Archive for category: Perspectives

DISCERNMENT IN IBOGAINE CARE An external perspective by Anders Beatty We don’t often share third-party perspectives. When we do, it’s because the values expressed closely align with how we approach this work, including our emphasis on Medically Supervised Ibogaine, preparation, and post-treatment integration. To learn more about his work, visit www.ibogainecoaching.com. Why I Can Only Recommend a Handful of Ibogaine Clinics Worldwide © Anders Beatty As my work has deepened, my recommendations have narrowed. This is not because there are so few clinics offering ibogaine. There are now many. Nor is it because others lack competence or good intention. It is because the standard I hold for where I send another human being—often at one of the most vulnerable moments of their life—has become increasingly exacting. At this point, I can honestly say I only feel able to recommend two or three clinics worldwide with full confidence. Places where I know, without reservation, that my clients will be cared for with the utmost presence, professionalism, and ethical restraint. That confidence is not built on websites, reputations, or outcomes statistics. It is built on how people are treated when no one is watching. Ibogaine is not simply a medical intervention. It is an encounter that can dismantle defences forged over decades. People arrive already carrying histories of not being seen, not being heard, not being respected—often by systems that claimed to be helping them. In that context, anything less than impeccable relational care risks repeating the original wound. The clinics I can stand behind share certain qualities that are difficult to scale and impossible to fake. They work slowly. They know their limits. They are not trying to grow. They are not trying to impress. Most importantly, they understand that ibogaine does not heal people—people heal people, and the medicine merely opens a doorway that must be stewarded with care. One such practitioner is Anzelmo. What distinguishes Anzelmo—and the very few others I trust—is not bravado, ideology, or promise. It is restraint. A quiet authority grounded in lived experience, rigorous preparation, and an unshakeable respect for the individuality of the person in front of him. There is no conveyor belt mentality. No sense of “delivery.” No attempt to shape the client’s experience into a narrative that suits the clinic. Clients are not processed. They are met. In these environments, medical professionalism and human presence are not in tension—they are integrated. Safety protocols are robust, but they do not eclipse relationship. Boundaries are clear, but they are not cold. The work is taken seriously without becoming heavy-handed or doctrinaire. This balance is rare. Many clinics are either technically proficient but relationally thin, or deeply caring but insufficiently disciplined. The places I recommend manage to hold both—clinical sobriety and deep respect for the mystery of the person undergoing the experience. Equally important is what happens after. The clinics I trust do not treat discharge as an endpoint. They understand that ibogaine does not conclude a process—it initiates one. Clients leave oriented, not idealised. Grounded, not inflated. Aware that insights now require stewardship, patience, and ongoing support rather than grand conclusions. This is why my list remains short. I do not believe it is ethical to send people into experiences of this magnitude unless I am willing to stand behind the environment in which they will unfold. That means knowing the practitioners personally. Understanding their philosophy. Witnessing how they respond under pressure. Seeing how they treat clients who are frightened, confused, or disappointed—not just those who have a “good result.” In a field increasingly shaped by scale, branding, and demand, discernment has become an ethical act. Ibogaine deserves environments that are quiet enough to listen, structured enough to protect, and human enough to care. Until more clinics meet that standard, I will continue to recommend only those I know can hold it. Not because they are perfect. But because they are careful. — Anders Beatty