RFK Hid Psychedelic Trips From His Wife, Journalist Who Allegedly Had Affair With Him Says In New Book

RFK Jr psychedelics controversy lands at the intersection of power, policy, and a fifteen-minute rocket ride called DMT. The allegation is simple, messy, and very American: a health chief who champions psychedelic medicine in daylight, then, according to a journalist’s new book, slips outside when the house is empty and takes a clandestine trip at night. It’s a story about the blurred line between therapeutic promise and recreational taboo, about who gets to define sobriety, and what it means when the steward of Schedule I rules might be sampling from the cabinet he’s sworn to regulate. The stakes are real—federal psychedelic policy, the Controlled Substances Act, and the future of legal access all hang on how we talk about this moment.

The book paints him as the Politician, an archetype with a familiar grin and a complicated past. Long-term sobriety. A fascination with altered states. Tales of rock-and-roll summers and amphetamine ghosts. The author, Olivia Nuzzi, shares her own brush with psilocybin and grief, and recounts his story of a son turning to ayahuasca for the heavy lifting. Then comes the spark that lit this controversy: that he still used psychedelics—DMT—for fun, tucked away from his wife’s eyes, cigarettes laced with launch codes to the stratosphere. He’s denied the affair at the heart of her narrative. The drug details, though—LSD as a teenager, public praise for psychedelic therapy, campaign-trail evangelism—fit the emerging profile of a leader convinced these compounds can heal, even as the law calls them contraband. The contradiction is the point. It’s also the plot.

Policy doesn’t live in a vacuum. It breathes through people, their scars and their secrets, and the giant federal machine that decides who suffers and who gets a prescription pad. Under the Controlled Substances Act, DMT sits among the untouchables. Yet this administration has talked up psychedelic medicine for veterans, research acceleration, and real timelines for therapy access—ambitious promises that put the Food and Drug Administration and health agencies on the hook. You can feel the gears grinding. If the nation’s health messenger privately samples a Schedule I substance, it complicates the sermon but not necessarily the science. It raises questions about enforcement, fairness, and the difference between personal experimentation and public policy. For a snapshot of how federal posture collides with on-the-ground reality, see Ongoing Marijuana Conflict Between States And Feds Could Provide ‘Guidance’ On How New Hemp Ban Will Be Enforced, Congressional Report Says. The lesson: Washington’s rules are only as tidy as the people tasked with carrying them out.

Zoom out, and the psychedelic debate looks a lot like the cannabis wars: a patchwork quilt tugged by morals, markets, and mayhem. States signal whiplash. In one corner, reformers chase regulated access and medical credibility. In another, backlash loads the ballot box. Maine is flirting with a dramatic reversal that would roll back legalization via referendum—read the tea leaves in Maine Officials Approve 2026 Ballot Initiative To Largely Repeal Marijuana Legalization Law For Signature Collection. Ohio lawmakers are already reworking what voters approved and tightening hemp at the margins, a reminder that wins are rarely permanent: Ohio Lawmakers Pass Bill To Roll Back Voter-Approved Marijuana Law And Impose Hemp Restrictions, Sending It To Governor. And in Virginia, the monopoly question shows how design shapes destiny—rig the market and you rig trust: Virginia Rejected A Monopoly Model For Marijuana, But Lawmakers Need To Finish The Job (Op-Ed). All of this turbulence is the backdrop for any high-profile official touching psychedelics policy. It’s not just about the trips; it’s about whether the public believes the navigator sees the map.

So where does that leave us? Somewhere between hypocrisy and harm reduction, between the ideal of rigorous access and the reality of human beings trying to quiet the noise in their heads. Psychedelic-assisted therapy could change lives—veterans with PTSD, people with major depression, trauma that refuses to budge. That’s the promise. The peril is opacity. If leaders are experimenting in secret while preaching protocol in public, it corrodes trust and hands ammunition to prohibition’s last soldiers. The fix is not a puritan purge. It’s transparency, science, and clear lanes for legal access: decriminalization frameworks that reduce harm, regulated clinics with competent guides, and a federal rescheduling debate grounded in data rather than stigma. In a country addicted to contradictions, maybe the only honest policy is one that treats adults like adults and demands the same of its officials. If you’re ready to explore compliant options within the letter of the law, browse our shop: https://thcaorder.com/shop/.