Building – and destroying – identity

It's a week before Christmas, which means that I've just made my twice yearly trek back to London from Buenos Aires. As usual, I am busy catching up with family and friends. Even without the holidays, these times of coming back can be rather intense, trying to catch up on months away and connect again with the people I love. This time has been particularly intense because the past few months have been a time of great movement and progress. I hosted my first retreat in Buenos Aires and expanded my 1:1 work. I have done a lot of training and self-study. I feel like I'm much more certain that this is indeed the work that I want to do.

But at the same time, I have been struggling a bit with identity as I transition from being a journalist to…. I don't know. I'm not quite sure what to call myself. When I started this journey, I intended to be a psychotherapist, and I have done training in that space, but that title doesn't really encompass everything that I am and everything I am doing. So I'm struggling a bit. I feel like if I can't label what I am, then it's hard to build that identity.

One of the conversations I had with a friend this week, who is also in transition - moving from the corporate world to writing a novel - offered some helpful advice. He said that when he quit his job and started writing, he immediately started calling himself an author, even though he hadn't yet written his book, much less had it published. And that clear identity has helped him, it's given him focus, it's supported him through the times when he was doubting himself.

So I am now trying to decide what to call myself but so many words in this space just seem trite and cliché. I'm certainly not a shaman, even though I use shamanic elements in some of my work. I'm not a therapist. Healer - I don't think I can heal anybody. I don't think anybody can heal someone else, you have to heal yourself. I'm a counsellor of sorts and I'm a guide. But these words can be vague, and people don't always know what you mean. You can counsel and guide people in many different ways.

This is why I also struggle sometimes to tell people clearly what the House of Mon is all about. As a writer, I'm used to being very precise when choosing my words, and it's been an effort to figure out how I can present the House of Mon so that people understand - enough. And I think that's the key word – enough. There's no way that I can explain it exactly, because it's going to be different things for different people, because different people need different things. And I'm essentially just creating the container for them to explore, to discover what they need, to support them while they're doing that.

Accepting the wobbly feeling

I've also been thinking about identity as the past few months have felt rather destabilising. A lot of that has to do with what is going on in the world, but it is also a consequence of the work that I'm doing. One of the main things that psychedelics do for you is open your eyes. They literally open the doors of perception and help you see beyond the reality in which you think you're living. They can force you to reconsider long-held beliefs about the world, about others, about yourself. It's not exploration for the faint hearted, because it can make you feel uncertain about who you are and the world a bit more chaotic. But I would argue that that's it's not really changing anything. It's just opening your eyes what has always been there – taking off the blinders.

And as difficult as that is sometimes, ultimately it is a good thing for me, something that I need. But it's not for everyone. When you read about people having bad trips, I believe some of that is people being irresponsible – not considering set and setting, ie ensuring they are in the right mindset for a journey and that they are in a safe setting, with trusted people. But even with a good set and setting, some people can resist the opening that psychedelics bring and panic. As they stand on the edge of a cliff, instead of enjoying the view, appreciating the perspective that has opened up in front of them, they're worried about falling into the void and not being able to get back.

This is why it is important to work with an experienced guide – someone who can help you prepare and who can support you during your journey if you struggle. From my own experiences I know how having the right person with you can help you have the courage to continue exploring the depths, knowing there is a lifeline for you to follow home when you are ready.

I also recommend not diving into the deep end. For some people, it is better that their first experience is gentler – taking enough to see the world in a slightly different light, to intensely appreciate nature, to feel connected with the earth and others, to get comfortable with that feeling before moving into anything stronger. This is where my counsellor side comes in, working with people to determine what approach is right for them. And being there for them after their experience, to help them work through what they saw and felt, the effect that has had on them and what they can take from the experience moving forward. Integration is as important as preparation.