Ketamine Safety: Creating Explicit Agreements for Safer Experiences
My journey to understanding the mysteriousness of ketamine.
Ketamine is having a moment. In my circles, it's becoming more common than other psychedelics at parties. People are trading drinking for K in recreational settings, while simultaneously we're hearing more about its breakthrough applications in clinical therapy. It's a fascinating convergence, the same substance being explored in radically different contexts, each offering their own insights about healing, connection, and consciousness.
This intersection has me thinking about how we can learn from both worlds to create safer, more intentional experiences regardless of setting.
My Journey with K
My personal relationship with ketamine started as a teenager in a friend's basement with fuzzy memories of melting into couches and failed attempts to walk. For years after, I put ketamine in a box labeled "not for me," especially as I witnessed its potential for abuse in party settings.
That changed this New Year's Eve at our annual desert gathering in Baja. Despite taking LSD and MDMA, substances that usually help me release into profound connection and insight, my body couldn't settle into the experience. I spent hours pacing, unable to surrender to the moment. When a friend offered a small amount of ketamine, something called me to try it.
Walking back to the party just before midnight, I felt a gentle "drunkenness" overcome me, and suddenly I snapped into the full psychedelic experience I'd been struggling to access. It was as if the ketamine had dissociated me from whatever was blocking my presence, clearing the clutter so I could surrender into the moment, into my community's embrace.
This experience sparked a curiosity that led me to interview Jay Louie, a ketamine-assisted psychotherapist, for my podcast. But it also led me deeper into my own experimentation — with mixed results. Recently, what I thought would be a small recreational dose at a small music event turned into an unexpected k-hole experience that left me reflecting on responsibility, preparation, and the reverence this substance deserves.
The Safety Checks We're Missing
Here's what struck me about my challenging experience: I was well-supported by my community, but that support was based on implicit agreements rather than explicit ones. We prepare extensively for other activities with inherent risks — why not for substance use?
The implicit agreements that kept me safe were:
My friend stayed with me and monitored me throughout the night
We committed to the journey together — no one leaves without the other
We had a safe place to sleep and return to
There was inherent understanding and support in our community
But what if we made these agreements explicit beforehand? How much safer of an experience could we co-create? What if every group using substances together asked these questions beforehand:
Before the experience:
Is someone staying sober or more sober to hold space?
How are we getting home safely at the end of the night?
What would support look like if someone has a challenging experience?
What's our emergency plan if something goes wrong?
During the experience:
Who's checking in on everyone throughout the night?
What are our signals for "I need help" vs. "I'm okay, just having a moment"?
How do we maintain connection without overwhelming someone who's struggling?
After the experience:
How are we caring for each other the next day?
What does checking in look like?
If something difficult came up, what's our plan for integration and support?
This isn't fear-mongering, it's recognizing that taking mind-altering substances involves inherent risks, and smart preparation can prevent those risks while potentially deepening the experience itself.
Learning from Therapeutic Containers
There's a reason people train extensively to create safe containers for psychedelic experiences in therapeutic settings — they understand that set, setting, preparation, and integration aren't just helpful, they're essential.
Jay Louie (in my recent podcast) talks about slowly building a relationship with ketamine, “I think with me and substances, it takes a long time to build a relationship with it. So I probably have known Ketamine for maybe four years now, and I'm still working on my relationship and getting to know it more.” Recognizing ketamines unique properties and the respect it demands is important for building this relationship. Ketamine can have dramatically different effects at different doses, and those lines can blur easily. I've heard many stories of people being surprised by unexpectedly strong experiences with ketamine and I've lived it, too.
The beauty of therapeutic containers isn't just the professional training (though that matters enormously). It's the explicit acknowledgment that these journeys require preparation, intention, safety protocols, and integration support.
Bridging the Worlds
I'm not suggesting recreational use should mimic therapeutic protocols, but there's wisdom we can borrow. Safety doesn't detract from the magic of these experiences, it creates the foundation for them to unfold more fully.
Jay mentions reclaiming the word "drug" in our conversation, acknowledging the stigma while recognizing the healing potential these substances hold. While they're absolutely not advocating for illicit use, I want to advocate for safer use — because these experiences are already happening in recreational settings.
The Call for Explicit Agreements
Substance use in party and festival contexts isn't going away. Instead of pretending it doesn't happen or hoping people will just "be careful," we can instead create cultures of explicit care and preparation.
What would it look like if every friend group, every party, every gathering where substances might be present had these conversations beforehand? What if we normalized asking about safety protocols the same way we ask about transportation or accommodations?
The implicit care in many recreational communities is beautiful, but explicit agreements could save lives while honoring the profound potential these substances hold for connection, insight, and healing.
In sharing Jay's insights about ketamine-assisted psychotherapy, I'm reminded that whether we're in a therapist's office or on a dance floor, these substances deserve our respect, preparation, and commitment to each other's wellbeing.
The container may look different, but the reverence should remain the same.
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Next time you’re at a party, festival, or burning man what is one way you can better prepare yourself and your community to make safer experiences for each other?
Listen to Jay Louie share about their work as a psychedelic-assisted psychotherapist and how they blend climbing therapy into their practice anywhere you listen to podcasts!