Psilocybin and Parkinson’s: My 30-Day Microdosing Journey

I’ve never taken pharmaceuticals for my Parkinson’s. Not once. Not even at diagnosis. I made that decision early on—not out of fear, but out of experience.

Years of misdiagnosis and the harmful effects of medications I never needed taught me a painful but important lesson: the system doesn’t always know what’s best for me. Trusting doctors without questioning, accepting prescriptions without understanding—I paid the price for that in the past. I wasn’t about to repeat it.

Instead, I turned to nature. To plants. To the earth.

Since that turning point, I’ve committed fully to a natural, holistic path. My healing protocol includes cannabis, functional mushrooms, black seed oil, and a host of other plant-based allies. I don’t even take Tylenol. If it’s not natural, I don’t take it. That’s not a trend for me—it’s a principle.

And that path recently led me to something still considered taboo by much of the world: psilocybin.

Opening the Door to Psilocybin

Psilocybin—the psychoactive compound in so-called “magic mushrooms”—has been used by indigenous cultures for centuries for healing, insight, and connection. But here in the U.S., it's still illegal in most states and remains shrouded in fear and misinformation, especially in the medical community.

That hasn’t stopped me from exploring it. If anything, the fact that it's been locked away for so long only made me more curious.

Courtney—my wife, co-founder of Eleeo Health and a seasoned healthcare professional—and I decided to stop whispering about plant medicine and start educating others. We agreed that our unique partnership made us well-positioned for this: a lifelong medical expert and a stubborn, unmedicated guy with Parkinson’s willing to test it all firsthand.

We documented everything: video, charts, journals. And we intentionally didn’t share our observations with each other in real time, so we wouldn’t influence the outcomes. We wanted honest data. We also experimented with dosage to explore how different levels of microdosing might impact symptoms.

What follows is a look into that 30-day journey. The highs. The subtleties. The shift that made me stop feeling like I even had Parkinson’s.

Week One – Hope on the Horizon

From the start, something felt different.

The effects were subtle, but noticeable: an elevated mood, a sense of happiness, mental clarity, and presence. I felt more playful, more energized. Physically, I noticed less stiffness and achiness in my body. I was more mindful of my movement—paying attention to how I used my hands, swung my arms, and dragged my foot.

I started challenging myself. Walking faster. Jogging. Letting go of the treadmill handrails. Testing my limits—and seeing what my body could still do.

I was optimistic, but guarded. I didn’t want to get carried away. Still, I couldn’t deny something was shifting.

Week Two – A New Baseline

The improvements held strong.

By week two, things started to feel... normal. And that was the surprising part. It wasn’t that the changes disappeared—it’s that they integrated.

There were still no off days. I didn’t regress. The symptoms didn’t sneak back in. I just stopped being surprised by how good I felt. My nervous system seemed to stabilize. It was as if this new way of functioning was becoming my default setting.

For someone with Parkinson’s, that kind of stability is rare. This week gave me something I hadn’t felt in a while: predictability in my body.

Week Three – A New Floor

Week three was transformational.

Something shifted this week, not just physically, but in how I thought about my body and what it’s capable of. My mobility was night and day compared to where I was before starting this journey. I had no stiffness, and the usual heaviness and fatigue that had become my normal were nearly nonexistent. Getting up from sitting felt natural again. I was running short distances regularly—and doing it because I wanted to, not because I was testing myself.

Even the dystonia, which had been a frustrating and unpredictable symptom, was now minimal. I wasn’t fighting my body anymore. I was moving with it.

It felt like the ceiling had become my floor. What once felt like my best days had now become my standard. And for the first time in years, I wasn’t constantly reminded that I had Parkinson’s. There were entire days when I forgot.

I wasn’t just managing symptoms—I was living with freedom.

Week Four – Stabilization and Perspective

Week four wasn’t about new breakthroughs. It was about realizing that everything I’d been feeling wasn’t temporary—it was becoming consistent.

The heaviness, the fatigue, the rigidity—they stayed at bay. My energy was steady. I continued running and staying active without fear of a crash. I wasn’t waiting for something to go wrong. I wasn’t tracking symptoms obsessively. I was just being.

The dystonia stayed minimal throughout the week. There was still some tightness here and there, but it was manageable—background noise compared to what used to take over entire days.

What hit me most this week was the mental clarity and emotional peace that came from not constantly tending to my symptoms. When your body isn’t screaming for your attention, your mind gets the chance to be creative again, curious again—even joyful again.

By the end of week four, I wasn’t measuring progress in dramatic shifts. I was measuring it in consistency, confidence, and the feeling that I had taken back a part of my life.

What This Taught Me

When your body stops screaming for attention, your mind gets to breathe again. And when your mind breathes, you start to think bigger. You stop surviving and start creating. You feel joy again—not just relief.

This journey gave me more than symptom reduction. It gave me access to myself.

Parkinson’s is many things. It affects movement, mood, sleep, energy, identity. That means we need more than one kind of medicine. And right now, people are being denied one of the most promising options out there—not because it doesn’t work, but because of outdated laws and medical gatekeeping.

That has to change.

A Note to Caregivers

To those walking alongside someone with Parkinson’s—spouses, partners, children, friends: this disease touches you too. Your presence, your encouragement, and your openness make more of a difference than you may realize.

Courtney and I did this together. She brought knowledge and balance. I brought curiosity and willingness. And her belief in this journey gave me courage when I needed it most.

If you're a caregiver, be open. Be willing to explore what might feel unfamiliar. Sometimes healing lives in the places we’ve been taught to ignore.

What You Can Do Next

If anything in this story resonated with you—share it. With a friend. With someone newly diagnosed. With a skeptic. With your doctor.

Start a conversation about psilocybin and plant medicine. Ask new questions. Don’t stop at the first “no.”

We’re building something bold through The Parkinson’s Project Foundation—a place for education, access, and advocacy around alternative therapies for Parkinson’s. If you want to support this work, please consider donating, sharing our story, or reaching out to collaborate.

Let’s change the story. Let’s open more doors. Let’s give people their lives back.

Final Words

I’m not saying psilocybin is a miracle. I’m not saying it’s for everyone.

But I am saying this: for me, it worked. It gave me a glimpse of something I hadn’t felt in a long time—hope rooted in results.

If you’ve been told that your only option is a pill or a procedure—don’t settle. There is more out there than you're being told.

And sometimes, what helps the most is the thing we were taught to fear.