From the Ground Up

When a new industry forms, who gets to set its rules? That's the big question being asked right now in psychedelics, where there's a lot of money, a lot of good intentions, and a lot of unknowns.

- By Alyssa Giacobbe

Rachel Aidan grew up between Nebraska, Texas, and New England, one of four children born to religious extremist parents. By the time she was five years old, two of her siblings had died. She had been exposed to group ritual sexual abuse that continued until her early 20s. She was raped at 15, followed by abortions, and tried to kill herself twice. She found herself pregnant again at 19. That's when it all changed. I call my oldest daughter 'the angel baby because it was the reason that I looked up and said, you know, my life matters, she says.

Aidan would eventually be diagnosed with PTSD. She would go on to become a serial entrepreneur in the health and beauty space and was for the most part getting by, but eventually hit a wall with traditional therapy. She began experimenting with psychedelics, starting with an African shrub and ceremonial hallucinogen called iboga, which she says helped her break patterns she'd been unable to break on her own. Then she explored more. In her early 40s, she used Google to find out who was offering these experiences legally and learned about The Synthesis Institute, a Netherlands- and Oregon-based startup offering guided retreats and practitioner training in psychedelic medicine. She was on a plane the next week, started working for the company a month later, and is now its CEO.

She starts investor meetings with an abridged version of this story, by way of saying: She is not your typical CEO, but she is the typical Synthesis client. She is also a typical leader in this burgeoning psychedelic therapy industry-which is to say, she entered it for a deeply personal reason and wants to think very differently about what it means to build a business in the space.

That's the part that gives some investors pause.