When Oregon voters passed Measure 109 in 2020, the headlines were dramatic: First state to legalize psilocybin services. What they didn’t capture was the uncertainty that followed. Would it work? Would it collapse under its own complexity? Or would Oregon become a beacon for the world?
I remember feeling both excitement and dread. I wanted to believe we were opening a new door for healing. But I also knew, from decades of advocacy work, how messy new systems can be. And in Oregon’s case, the whole world was watching.
Oregon: The First Attempt
Oregon’s model is bold: non-medical, adult-use psilocybin services available to anyone over 21 in licensed centers with trained facilitators. No diagnosis required. For some, that’s revolutionary. For others, it’s terrifying.
The strengths are obvious: safe, legal psilocybin outside of hospitals and clinical trials. For people who had spent years searching—flying overseas, trying to qualify for studies, or working with underground guides—Oregon was the first time they could walk through a legal door.
I think of one woman who had applied to three clinical trials, only to be told each time she didn’t meet the criteria. She arrived at our center with tears in her eyes, saying, “I can’t believe I finally get to do this without begging for permission.” After her session, she told me she felt like she’d been “welcomed back to herself.” Her lifelong depression is still in remission.
But Oregon’s weaknesses are just as real. Journeys are expensive, often out of reach for many. Service centers are burdened by federal tax law. Facilitator training is uneven. And sometimes expectations are unrealistic—clients hope for a miracle without investing in preparation or integration.
Oregon’s program is not perfect. Yet it set the stage for comparison. Other countries and states looked at Oregon and asked themselves: Is this the model we want? Or should we take another path?
The Netherlands: A Tourist Economy
If Oregon represents regulation and structure, the Netherlands represents the opposite: legal but loosely defined. Psilocybin truffles are available at retreats that range from deeply supportive to purely tourist-oriented.
I once spoke with a man who traveled to Amsterdam seeking healing. Instead, he found himself in a group of thirty, given little preparation and even less follow-up. He came home feeling emptier than before. Others, of course, have had transformative retreats there. But that’s the point—the experience depends on luck.
Compared to Oregon’s heavy regulation, the Netherlands reminds us what happens when oversight is minimal: quality swings wildly, and clients can be left vulnerable.
Jamaica: Wide Open, For Better and Worse
If the Netherlands is loose, Jamaica is wide open. Psilocybin mushrooms aren’t prohibited there, which has led to a booming retreat industry.
On one hand, it’s liberating. People from around the world can sit openly with psilocybin, surrounded by natural beauty. On the other hand, freedom without structure comes with risks. A client once told me she paid thousands for a Jamaican retreat only to feel abandoned in a large group with little support.
This contrast sharpens Oregon’s identity. Our system may feel restrictive, but it also provides guardrails. Jamaica’s openness highlights why rules—even inconvenient ones—can matter.
Canada: Compassion With Bureaucracy
Canada took yet another approach. Through exemptions and the Special Access Program, patients with terminal illness or treatment-resistant depression can receive psilocybin.
It sounds compassionate—and it is. I’ve met Canadians who finally accessed psilocybin in their last months of life. But for most, the program is a locked gate. A man from Vancouver once told me, “I’ve been trying for years, but unless I’m dying, there’s no way in.”
Oregon, by contrast, swung the gate wide. Where Canada gives psilocybin sparingly, Oregon said: this is for everyone, not just the dying. That choice has been both our greatest strength and our greatest controversy.
Colorado: Learning in Real Time
Colorado watched Oregon carefully, then passed its Natural Medicine Health Act in 2022. By 2025, it began licensing facilitators and centers.
Some observers say Colorado has learned from Oregon’s mistakes: fees are somewhat lower, rules are clearer, and rollout is more streamlined. Others see the same cracks forming—cost barriers, uneven training, and the chokehold of federal tax law.
The truth is, Colorado is still writing its story. But the chapters they’ve drafted so far owe a lot to Oregon’s messy, hard-earned lessons.
Clinical Trials: Science First, Few Patients
For years, clinical trials were the only legal path. They remain the gold standard for evidence—but not for access. Hundreds apply, only a few dozen are chosen, and many end up in placebo groups.
I’ve met clients who applied again and again, hanging their hopes on the next trial. One woman told me she started to believe she’d die without ever experiencing psilocybin. When she finally sat down for her first legal session in Oregon, she said, “I feel like this was waiting for me all along.”
Clinical trials advance science, but Oregon gave people something trials couldn’t: a real, accessible chance. Since the first service centers opened in 2023, Oregon has helped more people access psilocybin than ALL the research studies combined over the last 70 years.
What Oregon Shows the World
Oregon’s system is far from perfect. It is costly, confusing, and fragile. Critics are right to point out its flaws. But it exists. And for people who had been waiting decades, existence matters more than perfection.
When I spoke at Psychedelic Science 2025 in Denver, people from around the world lined up to hear Oregon’s story. They weren’t looking for a flawless model. They were looking for proof of possibility.
Closing Reflection
Oregon’s psilocybin program is not polished. Some days it feels like a miracle. Other days it feels like a mess. But it has cracked open a door—and once open, doors are hard to close.
The world is watching, not because Oregon is perfect, but because Oregon was brave enough to go first. And in the realm of psychedelics, bravery is contagious.
