My Past Life Regression

It has now been about three hours since my regression, and it was recommended to me to write out the details, as I could probably remember far more than I was able to describe to Ann, the woman I went to for this experience. I’d like to mention that she is also an LMFT and has many years experience doing this…it wasn’t some roadside shack I went to, LOL!

You guys will have to forgive me if this isn’t as well thought out as I might normally write, but I have a ton of information in my brain wanting to come out, so bear with me.

The first thing you should know is that I have ALWAYS been interested in having a regression, and I have ALWAYS believed in reincarnation- even before I knew what that was, exactly. I was one of those creepy kids who could remember several of my past lives as a child, and it was natural as could be for me- I joke when I say “creepy kids” because I know for a fact there is nothing creepy about it in the slightest for the kid who is remembering. It’s as natural as picturing your bedroom when you are away from home, or your mother’s face when you are at school- just normal. Frustrating, though, when no one remembers what you are talking about except you- not even the people you know were there with you, albeit with different bodies than they have in this life. As a kid, you don’t question that odd fact, again, it just is what it is.

But I finally decided to seek out regression for myself in hopes of dealing with an issue that has been plaguing me in this lifetime. For whatever reason, when both of my daughters turned six, in their respective times, I developed a crippling, horrible anxiety about something terrible happening to them. Every illness, in my mind, was something terrible. Every moment they were out of my sight was torture. I was positive, deep in my heart, that some terrible fate was about to befall them. This lasted until my older daughter was 13, and then, poof! It was gone. Then my little one hit six, and it started all over again.

I found Ann Barham online, after doing a little research with Google. I was thrilled to find out she was only half an hour away from me, and even more excited when I realized I could just book an appointment with her simply because I wanted to. It wasn’t out of control expensive, there wasn’t a year long wait…I couldn’t believe it. I went ahead and read her book “The Past Life Perspective” prior to seeing her, and it was very interesting and informative…I highly recommend checking it out if you are so inclined. I told her, via email, what my issue was, and she agreed it was worth looking into.

Which leads me to today. You guys, I was so excited for days preceding this appointment. I was thrilled this morning. Then, as the time got closer, I started to get scared. What if it didn’t work on me? What if I couldn’t be hypnotized? I am, after all, a mega control freak (nifty side effect of my anxiety) so this wasn’t totally an unreasonable worry. I got to her home office thirty minutes early, and sat outside in my car, trying to get a hold of myself.

At 9:55 exactly, I rang her bell. She came out, brought me inside, and we chatted a bit while I filled out some paperwork. She explained the process to me, let me pick out a blankie (seriously) and had me get comfy on this awesome chaise lounge, and then it began. If you’ve ever done any guided meditation, that’s what the whole beginning process is like. There were plenty of moments when my panicked brain kept going “This isn’t working!”, but then I would focus back on her voice and find myself lulled again.

Finally, it was my turn…I’m going to be 1000% honest here and tell you that I really wondered at first if I was making it all up. She asked me to look at my feet, and I clearly saw pointy black leather boots on a pair of very dainty feet. They had hook and eye buttons, and they were standing in a dusty road. I was wearing a dress with many petticoats, a fitted bodice, and eyelet-looking sleeves. I could see my own face, with delicate features and curly blonde hair pulled up. I also had a hat on, though I didn’t mention that at the time.

So there I was, on that dusty road, and I was mad. I was mad because I’d married a man I thought I loved and followed him across the country from a life where I was very privileged, to a town where there was nothing. Here’s the thing to know about this lifetime as this woman- she was spoiled and petulant. I kept getting the impression of her stamping her foot, sulking and pouting like a child. When asked where they were, I immediately thought of Arizona, but also New Mexico, so…I just looked it up, and oddly enough, Arizona was called New Mexico Territory until 1863. That was a really cursory bit of research, so don’t quote me on that. Oh, I should mention that when asked the year, I thought 1860. So that kind of fits, sort of.

Ann asked me about my husband at that time, and I said that he was pleasant and really a happy guy, and that he didn’t respond much to my fits, which made me furious (this girl sounds like a peach, doesn’t she?). She asked me to look at him and see if he was anyone from my current life time, and I was shocked to feel sure that he was my little daughter, Camryn, now.  I wasn’t destined to stay long in that place, however. My husband died relatively soon after and I went home to the East Coast, back to my family.

I could see my family home very clearly, but it was like I was looking through the window in at the people inside. The only person I could see clearly was my father, who was a jolly, portly man who indulged me way too much. I was the apple of his eye. I sensed my mother there as well, but could not see her clearly. The house was of a well-to-do family, with a big window looking into the sitting room. There was a fire in the grate and art on the walls. I had pretty much everything I could have wanted, but I was not a happy or grateful person. When I returned home, I got the sense that I did not mourn my husband at all, but talked a lot about what I had been through.

Finally, we moved forward to a time when I met another man, a very tall man named James. We went on to marry, although I was considered a little old by then- I feel like I was maybe 27, definitely no more than 30. We had two children together, a girl and then a boy.  I felt that, with the birth of my children, I was a whole person for the first time in my life. I had a purpose outside of myself. I had a very clear picture of sitting on a chair in my bedroom with my small daughter, perhaps four or five, standing right in front of me, and the baby boy on my knee. I felt truly happy for the first time ever.

Of course, we needed to see why this life was the one I’d chosen to view, so she asked me to move forward to the next important event in this life. Sadly, it was a terrible one. My son had died, I believe from a fall where he struck his head very hard. I had been caring for him at the time, and I blamed myself. My husband also blamed me, or at least I thought he did. My daughter, who was six by this time, suddenly became my sole focus in that life…keeping her safe, while simultaneously keeping her at arms length, because I was terrified of losing her as well.

Now, I should mention again that I really wondered if I was making this all up right up to the time when my son died…that’s when I started bawling. To be honest with you, I cried the rest of the time, because I could see so clearly how broken-hearted that woman was, and how misguided her efforts were afterwards…the way her daughter felt so obligated to tread carefully with her mother’s fragility, how bound she felt to her, and how much she resented her at the same time.

I cried because I could see what a wonderful life it might have been, but I chose to close my heart and build up walls around it, to keep myself safe. I tried to control every move my daughter made to keep her safe. In the end, she married and left home, and for her it was probably a relief, but I went on to knock around in my beautiful home, with no real relationships to speak of. I was lonely and empty, and it was in some way by design.

There was a lot more stuff after that, but the overall message I received was that choosing not to love because you are afraid of being hurt does not make your life easier, it makes it hard and sad and lonely. Hiding behind walls keeps you separate. You cannot prevent or prepare for everything by trying to control it. Life unfolds the way it unfolds. You just have to relax, and step out from behind those walls, knowing that you do not need to do a single thing to deserve to be loved, and that it is safe to give love. It’s really the only thing that makes life worth living, honestly.

So, here’s the deal- was it real? I mean…the feelings I felt were absolutely real. I’m not much of a crier, and I honestly couldn’t stop the tears. And it was so strange…when we got to the part about the little boy dying, I thought “oh, that must be it!” but my mind immediately knew it had much more to do with how I treated the girl after he died. His death was awful, but the impact of it on my life and on hers was what was important for me to see.

So…I have no reason to believe it was just made up. I wasn’t famous or fancy or even pleasant, to be honest. I was a sad woman with a life I would never want for myself. And it was not at all what I thought I’d see- soooo completely different than anything I expected. I learned some important things in those two hours, more than I have even shared here. I think it was real. What do you think?