The Soul Who Chose the Brakes

By Luis Miguel Gallardo
Certified Life Between Lives® Facilitator, USA & Spain

Miranda had been curious about Life Between Lives regression for a long time. She’d read Michael Newton’s work, explored meditation and energy practices on her own, and arrived at our first session together with a sense that something important was waiting for her. What brought her through the door was a feeling she couldn’t shake: her soul felt big, fast, and eager, but her body kept pulling in the opposite direction. She wanted to understand why. She wanted to know if the disconnect she’d been living with for years had a purpose.

Miranda came prepared with a written list of questions. She wanted a big-picture view of her soul’s progress in this lifetime. Where had she grown, and where was she still stuck?

She was curious about her soul’s specialization. What particular skills or talents was she developing across incarnations? She also wondered about origin. “I’ve always struggled to be in this world,” she told me. “Like this world doesn’t make sense to me.” Was her soul even from Earth?

Then there was the body question, the one that carried the most emotional weight. Why had she chosen a body she experienced as cautious, hesitant, and frequently low-energy? “I feel like it’s constricting me in here,” she said. “Like they don’t want me to express all my energy.”

She also wanted help distinguishing true intuition from anxious mental chatter. “What is my intuition and what is my mind getting in the way?” she asked. That self-doubt had been following her for years.

Underneath everything was a woman who sensed she had chosen this life for important reasons but couldn’t remember what those reasons were when the fatigue hit and the frustration set in.

We began with guided relaxation and deep breathing. Miranda mentioned that the word “deeper” felt heavy to her, so I adjusted the language to “lighter and lighter.” She responded immediately. Within minutes she had settled into a peaceful meadow, surrounded by trees, drifting into trance.

I walked her back through childhood memories to build momentum and deepen the trance. At twelve, she described her tiny bedroom in vivid detail. There was barely room for the bed, let alone a dresser. A big stuffed squirrel with a ridiculous tail sat on top of a basket of toys. She smiled describing it.

At seven, she lit up talking about a white school bag with pale pink trim and a matching pencil case. “I didn’t even like pink,” she laughed, “but I loved that bag. I used to put my snack in the front pocket.” The sensory richness of these memories told me she was going deep.

At two or three, she recalled grabbing a fistful of dirt outside and recoiling from the sticky texture. She’d only tried it because her older brother was happily digging away. “He was loving it. I was like, nope.” These warm, safe memories anchored her and prepared her to go further back without fear.

Then we entered the womb. I counted her down through the months of gestation and her voice got quiet, almost reverent. “It’s dark. Warm. Moist,” she whispered. She noticed something surrounding her and described the placenta as a “gooey bubble” that both protected and enclosed her. She reached out a tiny fetal hand to touch it. “Oh, okay, what’s this?” she murmured, marveling as the membrane clung to her fingers before letting go. I asked if she could hear her mother’s heartbeat. “I can sense it,” she said, “but I’m very focused on myself right now.” She was adjusting. Calibrating. That was the word her subconscious offered up: calibrating.

I asked what impressions she was forming about this body. A word dropped in immediately. “Cautious. Not slow. Cautious.” She described the way the fetal hand moved toward the placenta with tentative deliberation.

Then her soul’s impatience burst through. “Come on, touch it. Don’t be afraid. Touch the damn thing!” She half-laughed, recognizing the absurdity of yelling at her own unborn body.

The insight was immediate. The soul was fast, bold, eager. The body was careful, measured, and slow to commit. And that friction was the whole point.

“Sounds like I have to slow down my energy a bit,” she said. “There’s going to be hesitation. The body’s like, let’s not rush into this.”

I asked how this body compared to others she’d occupied. She gave a knowing laugh. “I don’t go for easy bodies.” In other lifetimes she’d had impulsive bodies that matched her soul’s speed. The results were disastrous. “It was like a puppy going through the house and destroying everything,” she said. A fast soul in a fast body with no governor meant chaos. So, her guides had steered her toward bodies with built-in brakes. Not as punishment. As training.

Later, I asked if she could recall a life that hadn’t taken place on Earth. A scene materialized almost immediately. Her voice went soft with wonder. She described a world with a different sky, vast and open, where she lived in a tall, luminescent form for something like eight hundred years. Movement was effortless. Communication felt almost telepathic. She sensed the name “Orona” and wasn’t sure if it was her name or the planet’s, but it resonated deeply.

“It’s so easy here,” she whispered. “No big hurdles. Everything flows.” There was no struggle against the body, no braking. Energy moved as fast as she wanted it to. She did not feel old despite centuries of life. She felt free.

That memory puts everything in context. Of course, Earth felt restrictive. She had been comparing it, without realizing, to a place where energy moved freely and bodies didn’t resist. The homesickness she’d carried for years wasn’t a sign that something was wrong with her. It was the natural consequence of a soul used to a very different kind of existence choosing to train on a denser planet.

When I circled back to the fundamental question of why she chose this body, Miranda’s voice cracked. “I lose track of what the whole point of having bodies is,” she said. “I get bummed out. It feels like a punishment.”

Then her guide, a presence she identified as Alden, drew close. The correction was gentle but unmistakable. “That’s not the point. These are beautiful bodies. They’re meant to help you, not hinder you.”

Something in Miranda released. You could hear it in her breathing. The body wasn’t a cage. It was a calibration tool, chosen precisely because its caution would teach her powerful soul to channel energy with finesse instead of force.

“We need to learn to calibrate our energy,” she said, speaking now with a calm clarity that hadn’t been there before. “And these bodies can help with that, as long as I don’t forget.”

She arrived at a metaphor that was entirely her own. The soul, she said, needs to approach the body the way a mother approaches a newborn. With patience, gentleness, and an understanding that the baby isn’t trying to be difficult.

“Mothers work patiently to understand the baby,” she said. “The baby learns to focus its energy. And I learn to be gentle with mine.”

What had been an adversarial relationship between soul and body was, right there in trance, becoming a partnership.

Her question about intuition answered itself through this process. She could feel the difference now. The voice of genuine guidance was quiet, patient, and warm. The voice of mental chatter was urgent, critical, and pushy. Slowing down was the key to hearing the right signal.

Miranda’s soul specialization also became clear through the session’s recurring theme: she is training in energy dynamics. Her innate gift is generating powerful, high-frequency energy. Her ongoing lesson is learning to direct it with precision rather than letting it scatter. Every lifetime spent in a cautious body is another round of practice. And the practice, as her guide Alden reminded her, is not a punishment. It is the path forward.

Miranda came out of trance quietly, with tears she didn’t bother wiping away. She told me afterward that the womb scene had changed something fundamental in how she related to her own body. For years, every low-energy day had felt like evidence that she was broken or trapped in the wrong life. Now she had a different frame to return to: the image of a soul gently reaching through a translucent membrane, learning to calibrate.

“I need to remember the gentleness,” she said. “The loving way of integrating with the body. Working with whatever it gives me.”

What strikes me most about Miranda’s session is how personal the healing was. No guide handed her a lecture. Her own subconscious served up the right images at the right time: a gooey placenta, a puppy demolishing a living room, a luminous planet called Orona. That is what Life Between Lives work does at its best. It doesn’t impose meaning. It helps a person remember theirs.

If you’ve ever wondered why your soul chose the exact life you’re living, the specific body, the particular limitations, the friction that won’t go away, Miranda’s story is worth sitting with. The obstacles might not be obstacles at all. They might be the curriculum. ♥

Luis Miguel Gallardo is located in Miami, FL & NYC, USA and Madrid, Spain, and sees clients in-person and online worldwide

For more information or to schedule a session