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As first published at Therapist Uncensored over on Substack

By Gwen Pelfini

How late is too late to learn a new skill?

Well, nearing 40 (with whatever that means these days) for my 38th birthday, I went scuba diving for the first time. This particular water activity wasn’t necessarily something I’d had on my “bucket list” - in fact, being submerged underwater for an extended period of time had always felt a bit anxiety inducing (something akin to a “witch wound” – that’s another article;). However, the opportunity presented itself while visiting Maui, so I grabbed it!

I registered; I breezed through the minimal required online modules, passed, and before I knew it, I was suited up, headed out to Ulua Beach with the rest of our small crew of 6, where we’d walk into the water and dive! There were a few points of discomfort or nervousness that I was ready to inevitably face, once submerged. What I did not immediately predict were the parallels between the process of scuba diving and so many other greater life lessons – almost as spectacular as the underwater view itself. The fear, the potential panic and rumination of endless “what if” questions and scenarios, and the responsibility of self to regulate and find your way was a meditation in itself. Moreover, what I walked - swam - away realizing, was how psychedelic the experience felt.

Let’s run it back, and begin with the most fundamental pillars of a psychedelic experience: preparation, journey (regardless of dose or specific medicine, for the sake of the comparison), and integration.

Prior to any psychedelic experience, proper time and attention is best to invest in preparing for the medicine experience. Building a relationship with whichever medicine you are going to be exploring and engaging with is crucial. There are also many questions to explore, like what is your intention and most ideal direction, outcome, or insights you’re hoping to discover; what might you want out of the experience, and most importantly - in my opinion and professional experience as a certified psychedelic-assisted therapist - what happens if you don’t get what you want out of the experience? It’s helpful to begin identifying the potential shadows, fears, subconscious parts, stories, traumas, etc., so that these aspects of one’s potential experience in a non-0rdinary state of consciousness are at least named and able to be explored while conscious and actively curious.

Similarly, I followed a specific preparatory protocol to introduce me to scuba diving. Especially since this was my very first experience of scuba, laying out what to expect was extremely helpful – everything from familiarizing myself with the equipment, to hand gestures of how to communicate underwater, breathing techniques, and particular movements, actions and functions required to perform underwater. The task that proved to be my main point of discomfort, challenging me most: clearing my mask while underwater. This mission ended up being the cornerstone of both tension and accomplishment in my entire scuba experience, and ultimately informed my realization of the parallels between scuba and psychedelics.

The need and act of clearing water goggles is not entirely new to me - I love the element and have swam in various waters since childhood. Whether in a pool or open ocean, I have become very familiar with the annoying inevitability of the fog that obstructs my view or even my hair getting caught and leaking water into the mask; the concept of removing, clearing, and readjusting my mask was not new. However, maneuvering each of these steps all while submerged lowkey terrified me. My rebellious 12 year old part immediately popped up when learning this during the online modules, reassuring me that surely I would somehow get by without having to deal with or face this particular task. I actually held onto this hope all the way into my dive, as water ever so slowly crept in and eventually caught up with my lower eyelid. I couldn’t remain in this adolescent denial any longer. So, while I did not allow emotion to overcome that moment of realization, I also didn’t feel confident to undergo the task myself. So, I calmly gestured to my instructor that I wanted to go up, which was entirely safe, since this discovery dive only dove about 25-30 feet under which allowed us to resurface without the risk of bends. But instead of nodding and following me up, my instructor wagged his finger “no” and proceeded to reiterate the mask-clearing maneuver. “Ugh, fine,” my teenage part obliged, metaphorical eyes rolling. So, I faced the shadow, tilted open my mask to allow the water in, blew air out my nose to clear the mask and readjusted it back onto my face, securely. My vision was clear as day, my prickly teenage park softened, and like a child, I felt so accomplished! I smiled so wide that I risked having to readjust my mask yet again. My instructor gave a smile back, we threw up the obligatory shaka sign and I went on my way, cruising across the ocean floor, now feeling like a real pro.

There were plenty of other moments of challenge and overcome, deep meditative silence as anyone else around me dissolved into the sun’s reflection in the water, my soul seemingly getting lost in the teeny tiny particles only observable from this unique and close-up distance. My relationship with my breath also shifted, as I learned how to manipulate my movement based on the depth of my breathing patterns – this added to the both personal yet feeling of oneness with nature, so taken by the tide and power underwater. Scuba diving is special; it’s not inherently available to us as humans, and therefore - like flying in an airplane - the privilege to do so deserves awareness and reverence for how accessible movement can be these days.

Like the underwater wonders available only at the depth of scuba diving, the majestic - and sometimes challenging, even terrifying - experience of a psychedelic journey is also only accessible through the medicine. In the same ways I had to be taught particular skills and tasks to work with the scuba equipment and learn how to maneuver underwater, we must also learn harm and risk reduction approaches to working with medicine, to ensure safety of the experience and reverence for the practice. And at the same time, we can engage with as much preparation as possible, and at the end of the day, when the time comes for the experience itself, there is also an element of control we must release, in both of these scenarios. The ocean is going to move how she moves; the medicine knows the way, better than we do. The parallel here being the inevitable moment of letting go, trusting your preparation, your guide/instructor, the medicine/experience, and ultimately, trusting yourself.

Lastly, the parallel of integration for a psychedelic experience and scuba diving is also very real. Both of these journeys change you from before and after the experience. What you see, hear, think all inform a newer version of ourselves; moreover, the physiological changes are also imperative to respect and adhere to post-experience recovery. For example, after a scuba diving experience, there is a certain amount of time one must avoid elevation, like an airplane, so as to allow the body to recalibrate and eliminate the compressed air from the scuba tank. In traditional medicine ceremonies, one must undergo a “dieta” both before and after working with medicine, eliminating various foods and activities from one’s consumption. The book-ends of these experiences are interesting and parallel reflection of the impact and power of the experience itself. Whether we are prioritizing the physiological, emotional, or other spiritual elements of integration, ultimately, I want to highlight the thoughtfulness and intention that fits so beautifully with seeing these two extraordinary activities through a parallel lens.

Editor’s Note: This essay was originally published by Gwen Pelfini at Therapist Uncensored over on Substack. Be sure to like, share, and subscribe!

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