what’s it’s like to do a past life regression with a shaman?

I didn’t go out of my way to find out more about my past lives.

Far more concerned with how to release trapped energy and old beliefs associated with trauma I experienced in this life, I recently committed to seeing a shaman monthly, over a four month period.

So, during our most recent session, it came out of the blue when she suggested we investigate my past lives as part of a shamanic journey. Having worked with this particular shaman several times over the last few years, and seen the positive impact on my ability to make better choices for myself, it was a resounding yes from me.

That in itself isn’t anything new — I think I’ve often been a ‘whatever you think is best!’ kind of a client — but recently, I have been finding myself being more boundaried about what kinds of spiritual practices I want and need at any particular time.

This is something that comes with time, I think, and patience ,in terms of getting to know what your body is signalling in the moment and what your soul really needs in order to expand safely.

For example, I’ve been quite certain in my need for meditations that don’t involve any kind of story or visualisation lately — working in a full-time job where I’m constantly thinking and writing, the empty mind approach (or ‘no mind’ as described by Richard Potts) has been far more soothing and effective for me recently.

I wouldn’t necessarily recommend hopping into a past life regression without giving it some proper consideration, because I’ve found it’s been a deeply emotional experience that has had some real-life consequences in this current timeline.

what to expect from a past life journey

The experience of settling into any shamanic journey can feel quite nerve-wracking. This one started on my shaman’s couch, with the lights dimmed, and the standard new age music playing in the background.

We spent a few minutes getting into a trance-like state through what you might expect — deep breathing and visualisation — and then she guided me through the process of leaving this current life in order to drop into another one that may have some significance for me,

Like every shamanic journey I’ve ever done, I secretly worried that it wouldn’t work, that when she asked me to connect with that past life and describe what was happening, that I’d have nothing to report; just an empty mind and a sense of disappointment.

But she prompted me to enter into that past life, and look down at my feet, I knew something real was about to happen.

what it feels like to go back to a past life

There was no writhing around on the sofa, no full-body sobbing, no huge revelations that happened in the moment. Instead, it was more like reconnecting with an old friend who was ready to open up to me in a way that she hadn’t ever done before.

I didn’t feel hugely emotionally connected to the past life, more like a bystander, witnessing the events unfold from a higher perspective, able to see how certain events had transpired and led to unfortunate outcomes in that past life.

I’m not quite ready to share the specific details of the story, but I will say that it served as an example of how small I have made myself at times, and how this has always been a result of internalising harm done to me as evidence of my brokenness.

I even witnessed my own death in that lifetime, and saw that I had died alone as a result of isolating myself from human connection.

the emotional experience of connecting with a past life

If that all sounds rather intense, you might be surprised to hear that it wasn’t a particularly emotional journey. Perhaps because it only lasted around 30 minutes, or maybe my psyche chose to keep me at a distance as a way to allow me face the story itself; whatever the reason, I only really felt a sense of calm ‘knowingness’ as I uncovered the events of that life.

As we moved through the experience, the shaman prompted me uproot the lessons by asking questions like: have you learned anything from connecting with this past life? Is there anything you would do differently now?

The answers came very naturally in the moment — internalising the harm done to me in that life had led me to cutting myself off from love, joy, and authentic relationships.

Having experienced the threat of being institutionalised as a result of the abuse inflicted on me in that lifetime, I had got sucked into the false narrative that I was crazy, keeping that abuse to myself, believing that sharing it with others would leave be vulnerable to more physical and mental abuse.

The lesson was clear: you must release the shame you have about the ways you’ve been harmed, because it’s currently acting as a barrier to human connection, and your ability to life a full life.

This isn’t new wisdom, this is isn’t advice that I haven’t heard before — but seeing and feeling the consequences of not following that advice was what instigated the shift for me. Something about seeing the past me from a higher perspective allowed me to release the belief that I was somehow responsible for my abuse, that it was evidence of being broken.

It’s easy to think that all this happens in the head, that it’s all just the mind’s attempt at constructing a story that works in the moment. And yes, that is probably part of it, but the impact on my body was also worth noting.

It’s been almost a week since the past life regression, and I’ve experienced a heavy menstrual period that wasn’t due, a flare up in my back pain (but not in the usual spot), and a general exhaustion that feels more than coincidental.

the healing impact of a past life regression

Speaking of coincidences, the morning after my past life regression, I was scheduled to speak to my doctor regarding a psychiatric referral for suspected CPTSD. After decades of being dismissed my healthcare professionals, I’d been dreading the call, but, armed with a list of everything I wanted to get across, I spoke clearly, and without shame.

I didn’t omit certain symptoms to avoid judgment, I didn’t play down certain incidents as ‘my fault’. It was upsetting, but for what felt like the first time ever, the doctor responded with tenderness and humanity when I needed it most.

Later that day, my partner and I witnessed a man verbally abusing a group of teenagers in a racially motivated attack. We instinctively stopped walking in order to observe how things unfolded; in particular, I wanted the young lads to know that they weren’t alone, and that we would step in if things escalated.

We did intervene, which culminated in me shouting and swearing quite aggressively in the perpetrator’s face, only to be met with the threat of violence as a result. I’ve never had the chance to fight back against my abusers, and to be honest, I didn’t think I wanted to — but this incident felt strangely therapeutic and like it had to happen to shift a certain helpless energy in me.

Later that evening, I had an emotional flashback, which is common for those with PTSD.

Normally, I try to hold back my tears and play down the severity of the experience, but this time, instead of fighting it or trying to blame myself for being too easily triggered, I simply allowed the flashback to fully happen. I ugly sobbed, asked for a hug, curled up in bed, and talked about the experience as it was happening. 

I didn’t allow the shame of the experience to be a barrier to human connection, and it was the human connection that I needed in that moment. Because the hugs and love I received as I sobbed weren’t just for 39-year-old Fiona — they were for the teenage me, and probably, the past life me who needed to be witnessed with compassion, too.

why past life regressions may help build self-trust

I really believe that the way that entire day unfolded was a direct result of the past life regression, because it dislodged something that needed to come up to the surface, to be seen, to be recognised, to be validated without judgement or self-blame.

And the experience itself is validating, because I’ll be honest, when you’re lying there saying “yes, I’m on a boat now, but I won’t survive the trip, I’m about to have a heart attack,” like it’s just plain fact, there will always be part of you that thinks you are making it all up and it has no therapeutic value.

But as the week went on, I have been shown more and more examples of how the experience had directly impacted my healing.

Besides actively using my voice to speak up for abuse (something I’ve never done other than on social media), I also used my voice to ask for what I needed in the workplace. I didn’t filter my words for fear of stigma; I said that as a result of speaking about my trauma, I would need some adjustments to my work schedule that day. When the muscle tension from the emotional flashback became intense, I didn’t deny the pain and push on; I spent money on a physiotherapy appointment where I was shown the care and tenderness that I needed.

All of this might seem quite obvious to other people, but for me, self-compassion has always been hard to access. Now, it feels much more within reach.

I don’t think past life regressions are a guaranteed path to healing; this has been just one experience that is part of a larger tapestry of events that make up my personal evolution. But I can’t deny the seemingly immediate shift I’ve felt with regards to my past trauma.

For the last few years, it’s felt like a part of my past that I’ve been trying to address, but never quite made any headway. Talking about my trauma in therapy has been extremely helpful, but recently, language has felt limiting and even detrimental to the process. I couldn’t see a resolution or a path forwards, but now, the wheels are turning and I’m approaching that space where I’m ready to open up to people who can help more.

For me, it loosened something that had been tightly bound for years, and in that loosening, I found space for compassion, honesty, and connection. Where it leads next, I don’t yet know — but for the first time in a long time, I feel ready to find out.