As told to Jacquelyne Froeber
In 2019, my best friend/business partner and I took our very successful “parentally incorrect” live comedy act, “The Pump and Dump Show,” to the next level. After touring the country for six years and performing in front of thousands of mothers, we decided it was time to grow the show and bring new performers into the fold. So, we essentially “franchised” ourselves and poured our hearts, creativity, souls and a lot of money into producing additional casts in Los Angeles and Chicago.
We were also in the process of finalizing an off-Broadway contract with two Tony award-winning producers to bring the show to NYC. All the years of hard work and big dreams were about to pay off!
We were just days away from signing the New York deal when the whole world shut down because of Covid. When the lockdowns happened, we had to cancel nearly 100 shows for 2020 — and everything we'd worked so hard for fell apart.
Financially, the debt was insurmountable. It seemed like the whole entertainment industry was forgotten during the bailouts, and our show and business slipped through our fingers like quick sand.
The grief was strong. I was hit hard emotionally, financially and spiritually. Like many of us, I was also trying to homeschool my daughter, which was a disaster. It would've been funny to add our Zoom attempts into the show … but I didn't have that outlet anymore. I was depressed.
That summer, my best friend called and invited me to go camping with some other women but with one request: “I want you to put your big girl pants on and take some shrooms,” she said.
I'd always been interested in psychedelics. I live in Denver and the popularity of “magic mushrooms” was growing. I'd read about the possible benefits, but I never thought I'd try them. As a mom and someone raised during the War on Drugs, I didn't think I could ever try psychedelics.
But that weekend, I reconsidered because of all I'd been through. Sitting on the shore of a beautiful lake in Colorado, I had the most amazing psychedelic experience. It was like something out of a movie. I saw a grid over the earth. I felt connected to God. I saw the division of dimensions. But most of all, I felt love and joy and compassion and connection to everyone and everything around me.
My bestie and I talked about our family and our kids and our husbands and how lucky we were. I fell asleep smiling and felt lighter than I had in a long time.
I woke up the next morning feeling like a million bucks. And I felt less depressed in a way I hadn't felt before.
I'd been taking an antidepressant for about four years. My doctor prescribed it to me (wisely) when I had a total hysterectomy to remove scar tissue and damage from stage 4 endometriosis. I walked into the surgery with hormones and I left with hot flashes — that's how fast my body plummeted into menopause. The antidepressant helped me with the transition and mood swings.
Given the shock to my mind and body, I was grateful for the antidepressant. But I didn't know how I was supposed to get off of it. I'm not really a pharmacology person and I didn't want to take the medication for the rest of my life.
I'd heard that microdosing psilocybin, the psychedelic component to magic mushrooms, could help with mood and depression. So I talked to my healthcare provider about stopping the antidepressant and trying microdosing. She thought it was a great idea. But there was just one problem: She couldn't tell me how to do it. Although it was in the process of becoming decriminalized in Colorado, it wasn't legal for healthcare providers to prescribe psilocybin and there were no official guidelines for dosing outside of clinical trial settings.
So I decided to experiment on myself and learn whatever I could about microdosing. I'd already read most of the literature out there, and I found a rare online course that I took on a whim. I learned to start low with a very, very tiny dose and go slow.
The first two weeks of microdosing, I was so tired. Almost debilitatingly exhausted. The experience was far from my ultra-connected time at the lake. I struggled to do pretty much everything, and I fought to stay awake. But then I leaned into what my body was feeling and gave myself permission to slow down. It was like my brain finally heard my body screaming, “Take a nap! You're just really, really tired, and you've been tired for a long time.” It was so loud and apparent that I couldn't ignore it. That jarred me out of my superhero complex and I started listening to what my body was telling me.
The tiredness wore off as I microdosed consistently and all the pieces fell into place. I felt my hard edges soften. I felt more present and patient and less reactive. I realized early on that I needed to be intentional when I was microdosing. What was my “Why?” Did I want to be more present for my daughter? Creative for a project? I set my intention and asked the medicine to help me. And most of the time it did.
In 2021, a year after I'd started microdosing, I was in a serious car accident. A drunk driver hit our family car going 70 mph down the wrong side of the highway. Our car went through a metal guard rail and flew 30 feet and landed in a ditch in the mountains. Stunned and injured, my husband and I kicked open the doors and pulled my daughter and niece out of the car. It was a miracle that no one was seriously injured.
The aftermath of the accident was tough. I was angry and upset and in pain. We could've died. As I went through the PTSD, I felt all the feelings of anxiety and grief and trauma — but they weren't sticking. The feelings didn't latch onto me like it did after other traumatic experiences I've been through in my life. Then a light bulb went on: Microdosing was helping me process what happened to us and I was then able to let those emotions go.
My daughter, however, was having a really hard time. She was 9 years old and I couldn't find her a therapist. It was like they didn't exist in 2021. No one picked up the phone. No one called me back. I saw the light leaving her eyes, and I was desperate to find someone.
I asked everyone I knew and one day, a guy at physical therapy said there was a woman he knew who was a therapist and good with kids. She was also a shaman, he said. For the next few weeks, I stalked her and begged her to see my daughter.
Shaman aside, it turned out she was just a good old-fashioned therapist who was great with kids. After one talk therapy session, my daughter said she felt better. She understood what happened. The light came back.
She continued to go and I also booked an appointment with the therapist/shaman. About 20 minutes into our first session we started talking about psychedelics. I don't remember how it came up, but she revealed that she was a practicing psychedelic shaman and she'd been studying it for more than 40 years.
And that's how I found myself on the floor of her office with 3 grams of a magic mushroom strain called Penis Envy. She guided me through the psychedelic journey, and the experience changed my life. It showed me what I experienced in healing though microdosing was not unique. And that the medicine is meant to be done in a community — not alone.
After the visit, I thought about the concept of community and mothers and all the moms that came out to our comedy shows and shared their own stories about parenthood with me. I thought maybe one day I could help other moms who could benefit from microdosing.
I was meditating one day after the journey and the phrase “moms on mushrooms” popped into my head. I sat up straight. “That's genius,” I said out loud. I ran to my computer. No one owned the name. Maybe I could start that business after all. But what on Earth was I going to do with a community of moms on mushrooms? I was still learning the medicine myself. So I sat with it. I listened to my body and I said, Yes. I could start a community of moms on mushrooms. At the very least, I could try.
I got together a group of seven women who were interested and told them my truth: I didn't really know what I was doing. I'd taken a course on microdosing and I had an idea about how I could help them learn how to microdose in a way that was supportive. They all said yes too.
The next three months went by in a blur. During our final Zoom group chat, I was crying — everyone was crying. “I can't believe it's over,” I said. The moms stared back at me. “We're not going anywhere,” one mom said. “What's next?”
That was the moment I realized that Moms on Mushrooms (M.O.M) was a thing. I made it Instagram official in March 2021 and by August, NPR was doing a story on us. Today, we have more than 3,000 moms that are part of our private monthly membership.
It's been a rollercoaster ride working with M.O.M while I continue to cultivate my own work with the medicine. I've been extremely lucky to learn from elders and other wise people in the community and bring that knowledge to our group.
I'm grateful for all the twists and turns that have led me to create this community where I can help support and empower women.
I've always known that life is funny. Not too long ago, I didn't think I could try magic mushrooms because I'm a mom. Now I'm helping other moms microdose. How fun is that?
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