The rough road of integration

Navigating the weeks after my first Ayahuasca ceremony

When I first went into the Ayahuasca ceremony, I thought I had a good idea of what the experience would be like. I knew it would be intense, transformative, maybe even life-changing. What I didn’t realize, though, was just how hard the days and weeks after the ceremony would be. There’s this assumption, at least for me, that after you go through something so powerful, the integration process would be smooth, a natural unfolding of all the insights and clarity gained during the ritual. But in reality, it was anything but easy.

Back on Monday

The first few days were rough. I remember going back to work on Monday, sitting in front of my computer, feeling completely out of place — almost like an alien in a world I didn’t belong to anymore. The shift I had felt during the ceremony was real, but it left me disconnected from the daily routines of life, from the things that had once felt normal. It was as if my axis had been altered, but the world around me hadn’t caught up. I felt lost, like I had been thrown back into an old system that no longer fit who I was, even though I hadn’t fully figured out who I was becoming yet either.

To make matters worse, old habits started creeping back in almost immediately. Despite the deep sense of connection and love I had felt during the ceremony, I found myself back to behaviors I thought I would have left behind after such a transformative experience. It was confusing, and honestly, it shook me. I had expected to feel more centered, more grounded after everything, but instead, I felt unbalanced, even more lost than before. It was as if I had glimpsed something higher, something true, but I wasn’t able to hold onto it in my day-to-day life.

Preparing for the after

Meeting up with the people from the ceremony a couple of weeks later was a turning point. When one of the women described her own experience as a “rollercoaster,” it was like a weight lifted off my chest. I wasn’t the only one struggling, and that gave me a sense of comfort — not necessarily peace, but at least I wasn’t alone. We were all grappling with what had happened, all trying to find our footing in the aftermath of something so powerful.

One of the biggest insights came from a conversation with a fellow participant who told me,

“The dieta isn’t just for before the ceremony. It’s just as important afterward.”

He explained that the week after the ceremony is as crucial as the preparation before. It made me realize that I had been missing a key part of the process. I thought I could just prepare, go through the ceremony, and then go back to life as normal. But that’s not how it works. The real work begins after, and I needed to be kind to myself during that time, to allow the experience to unfold rather than expecting everything to be clear and settled right away.

Physically, I felt sore. It was like I had been in a spiritual war, and my body was bearing the effects of it. I even started to feel like I had these “holes” in me, like parts of me had been stripped away, and in their place, there was this emptiness. I realized that those old methods of coping weren’t going to fill those holes. They didn’t fit anymore. What I needed was time, space, and a lot of kindness toward myself.

Receiving

One of the hardest parts of the integration process was accepting that I couldn’t just force myself back into my old routines. I had gone through a shift, and things weren’t going to snap back into place overnight. I needed to stop looking for immediate answers and stop trying to push myself through life in the same way. What I really needed was to give myself permission to slow down, to nurture the new version of myself that was still emerging. The weeks after the ceremony weren’t about figuring everything out — they were about unfolding, letting things settle naturally, and treating myself with patience and care.

It was during this time that I also started to reconnect with parts of myself that I had long neglected, like my love for art and creativity. The colorful visions I had during the ceremony brought a deep urge for more color in my life. I bought some crayons and paper, and slowly started drawing again, just allowing myself to express something without structure or expectation. It was a small way to honor the new energy I was feeling, to give myself space to explore without pressure.

Looking back, the weeks following that first ceremony were a mixture of raw vulnerability and quiet self-discovery. It wasn’t about snapping into a new version of myself immediately — it was about learning how to be kind to myself through the struggle, to understand that transformation isn’t always easy or straightforward. It’s messy, it’s challenging, and it takes time. And most importantly, it’s about accepting that the journey doesn’t end with the ceremony. The real work begins afterward, in the days, weeks and years when you’re left to navigate the space between who you were and who you’re becoming.