Should I stop meditating?

Not necessarily. The research suggests most meditators do not experience adverse effects. The issue is the absence of informed consent — people begin without knowing that serious adverse effects are possible or who to contact if something feels wrong. If you currently meditate and it feels grounding and manageable, the risk to you is likely low. If you have a personal or family history of psychosis, bipolar disorder, or dissociative experiences, it is worth discussing meditation practice with a GP or mental health professional before undertaking intensive retreats or breath-modification practices like pranayama.

What are the warning signs that meditation is causing harm?

Researchers have identified two main clusters. Hyperarousal signs include anxiety that intensifies during or after practice, fear, inability to sleep, involuntary movements, and emotional flooding. Hypoarousal signs include persistent emotional flatness, loss of motivation, depersonalisation, and diminished pleasure in ordinary experience. If these persist beyond a session or worsen over days, it is appropriate to stop or significantly reduce practice and seek support from a GP or mental health professional.

One in ten meditators has a serious adverse reaction — the missing disclosure

What just happened

An ABC Health report this week put a name to something accumulating quietly in the background of the wellness boom: a clinically significant proportion of people who meditate experience serious adverse effects — and the industry has largely looked the other way.

The numbers are not small. Research cited in the piece suggests approximately one in ten meditators will experience an adverse effect lasting more than a month or associated with significant functional impairment. Functional impairment meaning: job loss, hospitalisation, suicidality. Not just feeling unsettled after a session.

Dr Willoughby Britton of Brown University — who spent two decades researching meditation’s benefits before pivoting to study its harms — now runs Cheetah House, which receives approximately 150 adverse-reaction appointments per month from people across more than twenty countries. She describes the meditation industry’s response as systematic gaslighting: “There is a problem that is being systematically ignored, it’s a pretty common problem and there’s just this kind of system of denial and gaslighting.”

Dr Nicholas Van Dam, a contemplative studies and psychology researcher at the University of Melbourne, adds the consent frame: “What we know about meditation is that it’s potent, it’s powerful” — and that informed consent is missing. In Australia, roughly a third of the population now meditates. Most received no information about potential adverse effects before they began.

The both-and

The risks are real and under-acknowledged

The adverse effects documented by researchers fall into two clusters. Hyperarousal — anxiety, fear, insomnia, involuntary movements, emotional flooding — represents one pole. Hypoarousal — emotional numbness, loss of motivation, a diminished sense of self — represents the other. Some people experience both simultaneously, a state researchers call dysregulation. Psychotic episodes have been documented with an average duration of one to three years; suicidality has been reported alongside job loss and hospitalisation.

The forms of practice implicated include pranayama (breath-modification meditation), Zen, and app-based mindfulness. The problem is not exclusive to intensive multi-day retreats: one case cited in the report involved adverse effects developing after using a meditation app only a couple of times per week. The threshold for harm is not obvious, and it varies between individuals.

What makes this more than a wellness-industry complaint is the historical record. Buddhist texts written 1,500 years ago explicitly documented meditation as having both healing and harmful properties. The potential for adverse effects is not a contemporary discovery — it is a risk that has been known for centuries and was selectively erased from the modern secular meditation narrative. As one researcher notes, the ancient traditions built in teacher relationships and graduated exposure for a reason.

The benefits are also real — this is a both-and

None of this means meditation is without clinical value. The evidence base for mindfulness-based cognitive therapy (MBCT) in depression relapse prevention is solid and endorsed by clinical guideline bodies. Meditation has genuine, well-documented applications across anxiety, pain, and sleep. The problem is not the practice; it is the absence of informed consent, adequate screening, and support structures that allow people to know what they are entering.

The people at greatest apparent risk are those with a personal or family history of psychosis, bipolar disorder, or dissociative disorders — groups for whom intensive breath work and extended silent retreat can amplify vulnerability rather than build resilience. That is not a blanket contraindication. It is a reason for informed, graduated, supported practice rather than an unguided app download.

Teachers also bear responsibility. The ABC piece documents a case of a meditation teacher dismissing clearly escalating student distress — telling her “you don’t need to sleep when you meditate” — while the student was developing a psychotic episode that required years of hospitalisation and antipsychotic treatment. Teacher competence in recognising adverse signs is not a standard part of meditation teacher training.

My two cents

I am not anti-meditation. Used in the right context with appropriate support, it is a legitimate clinical tool. But I am against pretending a powerful psychophysiological intervention carries no risk when the evidence says otherwise.

If you meditate — especially if you are doing breath work, extended silent practice, or intensive retreats — and something feels genuinely destabilising rather than just uncomfortable, stop. You have permission to stop. That is not a failure. If symptoms persist, bring it to your GP. Meditation-related adverse effects are real, they are treatable, and they are not a reflection of your character or commitment.

A personal or family history of psychosis, bipolar disorder, or trauma with dissociative experiences is worth raising with your GP before any meditation routine takes hold — not because the practice is off-limits, but because the type and intensity matters, and the “download an app and wing it” approach is not a safe default for everyone.

Verdict: maybe — meditation is beneficial in the right context; the evidence on adverse effects is credible and warrants informed consent, not alarm.

If you need support now: Lifeline is available 24/7 on 13 11 14. Beyond Blue is 1300 22 4636. For First Nations crisis support, 13YARN is 13 92 76. For a mental health emergency, call 000.

Sources cited

This is what happens when meditation goes wrong — ABC News Health, 6 September 2026. https://www.abc.net.au/news/health/2026-09-06/when-meditation-goes-wrong/106692856
Dr Nicholas Van Dam — Contemplative Studies and Psychology, University of Melbourne. https://findanexpert.unimelb.edu.au/profile/827526-nicholas-van-dam
Cheetah House — meditation-related difficulties support (Dr Willoughby Britton, Brown University). https://www.cheetahhouse.org/