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Can Psychedelics Help Athletes Recover From Brain Injuries?
Robert Gallery looks like a picture of perfect strength. Broad-shouldered at 6-foot-7, heavily muscled arms inked, the former NFL offensive lineman’s frame fills the chair at his home in Lake Tahoe, California. For eight seasons with the Oakland Raiders and Seattle Seahawks, and before that at the University of Iowa, he built a career on absorbing impact.
The damage he carries is harder to see.
Gallery estimates he sustained “hundreds and hundreds of concussions.” At the time, he barely registered them. “We called it getting your bell rung,” he recalls. “You see stars, you’re dizzy, staggering, but that was just part of the game.”
“You see stars, you’re dizzy, staggering, but that was just part of the game,” recalls Gallery. Courtesy of Robert Gallery
Only later did he realize those hits were accumulating into a serious medical issue.
Toward the end of his career, the symptoms became impossible to ignore. He often found himself in a brain fog. The ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop. On the field, he would turn to teammates and ask, “Where are we? What am I supposed to do?”
Like many athletes, he didn’t ask for help, and he self-medicated. “When you’re playing in the NFL, you don’t want to give anybody a reason to not have you in the game,” he says, his blue eyes flashing above an easy smile. “There are hundreds of guys who would love to have your job. You never show weakness.”
After retiring in 2012 at age 32, Gallery expected to recover. Instead, the symptoms intensified. “The brain fog got worse, the ringing in my ears, the mood swings,” he says. Nightmares turned violent. He thought about ending his life. Even the laughter of his young children could set him off. “I would be sitting in my chair, just shaking with rage, trying not to hurt them.”
A brain scan finally made the invisible visible. A neurologist placed his scan next to that of a healthy brain. “There was no denying it,” Gallery says. “My brain looked like it was crumbling.”
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Though chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), a degenerative condition linked to repeated blows to the head, can only be definitively diagnosed after death, doctors told him his symptoms strongly suggested it. It has been found in the brains of numerous deceased athletes, including NFL players Junior Seau and Aaron Hernandez.
Gallery attacked treatment with the same diligence that made him successful as an athlete. He talked with therapists, spent hours in hyperbaric oxygen chambers, tried hormone treatments to lower his cortisol, took antidepressants and supplements. “I did everything they threw at me,” he says. “But I felt minimal relief.” At times, he couldn’t remember his daughter’s name.
Gallery says his relationship with his family changed for the better after ibogaine treatment. Courtesy of Robert Gallery
His experience reflects a broader gap in medicine. Each year, an estimated 69 million people worldwide suffer traumatic brain injuries from sports, accidents and violence. For 10 to 30 percent, symptoms like cognitive impairment, depression and anxiety persist. And as Gallery experienced, there are few treatment options — and no approved cures.
Gallery’s turning point came from an unlikely source: a podcast. Listening to former Navy SEAL Marcus Capone describe his recovery from trauma and brain damage, he recognized himself in every symptom.
“I literally checked every single box — substance abuse, depression, [thoughts of] suicide,” Gallery says. “I didn’t know if I was going to survive.”
He heard Capone say that psychedelic therapy “gave me my life back.” Through their nonprofit VETS (Veterans Exploring Treatment Solutions), Capone and his wife Amber have helped thousands of veterans access psychedelic treatment abroad, because it is illegal in the U.S.
“Athletes and veterans have a lot in common,” Gallery says. “We’re used to pushing through. Not talking about what’s wrong.”
Within weeks, Capone offered him a place in a treatment program in Mexico.
Gallery got an EKG to make sure his heart was healthy enough for the treatments and told his therapist he was going to Mexico. She encouraged him but also cautioned him, pointing out psychedelics were illegal in the U.S. and warning him not to go cold turkey on his medications. But he had already made up his mind. “I’m an all-in kind of guy,” he says.
In 2021, Gallery flew to San Diego, then crossed into Mexico with a group of veterans for a three-day treatment at a clinic called Mission Within.
He was terrified. “I thought I might not come back,” he says. “But what scared me more was, what if it doesn’t work?”
The treatment centered on ibogaine, a psychoactive alkaloid derived from a West African shrub. It is unregulated in Mexico, Costa Rica, the Bahamas and other countries where treatment centers offer therapy in a legal gray area. In Canada, doctors can prescribe ibogaine for medical use.
Robert Gallery and his wife, Becca. Courtesy of Robert Gallery
Soon, people like Gallery may not need to leave the U.S. to seek treatment: The Trump administration has granted breakthrough therapy status to certain psychedelics, including ibogaine, to accelerate research. “Psychedelic drugs, including ibogaine compounds, show potential in clinical studies to address serious mental illnesses for patients whose conditions persist after completing standard therapy,” Donald Trump’s executive order states. “It is the policy of my Administration to accelerate innovative research models and appropriate drug approvals to increase access to psychedelic drugs that could save lives and reverse the crisis of serious mental illness in America.”
Treatments with ibogaine are infamously unpleasant and intense. “It was like watching a movie of my life playing in the sky,” Gallery remembers. “You’re literally melted into the floor. You can’t move. You just have to deal with all these emotions and feelings that are coming up.”
The aftermath was brutal. “The worst hangover times 100,” he says. “I couldn’t function. My motor skills weren’t working. I couldn’t even get up to go to the bathroom.” Staff put him in a wheelchair, and Gallery wondered if he had done permanent damage to himself.
Because these side effects are not uncommon, the clinic follows the ibogaine trip with another treatment: On the last day, participants smoke 5-MeO-DMT, a fast-acting psychedelic found in toad venom. “It put the breaker box back on,” Gallery recalls. “All this weight lifted off my shoulders. The ringing in my ears was gone. The brain fog was gone. I felt like a completely different person.”
“As soon as I got back home, I rolled around on the floor with my kids and tickled them, and I enjoyed their laughter,” says Gallery. Courtesy of Robert Gallery
Gallery is careful not to frame psychedelics as a “magic bullet.” He still had to work through his difficulties with his therapist and a support group of veterans. Yet he credits the psychedelics journey with his remarkable change.
“As soon as I got back home, I rolled around on the floor with my kids and tickled them, and I enjoyed their laughter,” says Gallery, “whereas before, their playing would enrage me.” He says his wife was “flabbergasted” as she watched much of his macho bravado melt away. His suicidal thoughts, mood swings and self-medication disappeared. “I haven’t had a drink since,” he says, disbelief swinging in his own voice.
Stories like Gallery’s are tentatively backed by emerging research.
A 2024 study led by Nolan Williams at Stanford found that ibogaine significantly reduced depression, anxiety and cognitive symptoms in veterans with traumatic brain injuries. “The results are dramatic,” Williams said. “No other drug has ever been able to alleviate these symptoms.” A follow-up study in 2025 found measurable physical changes: increased cortical thickness and a “younger” brain age after treatment.
Researchers believe psychedelics may help to increase neuroplasticity, the brain’s ability to form new connections. Studies suggest compounds like psilocybin reduce inflammation while boosting the brain’s ability to form new pathways. Experiments simulating repeated head trauma in rats found psilocybin helped restore lost brain function. Separate research on brain injuries related to intimate partner violence showed improvements in cognition, mood and inflammation after psilocybin treatment.
Gallery co-founded Athletes for Care to help former athletes access treatment and advocate for research. Courtesy of Robert Gallery
Still, experts like Frederick Barrett, the director of the Johns Hopkins Center for Psychedelic and Consciousness Research, caution about the risks of taking psychedelics, especially outside controlled settings. Psychedelics can trigger psychological distress or, in rare cases, prolonged psychosis. Ibogaine, in particular, can cause dangerous heart arrhythmias and must be administered under strict medical supervision.
Now that the Trump administration is speeding up research and aiming to increase access to ibogaine, “we must be clear-eyed about both the opportunity and the responsibility ahead,” notes Betty Aldworth, co-executive director of MAPS (The Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies). “Psychedelic-assisted therapy is effective, but it’s not a simple treatment or a panacea. Without change, we risk repeating the past, where urgency outpaced evidence and people in need were left to find treatment in alleys or with snake oil. We can responsibly study and safely integrate promising psychedelic-assisted treatments into our healthcare system. Given the alternative, why would we choose anything else?”
Despite the uncertainties, interest is surging. In one survey of athletes in the U.S. and Canada, roughly two-thirds of respondents said they would consider psychedelic therapy for concussion-related symptoms.
Gallery has become part of a growing network of psychedelic therapy proponents trying to bridge the gap between emerging science and patient demand. In 2025, he co-founded Athletes for Care, modeled on VETS, to help former athletes access treatment and advocate for research.
“There’s a lot of guys suffering in silence,” he says. “Just like I was.”
In its first months, the organization has helped facilitate psychedelic therapy for about 10 athletes.
Legal and logistical hurdles remain significant. Psychedelics are still classified as Schedule I substances at the federal level in the U.S., though states like Oregon and Colorado have begun allowing supervised psilocybin therapy. Texas has committed $50 million to ibogaine drug development, while Arizona has approved funding for clinical trials, and the Department of Veterans Affairs is funding a $1.5 million grant to research ibogaine.
The potential applications extend well beyond sports. Survivors of car accidents, domestic violence and other forms of repeated trauma often experience similar neurological and psychological symptoms.
For now, many patients continue to travel abroad — often, like Gallery, to clinics in Mexico. Experts emphasize caution. As demand grows, so does the risk of unregulated providers entering the space. “People are seeing dollar signs,” Gallery says. “You’ve got to be careful where you go.”
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Gallery has been back to Mexico twice. The effects of his initial journey weren’t permanent. After about a year, symptoms began creeping back. He returned for additional treatments in 2023 and 2024.
He continues to work on repairing the damage within his family and himself. He still journals, attends therapy and microdoses psilocybin.
“I screwed up a lot of things,” he admits, reflecting on the years his family endured his anger and instability. “This didn’t erase that.”
What it did, he suggests, was make change possible.
“I know what it feels like to feel good now,” he says. “And I never want to go back.”
The post Can Psychedelics Help Athletes Recover From Brain Injuries? appeared first on Reasons to be Cheerful.