Healing from Past Life Regression

I didn’t expect to cry. I didn’t expect to walk away feeling like a part of me, one I didn’t even know needed healing, had been seen, understood, and somehow soothed. But that’s what happened.

When I first signed up for the past life regression workshop, it wasn’t because I believed I’d unlock the secrets of a thousand lifetimes. I was just curious. A little skeptical. A little hopeful. I’d always had this nagging feeling that some of my emotions, especially the heavy ones, didn’t belong to this life, like I was carrying stories that weren’t mine but were still somehow in me.

The session was being held in an old, sun-drenched wellness space on the edge of the city. It had pale walls, soft music playing in the background, and a scent reminiscent of lavender and old books. There were maybe a dozen of us sitting in a loose circle on yoga mats, each person with a pillow, a blanket, and that slightly uncomfortable look people wear when they’re about to do something vulnerable in front of strangers.

I didn’t know what to expect, and honestly, I was a little worried I’d get nothing. That I’d sit there for an hour listening to someone’s soothing voice and end up with a nice nap and a mild sense of disappointment. But something about the energy in the room, or maybe something in me, shifted the moment we closed our eyes.

Dropping In

The practitioner, a gentle woman named Mara with a voice like warm tea, started guiding us into a meditative state. She spoke slowly, carefully, taking us down through layers of awareness. Breathing. Relaxing. Letting go. Her words painted images: walking down a staircase, opening an old wooden door, stepping into a memory that might not belong to this lifetime.

At first, nothing came. And then, something did. It started like a whisper behind my eyes. I saw cobblestones. A pair of worn boots. The hem of a dark skirt brushes the ground. My body felt different, smaller, lighter, maybe younger. I wasn’t “me,” and yet… I was. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve felt it. Like stepping into a role you didn’t audition for but instantly recognize.

The Memory That Broke Me Open

In the vision, I was a young girl in a cold city, maybe somewhere in Northern Europe, but I couldn’t name the place, and the air felt gray and damp. I lived with an older woman, perhaps a grandmother or someone assigned to care for me. She wasn’t unkind, but she wasn’t warm either. She moved through the space like someone always busy, always preoccupied.

I didn’t feel fear. I felt loneliness. That deep kind of loneliness doesn’t come from being alone, but from not being seen.

The memory wasn’t dramatic. There was no trauma, no violence. Just the quiet ache of being a child who didn’t know how to ask for love and didn’t think she deserved it anyway.

What shocked me wasn’t the story itself, but the emotions it stirred up. As I sat there, wrapped in a blanket in a room full of strangers, my chest tightened, and tears spilled down my face without warning. I wasn’t sad for myself now. I was grieving for a version of me that had lived a whole life feeling invisible.

Coming Back Changed

Mara guided us gently back, step by step, until we were back in our bodies, in that quiet room, with the sound of breath and sniffles all around. I opened my eyes feeling raw but light, as if someone had lifted a heavy weight off my shoulders.

I didn’t need anyone to validate the memory. I didn’t care if it was a real past life, a metaphor, or some strange creation of my subconscious. What mattered was how it made me feel, like I had found the missing root of an emotion I’d never been able to name.

That session didn’t magically heal all my wounds, but it did give me something I hadn’t had before: a reason. A story that made sense of my persistent self-doubt, of the way I sometimes shrink in relationships, waiting to be overlooked. It gave me a thread to follow, and in healing that past version of myself, something in me began to soften.

Would I Do It Again?

Absolutely. Not because I think I’ll uncover all the secrets of my soul in a single session, but because it reminded me that the mind, and maybe the spirit, holds more than we can ever understand.

If you’re even a little bit curious about past life regression, my advice is to go in open, but without expectations. You might see vivid lifetimes. You might feel nothing. You might just cry and not know why. But if you’re lucky, or ready, you might uncover something that changes the way you see yourself. And honestly? That alone is worth it.