point of nervous fatigue, brown-eyed with dreams that slip away like sand.

We are strangers who will never meet. Father and daughter and nothing at all. If you get this letter, write back. I’d love to hear from you.

Yours truly,

Me

I leave the letter and my Wal-Mart daisies on a bench in Nebraska, knowing there is more to come on this journey.

For today, I exist a little more.

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Lori Black is the mother of a wonderfully complicated blended family and an adult adoptee still on her journey. She sees that journey as a need to connect, listen, and share with all aspects of the adoption community. Shortly after her adopted mother’s death in 1998, and as a direct result of those experiences, she began learning the craft of writing. Lori has taken professional writing courses for many years at the college level, focusing on non-fiction pieces. Her recipe with anecdotal story was published in Voices for Adoption: Memories and Stories (11/2005.)

Though now retired, Lori practiced as a registered nurse in the Pacific Northwest for 40 years in just about every field of women’s health. The majority of her career was working with women who have high risk pregnancies. She also worked for seven years in infertility care. She’s witnessed, lived through, helped with, and survived many aspects of birth, life, and death and the need for family. 

Follow her on TikTok @lori3965.




Stolen Home

By S. D. Kilmer, BPS

Long is this pain, The grief, And the unbelief.The sorrow,Without a yesterday     difficult is a tomorrow.The impossible longingFor a place I have never known. A place never seen. A place I know I’ve been.And yet, it was once home.

S.D. Kilmer, BPS, is a retired pastoral/existential counselor and family mediator. His poems have appeared in several literary anthologies and online literary magazines. Much of what he has written can be found on his website. Follow him on Facebook and Instagram.