In the mid-20th century, psychedelic substances like LSD and psilocybin mushrooms went from scientific curiosities to symbols of the counterculture. In the 1950s and 60s, researchers explored LSD’s potential to treat mental illness, and some psychiatrists reported promising results. But by the late 1960s, these hallucinogens escaped the lab and exploded into popular use, sparking both excitement and alarm. The U.S. government responded with harsh prohibition: in 1970, the Controlled Substances Act classified psychedelics as Schedule I drugs with “no currently accepted medical use”. For decades, scientific inquiry into their therapeutic value was virtually frozen. Psychedelics became taboo, confined to the shadows of illicit use.
Yet the story did not end there. Over time, determined scientists and therapists quietly kept the flame alive, and by the 2000s a renaissance was underway. Researchers at institutions like Johns Hopkins and NYU cautiously obtained approvals to study full-dose psychedelic therapy under controlled conditions. Early studies found that one or two guided macrodoses of psilocybin (the active compound in “magic mushrooms”) could occasion profound mystical experiences and help relieve depression, addiction, or end-of-life anxiety. These striking outcomes began to chip away at decades of stigma. By the 2010s, psychedelics were re-entering mainstream discourse, no longer as counterculture drugs but as potential medicines for a mental health crisis. Books and media coverage – notably journalist Michael Pollan’s influential 2018 work – further opened the public’s mind to the idea that these once-vilified substances might heal rather than harm.
Amid this revival, a gentler practice also captured imaginations: microdosing. Instead of the mind-bending psychedelic trips of the 60s, microdosing promised subtle daily benefits without the fireworks. People began taking tiny fractions of LSD or psilocybin, aiming for therapeutic effects below the threshold of hallucination. Early enthusiasts, ranging from Silicon Valley biohackers seeking creativity to military veterans seeking relief from trauma, reported that taking a “sub-perceptual” dose every few days made them feel better in myriad ways. They spoke of reduced anxiety, lifted depression, sharper focus and creativity – even relief from migraines or chronic pain. The idea of harnessing psychedelics’ benefits in daily life, without disrupting one’s routine, was undeniably alluring. It felt like a quiet revolution: a way to integrate these once-forbidden substances into wellness regimens, flying under the radar of both law enforcement and old psychedelic stereotypes.
Microdosing: What the Science Says
Psychologist James Fadiman was one of the early proponents who helped bring microdosing into the light. Starting around 2010, he began informally collecting reports from hundreds of people who tried regular low doses of psychedelics. The anecdotes pouring into Fadiman’s inbox were overwhelmingly positive. People claimed these tiny doses helped them conquer depression, break out of anxiety, or simply have better days filled with more ease and productivity. Many reported eating and sleeping better, returning to exercise or meditation, and feeling “rebalanced” in mind and body. Such personal stories, shared online and in the media, fueled a surge of popular interest in microdosing by the mid-2010s. Tech workers in California whispered about taking micro-drops of LSD to boost creativity; artists and professionals wondered if a pinch of mushroom powder could sharpen their edge. Microdosing moved from obscurity toward the mainstream as a sort of open secret.
But compelling anecdotes are not the same as rigorous evidence. Scientific research has only recently begun to catch up with the microdosing phenomenon, and its findings so far are mixed and tentative. To date, most microdosing studies have been small (often just a few dozen participants) and their results have been ambiguous. In fact, placebo effects loom large. In one clever trial, experienced microdosers were given packets for a month, some containing their usual low-dose psychedelic and others containing only empty capsulescpr.org. At the end of four weeks, everyone (both those who had microdoses and those unknowingly taking none) reported improvements in mood and mental health measures. The microdosers felt better – but so did the placebo group. Many participants were astonished to discover that capsules they were sure had lifted their depression or sparked their insight had actually been empty. “It appears that I was indeed taking placebos… I’m quite astonished,” one participant admitted, noting he was able to generate a powerful altered experience based only on the expectation of a microdose. This suggests that belief and expectation might account for a significant chunk of microdosing’s perceived benefits – a classic placebo effect writ large.
Other controlled trials have similarly struggled to find clear, lasting advantages of microdoses over placebos. A recent review of several small placebo-controlled experiments with LSD microdoses found no persistent boost to creativity or cognition compared to dummy pills. Overall, measures of thinking, problem-solving, or emotional well-being have not shown dramatic differences between microdosing and placebo in lab settings. One exception came from an experiment at the University of Chicago: researcher Harriet de Wit found that in people with mild depression, tiny doses of LSD led to slight increases in self-reported energy and mood (feelings of “vigor” and “elation”) compared to placebo. This hint of an antidepressant effect was modest, but it offers a glimmer that microdosing might have detectable benefits in some subgroups. As de Wit cautioned, it may only work in certain people and not in others, which makes it hard to measure reliably under laboratory conditions.
Outside the lab, larger survey-based studies have reported intriguing correlations. For example, a multinational survey published in 2022 found that adults who microdose psychedelics tend to report lower levels of anxiety and depression than non-microdosers, as well as greater feelings of well-being and wisdom in their lives. These patterns held even after controlling for age and other factors. The caveat is that correlation isn’t causation – it could be that mentally healthier or more proactive people are simply more likely to try microdosing, rather than microdosing causing the improvements. Nonetheless, such findings have reinforced the hopeful narrative that careful microdosing might, over time, gently improve one’s mental health baseline. They have also spurred formal clinical trials. In Australia, for instance, a biotech company recently began early trials administering microdoses of LSD to patients with major depression and to cancer patients suffering existential despair. The very fact that regulators approved these trials shows the medical community sees enough potential to warrant serious investigation.
On the whole, science is still catching up to the public enthusiasm. “The science is still new and research is ongoing,” one summary noted bluntly. Many basic questions remain: What exactly do microdoses do in the brain at these low levels? Is there an optimal dosing schedule or regimen? Do the subtle effects accumulate over time or fade away? And crucially, are there any risks from long-term, repeated psychedelic exposure at low doses? On that last point, even microdosing’s own boosters urge caution. The long-term effects have not been studied in humans at all. Psychedelic substances are powerful; while a microdose is tiny, any regimen involving regular drug use merits careful consideration. There’s also the practical risk that an unregulated substance could be mis-dosed: one person’s “micro” might accidentally turn into a mini-trip if a home-grown mushroom or drop of LSD is more potent than assumed. And of course, the practice remains legally risky in most places, since possession of LSD or psilocybin (even in minuscule amounts) is against the law.
Despite the unanswered questions, the microdosing movement continues to gain followers who feel the benefits for them outweigh the uncertainties. Some proponents argue that, placebo effect or not, if the ritual of taking a tiny dose helps someone break negative thought patterns or feel more present in their life, then it has real therapeutic value. One researcher even described microdosing as a way of “harnessing the placebo” for personal benefit. Balázs Szigeti, a neuroscientist who has studied microdosing, suggested it can become a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy fueled by positive expectations. “People who are interested in microdosing should give microdosing a try, but only if they’re enthusiastic about it, if they have a positive expectation about the benefits of microdosing,” Szigeti said. In other words, optimism itself might be an active ingredient in the microdosing experience. This perspective doesn’t dampen the enthusiasm of those who have found microdosing life-changing – if anything, it highlights the complex interplay of mind, expectation, and chemistry that defines the human placebo response. And it underscores why rigorous science on microdosing is both so challenging and so important, as researchers attempt to tease out true pharmacological effects from psychological ones.
From Underground to Mainstream
The growing chorus of individual success stories and early scientific findings has fed into a broader movement: a push to change the laws that for decades made any use of psychedelics a crime. In the United States especially, momentum is building to end the prohibition of these substances, or at least to carve out allowances for medical and personal use. The change is being driven by an unlikely alliance of scientists, mental health professionals, patients, and even politicians from across the ideological spectrum. After all, mental illness does not discriminate by politics – and neither, it seems, do the potential benefits of psychedelic therapy.
For years, this push simmered quietly. Underground networks of psychedelic-assisted therapy operated in the shadows to help desperate individuals when conventional treatments failed them. Ex-military veterans with severe PTSD, for example, sought clandestine psilocybin sessions or traveled abroad for ayahuasca ceremonies when antidepressants and talk therapy brought no relief. Their astonishing recoveries (often attributed to just one or two guided psychedelic sessions) began to catch the attention of lawmakers. Families of those lost to opioid addiction or suicide also started speaking out, urging that new approaches be explored – including psychedelics. By the late 2010s, a handful of trailblazing cities like Denver and Oakland took the first steps, essentially decriminalizing personal use of psilocybin and other natural psychedelics. Police in those cities were instructed to make enforcement of mushroom possession the lowest priority. This didn’t legalize psychedelics, but it sent a signal: society’s attitude was softening, at least in some pockets, and people were beginning to view these substances as potential tools for healing rather than simply drugs of abuse.
The real tipping point has come in the 2020s. In 2020, Oregon voters made history by approving Measure 109, creating the nation’s first statewide program to legalize psilocybin for therapeutic use. Under this program (which officially launched in 2023), adults can access guided psilocybin sessions with trained facilitators in licensed centers, for purposes such as mental health treatment or personal growth. This bold experiment created a legal pathway for people to experience psychedelic therapy outside of clinical trials, albeit under strict state regulation. Colorado soon followed: in 2022, its voters passed Proposition 122, decriminalizing several plant-based psychedelics and laying the groundwork for licensed “healing centers” where psilocybin can be administered under supervision. As of 2025, Colorado is in the process of implementing that system, learning from Oregon’s early hurdles and successes. Together, these states have positioned themselves at the forefront of what has been called a new era of psychedelic policy reform.
Crucially, they are not alone. Over twenty U.S. states are now actively considering – or have already enacted – changes to their laws on psychedelic substances. Lawmakers in some 22 states have introduced bills to allow some form of psychedelic-assisted therapy or to support research into psychedelic medicines. In conservative Utah, for instance, legislators unanimously approved a measure in 2022 allowing research hospitals to administer psilocybin and MDMA to patients with serious mental health conditions. Texas (hardly known for drug liberalization) passed a law directing $50 million toward clinical trials of ibogaine – a potent psychedelic from Africa’s iboga plant – to treat opioid addiction and PTSD in veterans. This effort was championed by former Texas Governor Rick Perry, who surprised many by becoming an outspoken advocate after seeing evidence that psychedelics can help when nothing else works. Perry said he had “looked at the data” and become convinced that psychedelic medicine “is what they say it is. It is a cure for addiction. It is a cure for PTSD. It is a road to recovery,” declaring that his “reputation is not worth more than their lives”. When such a stalwart conservative publicly pivots from waging war on drugs to championing a psychedelic treatment, it’s clear the ground has shifted dramatically.
Indeed, the federal government is starting to take note, albeit cautiously. Psychedelics remain illegal at the federal level and are still listed as Schedule I, creating an inevitable tension with these new state policies. But federal agencies have begun opening doors for research and even potential medical approval. The Food and Drug Administration, for example, has designated psilocybin a “Breakthrough Therapy” for depression – expediting research – and given a similar status to MDMA for PTSD. Phase III trials of MDMA-assisted therapy are near completion, and experts predict the FDA could approve MDMA for clinical use in treating PTSD as soon as 2024 or 2025. Sensing the change in the air, the federal government so far has allowed Oregon’s and Colorado’s experiments to proceed without interference, effectively treating them as policy laboratories. Officials have signaled they are “open to additional research and data” coming from these state programs. As one policy leader at the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) noted, these state-run therapy programs and the data they gather could inform future federal policy. In other words, Washington is watching closely. A successful track record in a few pioneering states – showing that psychedelic treatments can be delivered safely and effectively – may pave the way for broader national change.
At the same time, activists and experts stress that decriminalization must go hand-in-hand with therapeutic access. A recurring lesson from the movement is that patients and facilitators need legal protection to “bring this above ground,” avoiding the perils of an unregulated underground market. Both Oregon’s and Colorado’s approaches include decriminalizing personal use and possession of natural psychedelics, alongside establishing structured therapeutic programs. Advocates argue that someone seeking healing shouldn’t have to fear arrest for possessing the very substance that could help them – especially if they are following a supervised program. It’s a delicate dance for lawmakers: pairing strict safety measures and training requirements with a degree of personal freedom for individuals to use these substances on their own terms. In New York, for example, proposed legislation would not only allow psychedelic-assisted therapy but also permit adults to possess and use psilocybin at home after completing a short educational course. Such ideas reflect a broader ethos in this movement: empower people with knowledge, ensure support is available, and trust them to make responsible choices rather than imposing blanket punishment.
The momentum behind psychedelic legalization is not just political but cultural. In June 2023, over 8,000 people (scientists, clinicians, entrepreneurs, veterans, and curious seekers alike) converged in Denver for what was billed as the world’s largest psychedelic conference. The gathering had the electric energy of a paradigm on the cusp of change. Panels of researchers presented data on using psilocybin to help smokers quit and using MDMA to heal trauma. Indigenous healers spoke about honoring the traditions behind these medicines. Attorneys and policymakers swapped notes on the fine print of emerging laws. The fact that such a conference took place openly (with Colorado’s governor even announcing pardons for past psilocybin possession convictions during the event) shows how far the conversation has come. A generation ago, mainstream public figures wouldn’t touch this topic. Now we see a patchwork of state laws evolving and serious discussion of how to integrate psychedelics responsibly into Western healthcare.
Ultimately, the push to legalize is an effort to reconcile policy with evidence and compassion. Mounting research suggests these substances, under the right conditions, can be remarkably effective for some of the most challenging human conditions, from addiction to existential despair. Public opinion is cautiously warming as more stories emerge of lives changed for the better. Still, there are sober voices urging careful steps. Skeptics point out that not everyone will have a positive outcome; psychedelics carry psychological risks if misused, including the possibility of distressing experiences. There’s concern about commercialization or “over-hyping” these as miracle cures. Regulators worry about how to ensure quality control and prevent abuse in any new legal market. These concerns fuel an emphasis on data collection and iteration in the states pioneering the way. “This has never been done before, so it’s going to take a lot of iteration and flexibility,” one advocate involved in Oregon’s program noted. Early wrinkles (such as ensuring enough trained facilitators and figuring out affordable access for participants) are being addressed through revised rules and follow-up legislation each year.For now, the United States is in the midst of a dynamic experiment. Cities and states are cautiously decriminalizing or legalizing aspects of psychedelic use, effectively deconstructing a half-century of entrenched drug policy. Research on psychedelics is accelerating, from microdosing trials to large-scale therapeutic studies. Public figures ranging from military veterans to clergy members are lending their voices to call for change. The ultimate goal shared by these strange bedfellows is to unlock the healing potential in these long-maligned substances. In their vision, what was once underground and illicit can become a safe, regulated, and accepted part of modern medicine and well-being.