The Past Life That Shaped My Fears

Last week I spoke about my regression therapy work, and someone asked if I know my previous life. I know two clearly and have a glimpse of one more. Before sharing a story, here’s how reincarnation therapy works.

People come to me when they face challenges they can’t explain or when life repeats patterns they don’t understand. Sometimes the root is in childhood, but sometimes it’s much earlier. In therapy, the past life that appears is the one connected to the client’s current struggle. They don’t just see it; they feel and think as that former personality. It’s a powerful way to break down the walls that hold us back.

Now, my story.

As a baby, I had red, wrinkled, bleeding skin from eczema. Nothing helped. At my baptism, I screamed from the moment we entered the church garden — and refused to go to church even for a visit as a child; I felt deeply uncomfortable to my core in there. I struggled to speak for years, feared children, and wasn’t popular. Later, when my skin improved, I burned myself constantly — hot plates, pots, mugs — yet the burns barely hurt.

During my first regression session, I found myself in a thick forest. I felt euphoric. Then I reached a small church built where trees had been cut down. Inside, a man in dark robes ordered me out. The moment I stepped back into the forest, I forgot everything and felt happy again.

My home was a tiny one‑room house. My mother and sister had died. On a huge wooden table stood countless pots. Three men in black with white collars told me I was a witch and had to die. I begged, but they refused. The final scene was being tied to a pole. Villagers I had helped stood around me with no sympathy. I became angry and refused to die. My suffering stretched until two angels pulled my soul out.

Years later, working as a housing support worker, I met a woman with medium abilities. I instantly felt her familiar — not from this life. When I told her this past‑life story, she finished describing the small house and the table with the pots. She had seen it many times. She was my sister in that life. Our paths crossed again, and I helped her find her feet and begin singing once more.

This regression helped me understand my childhood discomfort around churches. It wasn’t just sensitivity; it was memory. That past life shaped so much in this one: the fire in my skin, my struggle around people, fear of their judgment, my antisocial behaviour, and also my spiritual abilities and deep love of nature.