Ketamine-Assisted Psychotherapy (KAP): A Personal Experience and What It Means for Healing

After completing my Ketamine-Assisted Psychotherapy (KAP) training, I felt ethically obligated to participate in a dosing session myself. Having a direct, lived experience allows me to better guide clients before, during, and—just as importantly—after their own sessions.

A typical KAP dosing session lasts between two to three hours. It begins with about 45 minutes of preparation, including practical guidance, safety and ethical considerations, and a brief meditation designed to ground and ready the client for the journey ahead.

Ketamine, originally developed in 1962 as an anesthetic, has since been widely used in medical settings. More recently, research has explored its off-label use in psychiatry—a common and accepted practice—for conditions such as treatment-resistant depression, anxiety, PTSD, and other mental health challenges.

Although I don’t carry a formal diagnosis (I sometimes joke that I feel left out), I worked with my prescriber to identify meaningful personal challenges that qualified me for the experience.

Set and Setting: Preparing for a Therapeutic Ketamine Experience

My setting was intentionally personal and comforting: my wife’s and my bed, a calming meditation playlist, a fresh bouquet of red roses, and copal incense from Mexico. These details matter. In KAP, set and setting—your mindset and environment—play a critical role in shaping the therapeutic outcome.

When directed, I placed 200 mg of ketamine under my tongue, gently swishing it for about 10–12 minutes. Within minutes, I noticed a soft numbing sensation in my mouth and slight visual blurring. Chronic bodily discomforts that I typically manage through awareness began to fade.

After spitting out the medicine, I put on eye shades and allowed myself to sink inward.

The Experience: Expansion, Perception, and Connection

A central theme quickly emerged: expansion.

Ketamine can produce a bronchodilating effect, and I noticed my breathing becoming deeper and smoother. Time began to shift—stretching, dissolving, becoming almost irrelevant.

I intentionally brought to mind my wife, our family, friends, clients, and even the broader human community. What followed was a profound sense of connection and love.

Visually, I experienced what felt like movement through space—rarely alone—accompanied by a soft, dim light appearing intermittently in my upper left visual field. It wasn’t tied to any physical source, yet it felt meaningful.

A Second Dose: Deepening the Journey

Roughly 10–15 minutes later (though time had become subjective), my clinical guide invited me to consider a second dose. I chose to proceed: another 200 mg, along with a 100 mg booster.

This phase felt distinctly different.

My sensory world became heightened and textured. I picked up a rose, breathing in its scent deeply. The copal incense transported me to San Miguel de Allende—or perhaps to a composite of meaningful places in Mexico.

The music, though unfamiliar, felt profoundly comforting, with a richness that made me momentarily believe I had an audiophile’s ear.

Touch became vivid and welcoming. I placed my hands across my chest and felt a surprising sense of warmth and receptivity in my own skin. There was also lightness—at one point, I found myself quietly giggling into the softness beneath me.

The Ineffable: When Language Falls Short

Approximately 40 minutes passed in this deeper state. Much of what unfolded feels ineffable—difficult, perhaps even impossible, to fully translate into language.

The sense of expansion intensified: more people, more space, more connection.

At one point, I felt as though I was the camera for Google Maps—able to zoom in and out of reality at will. Perspective became fluid. Identity became less fixed.

Eventually, I sensed that I could reorient to ordinary reality. I removed my eye shades: bedroom, check; clinical guide present, check; body intact, check.

Speaking, however, required effort. Language felt clumsy compared to the clarity of the experience itself.

Integration and Neuroplasticity: Where the Real Work Begins

For the rest of the day—and even now, a week later—I’ve felt subtly but meaningfully different. More open. More attuned. Still, in some sense, “in the zone.”

This is where integration becomes essential.

Ketamine temporarily enhances neuroplasticity, creating a window in which the brain is more adaptable and receptive to change. What we do with that window matters. Reflection, intention, and therapeutic integration can help translate insight into lasting transformation.

I’ve made a conscious effort to engage that process—and it’s one of the reasons I now feel even more prepared to guide others through their own KAP experiences.

Considering Ketamine-Assisted Psychotherapy?

If you’re exploring ketamine-assisted psychotherapy for depression, trauma, or personal growth, know that preparation, guidance, and integration are just as important as the medicine itself.

And if you qualify for this work, my experience has only deepened my respect for its potential—and my commitment to helping you make the most of that neuroplastic window.