Navigating Ethics in Psychedelic Work: Consent, Power, and the Sacred

In the quiet room, just before the journey begins, there’s a moment of gravity.

The playlist hasn’t started. The eye mask is still in the facilitator’s hand. The client is seated, breathing a little quicker than usual, holding a cup, or a capsule, or nothing yet at all. And the air is heavy with what’s about to unfold. This is the moment where ethics either live or slip out the back door unnoticed.

We don’t talk about that moment nearly enough.

Instead, we talk about consent. Which is good. It matters. But often when we say “consent,” what we really mean is paperwork. Agreements. Disclaimers. Disclosures. We talk about boundaries and safety protocols and ensuring people understand the risks. And all of that is essential. But in this kind of work—deep, vulnerable, identity-shifting work—those protocols are only the floor, not the ceiling.

Because the truth is, a person can give consent and still feel coerced. A person can say yes and still feel unsure. A person can sign all the forms and still have no idea what’s coming. And that’s not because they’re doing it wrong. It’s because psychedelic work, by its very nature, destabilizes the usual maps of identity and agency. People often hand us more trust than they realize. And that’s where power creeps in.

Power in this space is slippery. It doesn’t always show up with a name badge or a raised voice. It doesn’t need to. It can live in tone. In posture. In the way you phrase a suggestion. In how you respond—or don’t respond—when someone is struggling. Power in facilitation is often most dangerous when it’s unacknowledged. When we pretend we’re equals because we’re both “just part of the process.” When we use sacred language to smooth over uncomfortable truths. When we convince ourselves that holding space is a neutral act.

It’s not. There’s nothing neutral about watching someone unravel.

And this is where ethics become more than compliance. Ethics become a way of being.

Are you aware of the signals you’re sending? Are you attuned to how your own presence shapes the experience? Do you know what you’re asking people to trust? And are you doing your own work—your real, ongoing, uncomfortable work—to notice when your needs are shaping your client’s journey?

This is not a place for gurus. It’s not a place for saviors or spiritual advisors who haven’t yet confronted their own longing to be important. This is a place for humility. For transparency. For facilitators who know that being invited into someone’s most intimate experience is not a badge of honor—it’s a weight that must be carried with care.

And it’s not just about what you do. It’s about how you think.

Do you believe you know what your client needs? Do you believe you can guide them to the truth? Do you believe that your intuition is inherently more trustworthy than theirs in altered states?

That’s not to say you shouldn’t guide. Sometimes you must. But how you do it—how gently, how slowly, how collaboratively—can make all the difference.

This is sacred work. But “sacred” doesn’t mean beyond reproach. It doesn’t mean exempt from accountability. In fact, the more sacred the work becomes, the more responsibility we take on. Not to be perfect. But to be honest. To check ourselves. To invite feedback. To make repair when needed.

So if you’re a facilitator—or thinking about becoming one—consider this your ongoing assignment: interrogate your power. Reflect on your ethics. Revisit your assumptions. Not once, but over and over again. Don’t wait for someone to call you out. Build relationships where they can call you in.

Because in that quiet moment before the journey begins, when the air is thick with trust and mystery and hope… your ethics aren’t a form. They’re a presence.

And the person sitting across from you? They’re not looking for someone who has all the answers. They’re looking for someone who knows how to sit with the questions. Someone who understands that care isn’t just comfort—it’s vigilance. That power isn’t always a problem, but it is always present. And that the most sacred thing you can offer might not be your insight, your energy, or your perfectly curated playlist—but your willingness to stay accountable.

Because at the end of the day, ethical facilitation isn’t about never making mistakes. It’s about noticing when you’ve made one, being open enough to feel it, and courageous enough to do something about it.