Past-life regression: an honest account of what i saw and what i took home

I booked a past-life regression with equal parts curiosity and nerves. The practitioner, Samira, explained that whether the images are literal memories or symbolic stories matters less than the therapeutic insight they can offer. We set an intention: explore the origin of my fear of public speaking.

After relaxation induction—slow counting, weighted limbs, a descent visualization—I found myself “standing” in a stone courtyard wearing boots and a heavy cloak. Was I making it up? Possibly. But when Samira asked me to look at my hands, the image snapped into high resolution: ink stains, a signet ring, a nick on my thumb that pulsed with familiarity. I felt the weight of responsibility more than fear.

The narrative unfolded: I was a scribe accused of miscopying a decree that angered a local official. I hadn’t, but attention fell on me anyway. The scene cut to a square where I stood on a platform reading a proclamation aloud while a hostile crowd murmured. My chest clenched—exactly the sensation that visits me before presentations. In the session, I read anyway. No catastrophe followed, just the tremor of being visible in a place that preferred me silent.

Samira guided me to meet that self afterward. I asked him what he needed. “Stand steady,” came the answer. “Breathe into the belly. Speak to one person at a time.” The advice felt contemporary and embarrassingly practical. Before ending, Samira invited a symbolic gift. I received the signet ring—a reminder of authority borrowed from integrity, not approval.

In the weeks since, I’ve used the ritual before meetings: touch the base of the right thumb (where the ring would rest), breathe low and slow, and choose one friendly face to address first. The panic hasn’t vanished, but it’s no longer the main character. Was the past life “real”? I’m less concerned with ontology than with outcome. The session gave my fear a story, and stories can be edited.

The homework sticks: stand steady, breathe into the belly, speak to one person at a time. It’s astonishing how far those three moves carry me when the spotlight finds my nervous system.