For years, I’ve worked in the behavior change and coaching world. I’ve seen the same stories play out again and again: people deeply desiring change—trying diets, fitness plans, surgeries, medications, apps, books, therapy, podcasts—only to fall back into old patterns. Why?
Because most behavior change models don’t go deep enough.
They treat symptoms. They overlook the source.
In this article, I want to explore where traditional behavior change frameworks break down, how psychedelic therapy can serve as a scaffold for deeper transformation, and why real, sustainable change begins not with a new habit tracker, but with a courageous inward turn.
The Models: Good But Incomplete
There are several dominant models of behavior change, each offering something valuable—yet none complete on their own. The Transtheoretical Model, often called the Stages of Change, views transformation as a nonlinear cycle. People move through phases like precontemplation, contemplation, preparation, action, and maintenance, with relapse seen as a natural (and even expected) part of the process. This is precisely the path I walked when I stopped smoking.
I’ve had clients linger in the contemplation stage for years—fully aware of their self-destructive patterns, yet paralyzed by avoidance and distraction. These are often protective responses rooted in fear, shame, or unprocessed pain. In those cases, no checklist of goals, no amount of “readiness,” and no perfect program could move them forward until we began to address the emotional root.
And it doesn’t stop there. I’ve also worked with clients who advanced into preparation, took action, even began tasting the early stages of maintenance—only to be thrown backward the moment life touched an unhealed part of them. A difficult conversation. A breakup. A promotion. A trauma anniversary. Suddenly, they found themselves back in contemplation, doubting everything. I’ve supported multiple clients through 100+ pound weight loss journeys—only to witness them regain it all. Not because they lacked discipline, but because the deeper mental and emotional wounds driving the behavior were never explored, acknowledged, or released. Without that inner work, change becomes a cycle of gain and loss—progress and relapse. Real transformation can’t happen while dragging the weight of unhealed pain behind you.
Back in 2009, I was chosen as an associate trainer for the Extreme Weight Loss reality TV show with celebrity trainer Chris Powell. I remember Chris telling me about a man who had lost over 100 pounds. He made great progress at first—nearly 50 pounds shed—before hitting a wall. It wasn’t until he got honest about the sexual abuse he had experienced as a child that the progress resumed. Once he faced what he had spent a lifetime avoiding, the weight—not just physical, but emotional—finally began to lift.
More recently, models like James Clear’s Atomic Habits have offered a clean, compelling, system-based approach. Habits are shaped by cues, cravings, responses, and rewards, and small, consistent changes in environment and behavior can yield big results. I’ve used this approach with many clients to help them transform routines, eating habits, and productivity—but when the behavior is compulsive or emotionally charged, the model often hits a wall. People know what habit they should build, but their pain hijacks the loop.
Logic is no match for trauma.
That’s where identity-based behavior change becomes especially relevant. This approach suggests that real, lasting change doesn’t just come from shifting actions—but from shifting identity. It moves beyond outcome goals like “I want to lose ten pounds” or process goals like “I’ll work out three times a week,” to deeper truth: “I am someone who cares for and respects my body.” I’ve seen breakthroughs when clients stop trying to force change and instead align with who they already are—or who they remember they were before life hardened them. But for many, that identity shift isn’t accessible until they first soften the internal voice of self-judgment. Often, that softening doesn’t happen through willpower or another spreadsheet. It happens through deep inner work.
Each of these models brings something essential to the table. But in isolation, they miss the full picture. Without emotional excavation, they risk building structure on top of unhealed wounds. And that’s where psychedelic therapy can be a powerful ally—helping people access the parts of themselves that most frameworks can’t reach.
The Limits of Medical Fixes
In recent years, we’ve seen a surge in medical interventions marketed as quick solutions to complex behavioral and emotional patterns. Medications like Ozempic and Wegovy, both GLP‑1 receptor agonists, are being praised for rapid appetite suppression and dramatic weight loss. Bariatric surgeries such as gastric bypass and sleeve gastrectomy are achieving transformative results—with patients often losing around 56.7% of total body weight with bypass, and nearly as much with sleeves.
Yet these tools often fall short when it comes to emotional and psychological healing. A large-trend observational study of 162,253 patients on GLP‑1 agonists found a 98% increased risk of psychiatric disorders, including an astonishing 195% higher risk of major depression, 108% higher risk of anxiety, and 106% elevated risk of suicidal behavior compared to matched controls. (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-024-75965-2) While bodies may slim, unaddressed trauma and emotional pain often persist—or worse, manifest in new ways.
Women, in particular, face complex dynamics: studies show 60–70% of bariatric candidates report childhood trauma, and 32% report sexual abuse histories. Even when weight-loss surgery is initially successful, the underlying emotional wounds can remain untreated. Many patients continue to struggle with depression, body dissatisfaction, disordered eating, or even develop new compulsions post-surgery. Medications can alter physical appetite but do nothing to heal the soul's hunger.
These medical interventions can change the container—but unless the contents are attended to, the shift feels hollow.
It’s Not About Willpower. It’s About Wounds.
The compulsive behaviors we try to “fix”—binge eating, overdrinking, excessive porn use, workaholism, shopping addictions—these aren’t just bad habits. They’re coping mechanisms. They arise not from laziness or lack of discipline, but from pain, avoidance, and trauma that hasn’t been given air to breathe.
You don’t compulsively eat six Snickers bars because you’re hungry. You do it because a conversation with your boss or ex-boyfriend triggered an old wound, and something inside you—something you don’t yet have language for—is trying to numb itself. And until we learn to move into the pain rather than away from it, no amount of planning, logging, pill-popping or meal-prepping will work. Any change we make will be cosmetic at best. Like spraying air freshener in a burning house—we mask the signal, but the danger still grows.
I once worked with an entrepreneur who would binge drink with almost clockwork regularity—sabotaging relationships, disrupting his business, and riddling his life with chaos. No productivity hack or behavioral framework made a dent. It wasn’t until we worked with MDMA assisted therapy that the root finally surfaced: he had never truly grieved the death of one of his children. His drinking, we discovered, wasn’t about alcohol—it was about grief. It was about the vicious inner critic that tortured him in silence. Alcohol, he admitted, was the only thing that could silence that voice. What followed was a profound emotional release during and after the session. Catharsis gave way to clarity. And when the grief moved through, so did the compulsion to drink. Along with it went the drama, the shame, and the need to numb. What remained was presence—and peace.
Where Most Coaching Falls Short
Too often, people are told that if they just buy the latest gadget, try the newest workout, follow the right influencer, or download another app, they’ll finally break free. But true transformation doesn’t come from outside. It’s not downloadable. It’s not something you can consume. Until someone helps you look inward—really inward—you’ll stay stuck in the same loop.
Even therapy can fall short when it teaches people to pathologize their emotions. Anxiety? Medicate it. Depression? Suppress it. It’s like turning off a smoke alarm while the house is still on fire. You might enjoy the silence for a while, but the damage continues, silently and systemically.
I once worked with a college administrator who began using Lexapro shortly after becoming a new mother nearly 20 years ago. What was intended to be a temporary support became a long-term dependence. Over time, she realized she had become numbed—not just to her pain, but to her joy, her energy, and her emotional range. Something about that numbness created an invisible barrier: she struggled to stay consistent with both her spiritual and physical practices. Seven months ago, we began a careful process of tapering her Lexapro while supporting the transition with microdosing psilocybin. About a month in, I got a call from her—overwhelmed by the flood of emotions that were surfacing. She feared something was wrong. But all that was happening was this: the dam of 20 years of repressed emotion was breaking. She was beginning to feel again. We introduced breathwork practices to help her regulate and stay grounded in the experience. Not long after, she found herself doing something she hadn’t done consistently in years—moving her body daily and returning to her Bible reading, not out of obligation, but from a place of genuine connection.
Psychedelic Therapy: A Scaffold for Going Deeper
When used intentionally and with skilled guidance, psychedelics offer something no coach, app, or tracker can: access to the unexamined self. We now understand that psychedelics temporarily suppress the brain’s default mode network—the part of the mind responsible for ego, rumination, and compulsive self-talk. When this quiets, something deeper emerges.
In that window, something remarkable happens. Compulsive habits get interrupted. New neural pathways begin to form. Emotions long buried start to move. A sense of clarity—not just mental but spiritual—comes online. The default mode network, for a moment, loosens its grip. But the window doesn’t last forever. And what we do in that window—what we examine, what we integrate—that’s where transformation becomes possible.
Note: When practiced skillfully, meditation is a powerful tool for self-inquiry, capable of producing brain states and neurological shifts remarkably similar to those observed in psychedelic therapy. Both modalities can quiet the default mode network, dissolve egoic rigidity, and open access to deeper layers of awareness. When combined, meditation and psychedelic experiences don’t just add to each other—they amplify one another. This synergy creates a potent gateway for insight, emotional healing, and lasting transformation.
The Voice Within
One of the most profound things I’ve witnessed in clients during psychedelic experiences is the emergence of a voice that’s impossible to argue with. Not a voice from a coach or therapist—but a voice from within. A truth that lands with absolute clarity. A knowing that feels like home.
Call it the higher self. Call it divine intelligence. Call it the Holy Spirit. Whatever name resonates—it’s real. And when it speaks, it doesn’t ask for permission or external validation. It speaks with the authority of your deepest truth. And it often says: You’re done. You’re free. You’ve always been enough.
In that moment, change doesn’t come from force. It comes from recognition.
The Inner Work Is the Work
The reason so many behavior change tools fail is because they focus on symptoms, not sources. They focus on behavior, not belief. They focus on action, not emotion. But we are not machines. We are meaning-making beings with histories, heartbreaks, and hidden rooms.
Psychedelic therapy doesn’t do the work for you. But it clears the fog. It opens the heart. It shifts the lens. It softens the defenses. It gives you a scaffold—a sacred, temporary space—to ask the real questions:
What am I avoiding?
What pain haven’t I processed?
What story have I been living in?
Who am I—beyond the habits?
And most importantly:
Who am I ready to become?
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