From Cacao to Ketamine — Facing My Stuckness
Since February, I’ve felt stuck.
I’ve been writing a book that I know has meaning— one that comes from years of personal growth and business challenges. But still, the doubts creep in:
Is it worth putting out into the world? Will anyone care?
There’s that old saying, “If you impact just one person, it was worth it.”
Sure. But when you’re pouring your soul into a book, spending money on editors, cover design, marketing— when you’re reliving old stories to write them with truth— well, it’s a lot.
Even big names like Mel Robbins have to promote their own books. It’s all on you. And that takes a massive amount of self-belief.
Lately, I haven’t had much of that.
I’ve started businesses before— coaching, cooking, writing— and they’ve fizzled out. I do videos, but not consistently. I love writing. But then the thought returns:
Why bother if no one reads it?
It sounds harsh, but I often feel like if I write a book and it doesn’t sell, I’ll be a loser. That’s my inner critic talking. But it’s loud.
The Yes I Didn’t Question
One day, I asked ChatGPT about ways to get unstuck— and ketamine came up.
And it hit me instantly: YES.
There are things we think about doing and then talk ourselves out of. But ever since I said yes to ketamine, it’s been a full-on hell yes. No doubts. No second-guessing. No “shouldn’t spend the money” narrative. No fear.
Just clarity. Which, to me, is the clearest sign: this is what I need. This is what’s going to change everything.
Yes, ketamine is a psychedelic. And yes, it’s legal through a doctor here in Ohio.
It’s often used to induce an altered state of consciousness, introspection, and even ego dissolution. That’s part of why it’s gaining traction for therapeutic use.
Ketamine therapy is showing incredible promise for people with depression, anxiety, PTSD, and emotional stuckness. It works on the brain’s glutamate system— which plays a big role in neuroplasticity, or the brain’s ability to rewire itself. In the right setting, ketamine can interrupt those old, ingrained mental loops and offer new insight and possibility.
For me, it’s not about escape. It’s about interruption— stopping the scripts that have looped in my head for too long:
You’re not enough.
No one cares.
It doesn’t matter.
I want to use this experience to finally rewrite those patterns— and step into a life where I trust my creative voice, stop apologizing for who I am, and fully own the impact I’m here to make.
This isn’t a shortcut. But it’s a catalyst. I believe this could be life-changing.
The Plan: A Five-Day Journey in Utah
My friend Shandel Pino— my cacao guide— is also a ketamine sitter. She’s an energy worker and someone I deeply trust. Back in January, I told her: “We’re going to work together this year. I don’t know how, but we will.”
And then it all came together.
Shandel lives in Utah, so instead of finding someone local here in Ohio— someone I don’t know and don’t have a relationship with— it made perfect sense to go where she is. I wanted this experience to feel safe, supported, and personal.
We planned a five-day journey for June. There will be four ketamine sessions during the retreat, and because I already know and trust her, she invited me to stay in her home.
Can you imagine doing something this big and transformative— and integrating it in the same house as your sitter?
It feels intense. Safe. Perfect.
And it’s not just the sessions. Shandel will be with me before and after each one— sitting with me, helping me prepare, grounding me, and holding space for whatever surfaces. We’ll talk through what comes up, connect the dots, and allow the medicine to do its deeper work over time. That’s what integration really looks like. You don’t just “do it” and move on. You let it land. Let it shift you. And then you go live your life from that place.
The Pre-Retreat Reset: Tiny House in the Trees
Even with the retreat planned, I needed something now. I needed space. I needed to hear myself again.
So I booked a solo trip to Hocking Hills, Ohio— just 90 minutes from home. I found a tiny house tucked into the woods, surrounded by trees and waterfalls.
The tiny house was in the back corner of a campground. There was a little deck, a firepit, fairy lights strung across the ceiling. Inside: just what you need to live.
And it felt like home.
My shoulders relaxed. My mind softened. I felt… calm.
The view was trees on three sides, with a few other tiny houses nearby. Still, it felt private enough. Like my own little haven.
Even though my husband supports everything I do— and truly would not have minded— I felt nervous to tell him I was going. Not because of him. But because of the guilt and the voices in my head. The same voices that say:
You’re being selfish.
You don’t need this.
Other people have real problems.
Don’t be dramatic.
The same voices that are keeping me from getting my book into the world. The ones that whisper that my dreams are too much, or that I’ll look foolish for trying. The ones that stop me from stepping fully into who I really am.
But once I was there, me, alone, in my tiny house— I felt peace.
I hiked alone in the woods (which my mom always warned me not to do). I slept in (okay, until 5 a.m.— but still). I moved at my own pace. And most importantly, I started putting my needs first.
We hear it all the time: “Put your oxygen mask on first.”
But you have to live it to get it.
Rewiring the Old to Make Space for the Real
Since I’ve been back, I’ve been listening to my intuition more. Slowing down. Letting myself want what I want. But even that’s a practice.
Lately, I’ve been catching this quiet but relentless pattern: my intuition will say, “Do this.”
And my brain immediately counters, “No. Not now. Later. It’s not important.”
It can be as small as noticing a weed and wanting to pull it— but then hearing, “You don’t have time.”
Or wanting to carry the little bathroom vacuum upstairs but thinking, “Just do it later.”
These may seem like silly little things— but they add up. Every time I override that nudge, I feel a tiny ripple of disconnection. And when that happens all day long? It builds.
This is self-abandonment. That’s the honest truth. And it’s making me quietly, consistently unhappy.
These are the loops I want to interrupt with ketamine. Not just the big identity-level doubts, but the moment-to-moment ones. The “don’t do it” reflex that shuts me down before I even start.
So… what will I feel like after Utah?
Who will I be?
One can only imagine.
My Intention for the Ketamine Experience
To stop the loop that tells me my book doesn’t matter.
To trust that getting it out into the world will impact people.
To stop worrying about everyone else all the time.
To become a little more selfish— in the best possible way.
Every step of this path— from cacao to ketamine, from hiding to expressing— has been about becoming the real me.
The version of me that’s been waiting underneath it all.
And I’m ready.
Stay tuned.