My mother believed what happened to me, she just didn’t understand the gravity of what that sicko Mr. C. did. The first time I heard about MDMA therapy was from my mother. The day before my session, my father and I spoke about Mr. C. for the first time. He swore he never knew, but he didn’t understand how it could still be affecting me three decades later. My experience on MDMA, what’s often called a “journey,” felt less like a therapy session.