Why Mushrooms Don’t Care About Your Identity

Or: How Magic Mushrooms Cured Me Of Being A School Yard Bully

I wasn’t a cartoon villain.
No lockers. No fists.

I was sarcastic. Cutting. Intellectually cruel.

I won arguments for sport. I made people feel small and told myself they deserved it. I hid behind humor, confidence, and “just being honest.” Sensitivity annoyed me. Difference irritated me. I felt untouchable — and worse, justified.

That kind of bullying leaves no bruises.
Just dents.

Taking Too Many Mushrooms (Not the Cute Way)

This wasn’t a ceremony.
No intention-setting. No playlist. No reverence.

Just too much, taken casually, by someone who thought they were in control.

At first, things sped up.
Then they blurred.
Then they turned around and looked straight at me.

Here’s the part people don’t romanticize:

Mushrooms don’t debate you.
They don’t reassure you.
They don’t care how clever you are.

They just start removing things.

When the Scaffolding Came Down

All the labels I relied on — smart, sharp, dominant, right — started dissolving. Not dramatically. Quietly. Like name tags sliding off in warm water.

There was no “ego death” monologue.
No cosmic slideshow.

Just a slow, uncomfortable realization:

I had been working very hard to be mean.

Cruelty wasn’t confidence — it was maintenance.
Superiority wasn’t strength — it was fear with better branding.

The “We’re All Connected” Part (Without the Incense)

This wasn’t some hippy revelation. It was blunt.

Every person I’d been cruel to was just trying to get through the day without being crushed by something invisible.

Same as me.
Different mask.
Same nervous system.

I didn’t feel shame — I felt responsibility.
Which is heavier.
And more useful.

Mushrooms Don’t Care Who You Think You Are

They don’t care about your identity.
Your edge.
Your intelligence.
Your politics.
Your trauma résumé.

They strip away the character sheet and leave you with the organism underneath.

And the organism knows one thing instinctively:

You don’t get through this alone.
So stop acting like you’re above it.

Not Kinder Overnight — Just Unable to Unsee

I didn’t walk out transformed.

But I couldn’t unknow what I’d seen.

Every time I felt that old urge to belittle, dominate, or dismiss, something in me remembered the weight of other people’s humanity — not emotionally, but physically.

Like gravity.

Like consequence.

Kindness Isn’t Moral — It’s Efficient

This is the part that stuck:

Being cruel takes effort.
Being superior takes upkeep.
Being kind is cheaper.

Mushrooms didn’t make me “good.”
They made me honest.

And once you see that being an asshole is just a costume — not a personality — it’s hard to keep wearing it.

The Takeaway (No Sermon)

Mushrooms don’t care about your story. They care about what’s underneath it.

And sometimes, what’s underneath just needs one simple reminder:

Don’t make this harder than it already is.

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