The Neuroscience of Psychedelic Crying

The Neuroscience of Psychedelic Crying

I still remember the day I first cried while on psilocybin. It wasn’t the kind of crying you get from allergies or watching a sad movie. It was raw, unfiltered, like opening a dam inside me that had been holding years of emotion hostage. I was sitting cross-legged on a patch of moss, surrounded by towering trees, and suddenly my chest felt tight, a flood of tears came, and there was this deep sigh of release that seemed to shake loose something I didn’t even know was stuck. That moment stayed with me - not just because of the tears, but because of the way my entire nervous system seemed to recalibrate afterwards. Crying on psychedelics often feels like a doorway to deeper emotional healing, but it’s also wildly mysterious. Why does this happen? What’s actually going on in the brain when those tears fall? More importantly, how do we make sense of it in a world obsessed with controlling feelings?

Psychedelic crying is a phenomenon most people who’ve taken substances like psilocybin, LSD, or ayahuasca can relate to. It’s not just about sadness either. Sometimes it’s grief, sometimes joy, sometimes a strange blend of relief and vulnerability. Those moments can be confusing or overwhelming, but they’re also deeply instructive. Over the years, as I’ve written and researched on the topic, I’ve found that the neuroscience behind this crying reveals a lot about how psychedelics shake up the brain’s emotional wiring. And since these experiences often pave the way for lasting emotional shifts, it’s worth digging into the biology and psychology of it all.

I’m not talking about crying as a side effect or a tearjerker reaction. I’m talking about those heavy, gut-wrenching, sometimes uncontrollable sobs that feel like a reset button flicking on deep inside. This type of crying seems to happen when psychedelics dissolve barriers - not just the mental kind, but the emotional and neurological ones too. The brain’s usual filters and defenses get softened, allowing a flood of previously repressed feelings to surface. This isn’t a simple breakdown of control. Instead, it’s more like a necessary disintegration, a moment where all the parts holding you back let go. The neuroscience behind this is fascinating and surprisingly poetic, and it’s helped me understand my own experiences in a new light.

So, what’s going on when you find yourself crying uncontrollably on a psychedelic journey? In this article, I want to share what I’ve learned about the brain’s role in psychedelic crying, the research that supports it, practical ways to work with these feelings, and how to carry the lessons into everyday life. If you’ve ever wondered why tears come so easily during these experiences or how to honor them without fear, let’s walk through this together.

Understanding Psychedelic Crying: The Brain’s Emotional Reboot

At its heart, psychedelic crying involves a dramatic shift in how the brain processes emotions, particularly those that are buried deep beneath conscious awareness. Psychedelics like psilocybin work primarily on serotonin receptors - especially the 5-HT2A receptor - which leads to a cascade of changes in brain activity. One key area affected is the default mode network (DMN), a collection of brain regions that governs our sense of self and internal narrative. When psychedelics reduce DMN activity, they disrupt the usual “self-talk” that keeps emotions compartmentalized or suppressed.

Think of the DMN as the brain’s CEO, constantly managing how you perceive yourself and your place in the world. Psychedelics temporarily dim down the CEO’s loud voice, allowing the emotional departments to speak up without being censored. This can bring repressed feelings to the surface, triggering crying that feels out of nowhere but is really a brain unlocking a floodgate of emotion. Robin Carhart-Harris’ neuroimaging studies show that psychedelics cause increased global connectivity in the brain, meaning regions that don’t usually communicate start working together. This breakdown of usual boundaries allows for a freer flow of emotional content.

Another player in this emotional symphony is the amygdala, the brain’s alarm system responsible for processing fear and emotional salience. Psychedelics can initially heighten the amygdala’s activity, making emotions more vivid and intense. But over the course of a session, studies show that the amygdala’s reactivity can decrease, possibly explaining how initial waves of anxiety or sadness transform into cathartic crying and eventually relief. This dynamic modulation lets the brain confront difficult emotions in a safe, contained way.

And then there’s the role of the vagus nerve - the highway between the brain and body. Psychedelic crying often feels physical, with tears, deep sighs, and changes in breathing. The vagus nerve mediates parasympathetic responses associated with calming and social bonding, which crying activates. When you cry on psychedelics, your nervous system is engaging a complex set of signals that help regulate stress and restore balance. This isn’t just psychological; it’s a full-body phenomenon.

Neuroscience also points to the hippocampus, a brain region involved in memory and emotional regulation. Psychedelic experiences can promote neuroplasticity here, allowing old memories and emotions to be recontextualized. That moment of crying may be your brain’s way of rewriting emotional narratives that have been stuck for years.

In essence, psychedelic crying happens because the brain’s emotional guardrails come down. These tears are more than just water from the eyes - they’re the brain’s way of processing, releasing, and healing. Understanding this biological machinery doesn’t take away the mystery; it adds layers of meaning and respect for what’s happening inside during those vulnerable moments.

Scientific Studies Shedding Light on Emotional Release and Psychedelics

There’s been a surge of interest in the science of psychedelics over the past two decades, and some researchers have begun to focus on the emotional release often reported during sessions - including crying. One landmark study by Roland Griffiths and his team at Johns Hopkins University documented how psilocybin can induce mystical-type experiences that lead to lasting emotional changes. While Griffiths’ work primarily focused on positive emotions like awe and transcendence, many participants also described moments of catharsis that involved tears and deep sadness.

David Nutt and Robin Carhart-Harris at Imperial College London have used fMRI imaging to reveal how psychedelics disrupt the default mode network. Their "REBUS" model (Relaxed Beliefs Under Psychedelics) hypothesizes that psychedelics relax entrenched patterns of brain activity, allowing suppressed emotions to surface and be felt fully. This resetting of emotional circuits often manifests as crying, which can be a sign of emotional breakthrough.

In the therapeutic context, Michael Pollan describes in his book How to Change Your Mind how many patients undergoing psychedelic-assisted therapy experience deep emotional release, including crying, which serves as a gateway to healing trauma and anxiety. Pollan emphasizes that these tears are not just side effects but essential components of therapeutic transformation.

Another critical angle comes from Bessel van der Kolk’s work, especially in The Body Keeps the Score. Though van der Kolk doesn’t focus specifically on psychedelics, his research on trauma shows how emotional release - often through crying or other bodily responses - is crucial for resolving stored trauma. Psychedelics seem to facilitate this process by loosening the brain’s grip on traumatic memories, allowing tears as a form of somatic healing.

Studies on the neurochemical side reveal that psychedelics increase brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF), a protein that supports brain plasticity. Increases in BDNF might explain why emotional circuits can get rewired during these experiences, making crying a sign of real neural change. Dr. Andrew Weil and Paul Stamets have also discussed how certain non-psychedelic fungi like Lion’s Mane mushroom (available here) promote neuroplasticity, suggesting a broader connection between fungi and emotional health.

Even smaller studies, like those by Charles Grob, capturing anecdotal reports from ayahuasca users, show a consistent pattern: crying is one of the most common emotional responses during sessions, often linked to the release of grief or confronting difficult spiritual truths. These tears herald a shift, a movement from emotional constriction to openness.

All this research frames psychedelic crying not as a random quirk but as a meaningful signal from the brain and body that transformation is underway. It’s an emotional language that neuroscience and psychology are just starting to interpret.

How to Approach Psychedelic Crying in Your Own Practice

If you’ve sat down for a mushroom ceremony or a guided trip and found yourself unexpectedly weeping, it helps to have some tools to work with those feelings instead of resisting them. First, accept that crying is often part of the process rather than a problem to fix. It’s your brain and body’s way of processing what’s coming up.

One of the best ways to prepare is mental framing. Going into a session with the understanding that crying might happen, and that it can be healing, helps ease the fear or shame that might otherwise get tangled up in the tears. If you want to learn more, Michael Pollan’s How to Change Your Mind is a great place to meet patients and guides who share their stories of emotional release. Knowing you’re in good company makes a big difference.

During the experience, it’s key to breathe into the crying rather than trying to hold it back. Crying actually activates the parasympathetic nervous system through the vagus nerve, helping calm the body and regulate stress hormones. Slow, deep breaths help this process along. Some people find humming or gentle vocalizations soothing, while others simply sit with their tears in silence. Both are valid.

Another tool is physical comfort. A warm blanket, a quiet space, or a trusted companion can make a huge difference in feeling safe enough to shed tears. If you’re working with a guide or therapist, sharing what you’re feeling can help ground the experience.

After the crying subsides, journaling or gentle movement like yoga can help integrate the emotions. Writing about what surfaced - or even just the sensations of crying itself - helps your brain make sense of the experience. And if you want to support your nervous system over the long haul, some natural supplements like Lion’s Mane mushroom capsules (a favorite of mine) can promote neurogenesis and emotional resilience without the intensity of psychedelics.

Remember, crying is just one expression of emotional processing. Sometimes it happens early in the journey, sometimes late, and sometimes not at all. The key is to approach it without judgment and to allow your brain’s natural healing mechanisms to unfold on their own timetable.

Challenges in Psychedelic Crying and How to move through Them

Not everyone finds crying during a psychedelic experience easy or welcome. For some, it can feel terrifying, embarrassing, or even overwhelming. Those reactions often come from long-held beliefs about emotions being a sign of weakness or loss of control. I’ve met people who have tried to push tears away only to end up feeling stuck or more anxious.

One challenge is feeling vulnerable in a setting that is already intense. Crying makes you physically exposed, especially if you’re alone. To counter this, preparation is key. If possible, plan your sessions with someone you trust or a trained sitter who understands the emotional territory you might enter. Let them know that crying could happen and what kind of support you might need.

Another hurdle is the fear that crying means you’re “broken” or that the experience is going badly. This misconception can lead to resistance, which ironically can prolong emotional blockages. Instead, try reframing tears as a sign of courage - the brain’s way of breaking through defenses. I often think back to Grof’s writings on the “emotional catharsis” phase in psychedelic therapy, where tears signal that you are moving toward healing rather than away from it.

Sometimes the crying brings up traumatic memories that feel too heavy to bear. This is where integration work becomes essential. Working with a therapist skilled in trauma-informed care - especially one open to psychedelic experiences - can help you process these emotions safely. Reading van der Kolk’s The Body Keeps the Score offers valuable insights into how trauma lives in the body and how emotional release is a crucial part of recovery.

Lastly, some people worry that crying will derail the "positive" parts of the trip, making them feel stuck in sadness. But the neuroscience tells a different story. Emotional waves tend to rise and fall during psychedelic sessions. Allowing the tears to flow can actually free you up to experience joy, awe, or peace later in the journey. It’s a process of washing out old pain to make room for new emotional growth.

If you find yourself struggling with crying, start small. Practice emotional mindfulness outside of psychedelic sessions to build comfort with your feelings. This could mean watching something sad and letting yourself cry or journaling feelings without judgment. Over time, this practice can reduce the fear and resistance that make psychedelic crying so daunting.

Bringing Psychedelic Emotional Release Into Everyday Life

The tears you shed during a psychedelic trip don’t just stay in the moment. They often mark the beginning of a slow shift in how your brain handles emotions day to day. After my own sessions, I noticed that I could access feelings more readily without the usual walls of numbness or denial. But this openness can feel fragile if not nurtured.

One of the best ways to sustain the benefits of psychedelic crying is through regular emotional check-ins. This means giving yourself permission to feel small moments of sadness, frustration, or vulnerability outside of sessions. Cry when you need to. Talk about your feelings with trusted friends or in therapy. The brain’s plasticity means these new emotional habits can become more stable over time.

Another key practice is somatic awareness - connecting with how emotions show up in your body. During psychedelic crying, your body is a powerful participant in the process. Continuing this connection off the trip can help prevent emotional blockages from reforming. Mindful movement like yoga, qigong, or simple breathing exercises can keep your nervous system balanced and open.

Supplements such as Lion’s Mane mushroom capsules (which I often recommend) can support ongoing neurogenesis and emotional regulation, complementing the work started in psychedelic sessions. While they don’t replicate the psychedelic experience, these natural compounds may help maintain the brain’s flexibility and emotional health.

Integration also means honoring the complexity of feelings. Psychedelic crying is never just about sadness. It often contains joy, release, grief, and relief all tangled together. Carrying that subtle emotional wisdom forward can deepen your self-understanding and compassion. Michael Pollan notes that psychedelic experiences often bring a new perspective on the self - less rigid, more fluid. This shift often creates space for more authentic emotional expression.

Lastly, weaving psychedelic emotional release into your life means embracing impermanence. Feelings will come and go, sometimes unpredictably. Crying during a session may open a floodgate, but your emotional field will continue to evolve. Accepting this ebb and flow without clutching to any one feeling helps keep the nervous system healthy and resilient.

A Thought to Sit With: Crying as a Bridge Between the Known and Unknowable

In the quiet moments after a psychedelic cry, when the tears have slowed and the breath is even, I often find myself pondering what those tears actually mean. They are neither simply sadness nor joy, neither surrender nor control. They exist in that strange and tender space between worlds - the known and the unknowable, the conscious and the unconscious.

When we cry on psychedelics, we’re not just releasing pent-up emotion. We’re crossing a threshold, entering a liminal zone where the usual rules about how we should feel, what we can express, and what we must hold back temporarily dissolve. It’s like the brain’s way of acknowledging something too vast for words or logic. These tears might be the body’s language for something that lies beyond the reach of everyday understanding.

Stanislav Grof, one of the pioneers of psychedelic psychotherapy, called these moments “transpersonal experiences,” where the self expands or dissolves into something larger than the individual ego. Crying is a kind of punctuation mark in that story, a way the psyche signals that it has glimpsed something beyond the everyday and is adjusting to that new reality.

Looking back, I realize that each psychedelic tear connected me to a deeper part of myself - to the long lineage of human beings who have cried to release pain, to welcome change, or to acknowledge the sacred. These moments are neither weak nor accidental; they are fierce acts of courage and truth.

So next time you find yourself crying on a psychedelic journey, I invite you to sit with that sensation. Let the tears move through you without control or expectation. Maybe, just maybe, those tears are the brain and soul whispering secrets we don’t yet have the words for - and in listening, we might begin to understand ourselves a little better.