Psychedelic therapy moves from Amazon retreats to NHS clinical trials

Claire Torpey had exhausted the usual channels. Counselling had not worked. The weight of childhood in care, followed by her father's death and then her grandmother's, had settled into something she could not name or shift—a chronic anxiety wrapped around a deep sadness that made her question whether she wanted to continue living at all. So she did what a growing number of people in Britain are doing: she travelled to South and Central America to attend retreats where psychedelics are legal and administered as part of guided therapeutic work.

At those retreats, Torpey took psilocybin—the active compound in magic mushrooms—and ayahuasca, a traditional Amazonian brew containing DMT. She describes the experience as transformative. Where talk therapy had stalled, these medicines moved something. She found peace. She found a place from which forgiveness became possible. "I don't believe that normal talk therapies would have got me there," she says now.

Torpey's journey from Tynemouth to the Amazon reflects a larger shift happening in British medicine. At Newcastle's Care Pathway Enhancement Clinic, run by Cumbria, Northumberland, Tyne and Wear NHS Foundation Trust, researchers are now investigating whether psilocybin could help treat depression within a controlled clinical setting. The theory is straightforward: when administered in a safe environment with trained therapists present, psychedelics can help people process difficult thoughts and emotions by temporarily disrupting entrenched patterns of thinking—allowing the mind to settle into new configurations, to see old experiences from new angles. Dr Mourad Wahba, the consultant psychiatrist leading the research, describes how participants often report significant shifts in how they understand themselves and their past. The treatment is rigorous: extensive preparation before dosing, up to eight hours in a specially designed room under supervision, and careful support afterward. Participants receive psilocybin in capsule form. Clinical psychologist Tom Sharp, who helps facilitate the trials, notes that people often develop insight into what might have caused their depression in the first place.

But researchers are careful not to oversell. Sharp is explicit: "This type of work isn't some silver bullet. It doesn't turn off depression." Wahba agrees. Early findings are encouraging, but larger studies are needed to understand how effective these treatments truly are and whether benefits hold over time. In Britain, psilocybin and DMT remain Class A drugs classified as Schedule 1 substances—meaning they are officially considered to have no recognised medicinal use, a designation that creates significant regulatory friction. Obtaining licences to conduct research with these substances can delay studies by months. Wahba describes the timeline: apply in June or July, wait until January for approval. "The risks aren't as pronounced as we would see with a lot of other medications," he says. "It just seems quite prohibitive at this point."

The Royal College of Psychiatrists has backed further research. Dr David Cousins, chair of its psychopharmacology committee, stated that the College supports investigation into psilocybin's potential to help people with depression, particularly those who have not responded to other treatments. But Cousins also issued a warning: people should not seek treatment outside regulated settings. The risks are real. Psychedelic tourism has grown, and with it have come reports of unethical practices, inadequate screening, and deaths at unregulated retreats.

Yet some UK organisations are actively helping people access psychedelic therapy overseas. Keith John Abraham, founder of Heroic Hearts Project UK, facilitates retreats involving ayahuasca for former military personnel struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder. Abraham himself is an army veteran who found traditional mental health support ineffective after Afghanistan. He describes psychedelic therapy as having given him renewed purpose, though he resists framing it as a cure. "We shouldn't come into this assuming that all of our problems will be resolved," he says. "But life can be very much improved." Robin Daly, founder of the cancer charity Yes to Life, sees potential for psilocybin to help cancer patients confront questions of mortality and meaning—not as an escape, but as a way to hold difficult reality within a larger context. He calls the potential impact "revolutionary," though he stresses psilocybin is not a cancer treatment.

Wahba's vision is pragmatic: psychedelic-assisted therapy sitting alongside existing NHS treatments, giving patients choice. The Home Office is considering advice on reducing regulatory barriers to research while maintaining safeguards. The Medicines and Healthcare products Regulatory Agency says it facilitates clinical research, but it remains too early to know whether these treatments will ever become routine NHS options. What is clear is that the conversation has shifted. The question is no longer whether psychedelics deserve investigation, but how quickly Britain can build the regulatory and clinical infrastructure to study them properly.