posted with permission
A recent QHHT client came to me for a past life regression, seeking answers about recurring health issues, the most recent affecting her throat, as well as a deeper understanding of certain relationships and repeating patterns she had begun to notice throughout her life. She described herself as someone who is deeply loyal—a person who never abandons her friends, is always available to help them find solutions, and gives generously of herself. Yet, despite her unwavering support, she often found herself feeling hurt, abandoned, frustrated, and emotionally exhausted, wondering what she had done wrong.
As I guided my client into the theta state of consciousness, I invited her to explore a past life that held insight into these patterns. She immediately found herself soaring above beautiful green valleys and countryside, with winding rivers, scattered rocks, and solitary trees. She remarked that the landscape looked very much like Ireland.
As we explored the scene further, her attention was drawn to a dark, rugged mountain that stood in stark contrast to the peaceful valley below. The mountain felt cold, foreboding, and cast a heavy shadow over the land. As she approached it and stood at its base, she looked down and noticed her feet were very small, sunk into the mud. She realized she was experiencing this life through the eyes of a young male child with short brown hair.
I then guided her forward to where this child lived. She described a small village made of rough-hewn logs and timber. The buildings were simple and rustic, with open fire pits surrounded by wooden arches used to suspend cooking pots over the flames. Chickens wandered freely throughout the village, and the people appeared dirty and worn, dressed in plain, loose-fitting tunics tied at the waist with rope.
he realized he, too, was dressed in the same simple clothing.
The overall feeling of the village was one of hardship and survival. The people did not appear happy, and there seemed to be very little joy in their daily lives. Although there were other children nearby, they rarely interacted with him. He felt isolated, unaccepted, and largely invisible, as though no one paid much attention to him.
I then guided her to an important day in this lifetime.
The atmosphere was heavy and somber as a group of large men, who appeared to be warriors, returned to the village carrying the body of a man wrapped in cloth. He had died in the mountains. There was little emotion or acknowledgment from the villagers, as though death was simply accepted.
The young boy felt a deep dislike for those mountains. In his mind, nothing good ever happened there. He couldn’t understand why the villagers continued living in their shadow instead of leaving for the beautiful valleys below. Whenever he could, he would escape to the green valley where he felt a sense of peace and freedom.
Moving forward again, we arrived at another significant moment. He was standing beside a woman who was teaching him how to slaughter a pig. Although he understood it was necessary for survival, he disliked every part of the experience.
The village was filled with livestock—cows, pigs, and chickens—but there were no horses. He remarked that they must have had no real means of transportation and that every animal served as a food source. There were no pets, only survival. As this realization settled in, another profound truth emerged. He understood that he was an orphan. His parents had died, and there was no one who truly cared for him. The loneliness and anger he carried became much clearer in that moment.
Once more, I guided her forward to another important day. He was now older, still a teenager but approaching adulthood. Alongside three other young men, he was making the difficult climb up the mountain, each carrying weapons.
He felt frightened.
He had no understanding of why they had been sent there, yet they continued climbing until they reached the summit. Looking over the other side, he saw a vast bowl-shaped landscape blanketed in snow. The air was cold, and none of them were dressed for the conditions.
He stood confused, uncertain of what was happening or why they had been brought to this place At this point, we move to the last day of that life.
He is lying in the snow, still on the mountain. He is not sure what has happened, but he senses that the three boys had killed him and left him there. He feels that, deep down, he knew this was going to happen that day, but he didn’t care. He was ready to go.
As I guide my client to look back on that life, remembering that every lifetime carries a lesson, I ask, “What was the lesson of this life?”
Her Higher Self responded:
“Stop wasting time. He should have left, and he never did. she (the client) also stays in places she should leave, staying stuck in relationships and ideas.”
For my client, the message from her Higher Self was clear.
The lesson was not simply about the young boy’s life—it was about the pattern that had continued into her present life. Just as he remained in a place that no longer served him, surrounded by hardship while longing to leave, she, too, had been staying in relationships, situations, and beliefs long after her intuition had told her it was time to move on.
Her Higher Self reminded her of the value of her own energy and that she can trust herself. She doesn’t need to keep sacrificing herself for others or remain where she feels unseen, unsupported, or depleted. Sometimes the greatest act of healing is giving yourself permission to leave what no longer aligns with who you are.