Panic and Plant Medicine

Hello from the US of A.

The journey here was not easy. I will not sugar-coat it — the trip was brutal. Even someone in perfect health would have struggled. It is hard to believe after all these years it still takes almost 24 hours to get from Tel Aviv to Milwaukee. I had a panic attack on the plane, a mix of physical and mental strain.

The night before, I had worked through the night doing telepsychiatry. Poor planning. So the stress caught up with me. I almost asked for an emergency landing, but my partner talked me down, and the clonazepam and melatonin didn’t hurt.

My mind kept drifting back to people living in the same place for decades, near their families, their routines unchanging. I could almost hear my dad’s Czech-accented voice in my head, asking, “Why are you still rrrrunning arrround?”

My dad and I

There is definitely a different vibe here. I am enjoying the simplicity of being able to pop into Old Navy for a funky pair of pjs, swing by Trader Joe’s for all of my favorite things, and then come back home. In Israel, even something as mundane as going to the bank feels like an ordeal—like I need to designate most of a day for it and reward myself with a present just to cope.

Exhausted by the time I arrived in Milwaukee, I didn’t even watch the end of the Packer game, despite it finally being in the right time zone. A clear sign I needed to slow down. But the next morning, I woke up early and found myself diving deep into a saratane rabbit hole—and I knew things were looking up.

It has been a year since I last stood in this house, and its walls still hold whispers of the challenges I faced then. Yet, I find myself striving to leave those shadows behind. The fridge is slowly being filled, and my encounters with friends so far have been food for the soul.

What feels remarkably different this time is the depth of connection in these interactions. People seem genuinely curious—not just about the familiar topics, but also about the war, my journey with psychedelics, and the broader tapestry of life.

Enough about Old Navy, talk about the ‘shrooms.

The elephant in the room is the psilocybin journey—an experience that I know many are curious about. I have come to realize that whenever I discuss it, I retreat inward, becoming withdrawn or melancholic. So, I think it is best to pause on that conversation and give myself some space to digest this phenominal experience.

I did not embark on a traditional psychedelic journey, nor was that something I consciously sought out. What I experienced was a meditative journey—one that is evolving over time and continues to unfold. It is a process, not an event, and I am still very much in the midst of it.

Please don’t call them ‘shrooms. When I hear that, it reduces it to a party drug and this is far from that. It is plant medicine.

My shaman lives in Copenhagen but comes to Israel often. She has been guiding me through this experience. Our work together is far from finished. It may likely continue on a weekly basis, perhaps for the rest of my life. I continue to take the drops, one drop on my tongue every morning, microdosing. This is not about seeking transcendence in the conventional sense, but rather about a deeper, ongoing exploration of self, healing, and understanding. I am learning to be patient with the process, trusting that the journey itself will reveal what I need, when I need it. This is way out of my comfort zone.

As a physician I wrestle with the balance between personal reflection and professional boundaries. There is a part of me that hesitates, wondering if I am revealing too much of myself. I was always a tabula rasa. But then I remind myself that the human experience is far more universal than we acknowledge. Many of us, regardless of our profession or background, navigate similar challenges, moments of vulnerability, and internal struggles. It is not solely about me: it is about the connections we forge through our shared journeys. And in that, there is healing, for both the healer and the healed.

Shamanism in Tel Aviv

I am deeply moved by the response to my previous post—thank you. I probably should not have talked about being good in bed because I was not able to advertise this post by the usual social media. I need to learn how naviagte that better.

The feedback has been truly overwhelming, and it is a reminder of the power of shared experience. Please share this newsletter.

Until next time 🫶🏻,

Anna 🌸

One day you are going to miss my boring texts, my random calls, my silly questions,You’ll miss my fight,my mood swings, my arguments, my possessives and my insecurities. But most of all you’ll miss the way I cared for you,

~Author unknown