Two Years with the Plants: A Journey into Healing, Knowing, Remembering and Returning

Two years ago today, I took my first intentional step into the world of plant medicine.

Not the trendy, hashtag-worthy kind. Not the kind packaged for performance or sold as a shortcut to enlightenment. But the kind that humbles you. That rearranges your insides. That reminds you—sometimes gently, sometimes not—that healing isn’t a linear path, but a spiraling, sacred homecoming.

Since then, the plants have been my teachers, my mirrors, and at times, my lifeline. They’ve helped me peel back layers I didn’t even know I was wearing. They’ve steadied my nervous system when it buzzed with grief. They’ve challenged my intellect to soften into intuition. And they’ve whispered truths I’d long forgotten about who I am and what I came here to do.

Physically, they’ve supported my body through transitions and regulation, reminding me that our systems are wise and want to heal.

Emotionally, they’ve cracked open doors I kept closed for decades, offering release, clarity, and sometimes the holy catharsis of tears.

Intellectually, they’ve helped me deconstruct old frameworks that no longer serve—and build new ones rooted in liberation, compassion, and truth.

Spiritually, they’ve called me home. Again and again. To myself. To the land. To the pulse of something far older and wiser than this moment in history.

This path has not been easy. But it has been true.

Today, I sit in deep reverence for what this work has given me—and for the privilege of walking alongside others on their own journeys. Whether I’m holding space with ketamine, supporting someone’s exploration with fungi, or offering a gentle guidepost on their path, I do so with the utmost respect for the intelligence of these medicines and the courage of those who answer their call.

If plant medicine has taught me anything, it’s that we’re not broken—we’re remembering. Unburying. Becoming. Returning.

So wherever your road is taking you—whether through expansion, grief, mystery, or rebirth—know this: you don’t have to walk it alone. And you don’t have to numb it to survive it. There is another way. A deeper, wilder, more human way.

I’m grateful every day to walk it with you.

With love and awe,

Gianna

Medicine Woman-in-Process