There are relationships in our lives that feel far deeper than circumstance. They carry a weight, a tenderness, and at times, a complexity that cannot always be explained through present-day experiences alone. My relationship with my eldest child has been one such journey. From a very young age, she faced her share of challenges, and as her mother, I often found myself searching for ways to understand her better, to support her more meaningfully, and to navigate the moments that tested both of us.
It was this longing for understanding that led me to a past life regression session. My intention was simple yet heartfelt. I wanted to gain insight into our relationship and understand why certain patterns and challenges seemed to exist between us. However, just as I was about to begin the session with my therapist, a memory surfaced with unexpected clarity. Shortly after I had conceived her, at a time when I was still processing the grief of a miscarriage, I found myself emotionally guarded. I was travelling alone on a scooter early one morning, and in a moment of vulnerability, I spoke to the life growing within me. I told the unborn child that I would not form an emotional connection unless she proved that she would survive. At the time, it felt like a way to protect myself. But as I shared this with my therapist, it became evident that those words were not random. They carried a deeper origin.
With this awareness, I was guided into a past life. I found myself as a young boy, no more than a toddler, living within the grounds of a large temple in India. My father appeared to be the priest, and my family lived a life of service within the temple community. We were many siblings, but from the very beginning, one presence stood out. My older sister, a girl of about fifteen or sixteen, was my primary caregiver. She was gentle, loving, and deeply attentive. There was a quiet beauty about her, not just in appearance, but in the way she held space for me. In that life, she was my sister. In this life, she is my daughter.
As the memory unfolded, I saw how deeply connected we were. She was my anchor, my comfort, and my world in those early years. But when I was around five or six, she was married off to a man of status, a decision that served to protect my father’s position within the temple. In those times, daughters rarely returned once they were married, and so her departure created a void that I carried silently. Years passed, and while others in the family moved on, I did not. By the time I was seventeen, I still longed for her presence.
It was then that two of my friends approached me with the idea of venturing into the jungle. Interestingly, those friends are my husband and my second child in this lifetime. What felt like a simple excursion held a deeper purpose for me. I knew, somehow, that my sister lived somewhere beyond that jungle, and I saw this as my chance to find her. We set out together, unaware of what awaited us. As we ventured deeper, we were captured by a tribal group.
Bound to large rocks, we were offered as a sacrifice and burned alive. It was a violent and unexpected end, yet what I felt in those final moments was not fear or regret.
When my soul rose from my body, I saw her. My sister stood before me, waiting. She had already passed on, and in that moment, there was only relief and joy. I had found her. It no longer mattered what it had taken to get there. However, as I reflected on that life, a deeper truth revealed itself. The very reason I had gone searching for her was because I had felt her absence so deeply, yet by the time I had gathered the courage to look for her, she was already gone. That realisation left an imprint, subtle yet profound. Somewhere within my soul, a quiet resolve had formed, a knowing that I had lost her once, and that the pain of that loss was something I did not want to experience again.
That imprint travelled with me into this life. When I spoke those words to the unborn child within me, asking her to prove that she would survive before I allowed myself to connect, it was not simply fear from a recent miscarriage. It was something far older, far deeper. It was my soul speaking in an unconscious attempt to protect itself, a reflection of a past experience where love had been lost too soon.
As the session continued, I was shown what followed beyond that lifetime. I saw my sister reviewing her life, understanding her own journey and choosing to return again, aware that her next life would carry challenges that would support her growth. In that moment, I stepped forward and made a choice. I asked to be her mother. If she was to face difficulty again, I wanted to be there for her, to support her, to ensure that she would not feel alone. This was not an unconscious bond, but a conscious agreement, a soul contract formed through love and intention.
Returning to my present awareness, everything began to align. The challenges we faced were no longer confusing. They were part of something we had both chosen. My role was not to question why, but to remember how. To support, to understand, and to remain present, especially in the moments that felt difficult.
It also brought me back to that moment during my pregnancy with a new understanding. If her soul had entered early, eager to reunite with me, then my words may have carried a weight I had never intended. The sense of pressure she seemed to carry from a young age suddenly had context. It was not something she created alone, but something I had unknowingly contributed to. With this awareness, I was able to return to her, not just as a mother, but as a soul honouring a promise. I apologised, I released those words, and I reminded her, and myself, that she was always wanted, always loved, and always supported.
This experience did not remove all challenges. We still navigate moments of difficulty, as all close relationships do. However, it transformed the way I see her, the way I respond, and the way I hold space for our connection. It grounded me in something deeper than circumstance, a quiet remembrance that love, in its truest form, is not always easy, but it is always intentional. Above all, it reminded me that I am simply living out a promise my soul once made, one rooted not in fear, but in love.
