In this episode, we explore the terrain of exile—not just as displacement from land, but as a patterned disconnection from presence, lineage, belonging, and wholeness. I trace the fragmentation of trauma imprinted across generations and the portal for return. Together, we reflect on what it means to reclaim the parts of ourselves that we exiled to survive, uncovering the personal, relational, ancestral, and collective layers of exile carried in our blood and bones. This is an opportunity to explore how you left yourself and how you might return.
I was sitting in a cigar lounge, of all places—typing notes for this very episode: Exile and Return.
Suddenly a man I’d never met before approached me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you.” Then he asked me, “What’s your nationality?”
“American.”
“Really?” He said, a bit confused like he was trying to figure something out. “I’m Gypsy.”
‘Roma?!’ I asked.
“Yes!” he said proudly.
Goosebumps.
The Roma are keepers of exile’s code. They’re wanderers not by choice, but by inheritance. Their lineage is a carrier of music, mysticism, persecution, and the medicine of impermanence.
It was a wild synchronicity that he appeared just then. Like a mirror from the field.
That moment felt like an ancient chord had been plucked. Not a flirtation, but a frequency.
He wasn’t seeing me for my physical features. Trust me, it wasn’t even a good hair day.
It was the tone I was carrying. The exile code. The return code. Something in him recognized it. Even though he didn’t know it consciously.
This is how the field speaks. The timing, the signs, the synchronicity when you’re tapped into the quantum field. It’s unbelievable how the information just appears.
And this is where we begin today.
With the understanding that exile isn’t just an event or a history, of a person or a people, but a frequency that many of us have lived in our souls and in our families for generations.
Exile is a code asking for return. Not necessarily to a land that one left. But to presence. To coherence. To connection. To All That Is. To self.
This episode invites you to meet the wound of exile as a soul memory waiting to come home.
The Many Forms of Exile
Exile is far more than just a political theme or forced displacement from land—though it can be. At the essence, it’s about a psychic, emotional, and existential fracturing.
Exile is a soul condition and one that affects not just the person who directly experienced the exile, but also their entire lineage as it gets passed on from generation to generation as unintegrated trauma and grief taking on unique forms of expression.
We are going to explore the personal, relational, ancestral, and collective layers of exile that all of us carry in our blood and bones… as well as the path of return.
When experiences and emotions are too painful, the parts of us that hold that energy get exiled because it’s too much to feel.
When we experience trauma, that fragments the soul and disconnects us from the body and spirit. The body then gets separated from the mind and awareness in exile. We lose connection with our soul, our spirit, our Higher Self.
We become disembodied and fragmented as a form of survival… as individuals and a collective.
Looking around the world today… the increasing division, polarization, othering, the hatred, the wars, the genocide… and the absence of the ability to feel that. Layered on top of that is the mental justification of why it’s okay… and all of that is a product of the exile.
Because people who can truly feel themselves can’t bypass that.
Yet when we are stuck in trauma overload, trapped in captivity, reacting from defensive postures, we can’t feel anything but our own reactivity, which distorts our perception of self, others, and reality.
We are the descendants of generations of people who couldn’t feel because they too were overloaded with unresolved personal and ancestral trauma. And they, too, were exposed to trauma-based mind control at a collective level… all of which, at one time or another was normalized as culture.
When lineages experience migrations, invasion, genocide, forced removal, colonization, slavery and other forms of fracturing and dislocation from their home, homeland or culture, this ancestral exile gets transferred to the generations that follow, even when these stories aren’t told through words. Or even when the stories are told, yet wrapped with positivity or hatred as a bypass of the pain and suffering.
Perhaps the most enduring wound of exile is the compulsion to forget.
To survive, many families silenced their languages, erased their stories, severed ties to their origin. Not always by choice, but by necessity. It was too painful to remember. Energy was needed to move forward. And so the descendants inherit an ache with no map. They carry an unnamed longing, a phantom memory with no words.
This is another form of exile: not just from land or body—but from memory itself. From the knowing that was once passed around fire and song. What was once vibrational and visceral becomes orphaned. And so the grief lives on, unspoken—but not entirely unfelt.
This energetic knot exists as a heavy mass in the field, which distorts the space-time around it.
Trauma creates rupture without repair. Yet the trauma itself contains the codes of wholeness. But when we can’t name the rupture, we don’t know how to repair it. So the exile finds expression in our behavior, our experiences, our voice, and our inhibition.
An incredible example is flamenco music. The piercing singing is called llanto, which means lament. There’s an emotional intensity of sadness, pain, tragedy, and fear. It’s a raw, visceral cry that carries not just personal sadness. Sometimes it’s mixed with happiness too. I see it like a compressed ancestral archive of displacement, persecution, forced migration, assimilation, longing, and perseverance.
Here’s a fantastic example. You don’t have to understand Spanish to feel it.
Flamenco is exile as sound. And it’s also the return.
Because in its expression, something is re-inhabited. The pain is made sacred through sound and vibration.
The Romani or Gitanos, are another branch of the Roma, like the gentleman I met in the cigar lounge. These people originated in northern India and were forced westward for over a thousand years. Their culture evolved and assimilated to the resonance of the places they inhabited, yet always with the thread of exile. At the core there’s the essence of displacement, resilience, and the spiritual artistry that tells the story.
It’s interesting that in Spain not all flamenco artists are gitano of origin. But surely they all feel the connection to the wound of exile. You can hear the grief of generations as the voice cracks in that special way they sing. It’s like layers upon layers of non-verbal pain seeking expression through song. The urgency and intensity in the stomping and clapping is the body insisting, “I’m still here.”
And even if you aren’t Roma by ancestry, but if you resonate with the theme of exile, when you hear flamenco music, especially when it’s live and your body is there in that vibrational field, you’ll feel it speaking to your bones too.
The llanto, the lament, lives in anyone who carries the ache of exile without language. The voice of the exiled seeks return, and the music tells the story in verbal and non-verbal ways.
To live in exile is to carry a memory without language, and a grief that longs to express itself when silence cannot hold it.
What if the reason it hurts is not because you are broken—but because you were separated from the parts of you still waiting to return?
Personal Exile — The Fragmented Self
Many people experience childhood trauma that causes parts of the soul to become exiled. This is the personal, psycho-spiritual, level of exile.
When it’s too painful to be there, to be in the body, to feel what’s happening… we check out. As kids we don’t have a way to escape the pain of the physical environment. Parts of our soul fragment and split off so we don’t have to feel the pain.
This isn’t a conscious decision, it just happens as a survival mechanism. It’s automatic. That’s why it’s so hard to name it.
The Inner Child becomes like a hidden stowaway on our ship, trying to steer from the shadows but no one knows she’s still onboard. It’s very difficult to get our ship together when all these little invisible kids are running wild, yet we can’t find them.
These are our first experiences of exile, in childhood. Yet for many of us, it began in the womb. In a space that was meant to be safe, warm, and comforting, most of us were gestating in a fragmented ancestral field of unmetabolized grief that we could feel before we had words.
This is how exile layers itself in our being.
A child exiled from their own emotions. A mother exiled from her body’s safety. A lineage exiled from its homeland. These become nested exiles—echo chambers within the soul, each holding another deeper layer of silence and suppression.
When the exile is layered like this, it can feel like we’re searching or longing for something we never had, but somehow always missed.
It feels like: “I am not welcome in my own life.” But it often sounds like: “I just don’t know who I am.”
The soul’s fragmentation in childhood often echoes a pre-existing resonance of ancestral exile.
Sometimes childhood trauma is overt and easier to identify. Other times, it’s more subtle yet still painfully impactful.
Emotional neglect is one of the most overlooked forms of childhood trauma. As adults, people often say, “I had a great childhood.” Yet they’re suffering from addictions, dysfunctional or toxic relationships, a sense of loneliness that doesn’t make rational sense because they’re surrounded by people.
Neglect says things like, “I don’t matter. My needs don’t matter. No one cares about me. No one sees me. No one wants me.”
As kids, we learn to suppress our emotions when we are met with disapproval. When we express ourselves and get shut down, we begin to believe that we’re unloveable. So as adults we continue to stuff down our feelings instead of honoring our experience in a self-loving and responsible way. We suppress our self-expression and boundaries because we were trained that it wasn’t safe to speak up or to say no.
This is how we lose the connection to the body.
When it feels unsafe to be in the body, we forget where our home is and how to find our center. So we send ourselves away to survive, yet we are usually unaware that this is happening or why we feel exiled from self.
Our identity forms around adaptation to trauma instead of authenticity.
Then when the inevitable storms pass in life, we can easily get swept up in the chaos of the moment because we lack the foundation and reference for returning to center.
This is why I start with the Inner Child reclamation work before we venture into the ancestral field. First we need to establish inner safety and the stability of a sense of self.
We begin by tracking sensations in the body (the embodiment process), then feelings, then emotions, then allowing the memory of origin of those feelings and emotions to surface from the body and subconscious. We observe and notice what was happening in that time, what the unmet needs were of the Inner Child.
And then as the attuned adult observer, we can imagine entering that scene and giving the child what he or she needed in that moment. I spoke a little about this in Episode 3 when I did that process with the healer whose father was lost at sea when she was very young.
Then once we’ve established a new sense of trust, joy, and playfulness, we invite the child to have a forever home in our heart. From there, we become more aware of the ways this newly reclaimed and reintegrated part of ourselves is asking for our attention.
As we meet those inner needs and build a healthy relationship with our Inner Child, we stop looking for the external savior or validation.
The Inner Child Reclamation is the first level of return.
As adults, we may find that in moments of pain, we dissociate and zone out. Most of us inherited the imprint of ancestral exile, which got reinforced by life experiences.
Many of us were exiled from our families or chose to exile ourselves in order to create the space to heal. We may have felt alone and thought it was the first time such a thing happened. Yet when we can see our ancestral history, we realize we’re carrying a similar resonance as those who came before us.
Exile doesn’t always look like physical estrangement though it can be.
The familial level of exile (your family of origin) is the relational bridge between the personal and ancestral levels.
This includes:
Estrangement, going No Contact, getting ostracized
Being the black sheep or truth-teller in a family system
Roles such as scapegoat or lost child, or even the golden child who is exiled from their authenticity and self in order to be accepted
Rejection for choosing healing, truth, or a different path in adulthood
Often, familial exile and our relationships within the family of origin, recapitulates deeper ancestral patterns, even as it attempts to interrupt them. Like I shared about in Episode 4 how my decision to go No Contact with my mom years ago in order to heal, ended up amplifying the wound of exile in her and the ancestral field.
It doesn’t mean I made the wrong decision at the time, but No Contact wasn’t the healing. I did a lot of inner work during the recent years. But it took a while until I was able to see the bigger picture, and then to be able to transmute that wound into medicine, which is now available and reverberating in the ancestral field for anyone in my lineage who wants to tune in.
When I energetically welcomed my grandmother’s sister Grace back into the family, that was the quantum shift. We made a new collective agreement together consciously, cancelling out the old agreement of “I don’t have the right to exist.”
Seeing Grace’s story and the origin of that pattern allowed me to have more compassion for myself and my own struggles, for Grace, for my grandmother, and for my mom… because we were all trapped in these ancestral loops, and that brought a quantum shift in my family.
My mom got unstuck from a situation she was trapped in for years. And we started to be able to really connect without the old defense mechanisms for the first time.
That happened about a month after I alchemized the collective field with my ancestor where that particular pattern originated, not by trying to fix or save someone in my family. Yet the ripple effect of doing the inner work is spreading in a positive way.
Our personal healing is planetary service.
Even if you don’t see the full implications of that ripple effect, it’s happening.
I could be here speaking and not really know who’s listening and who’s feeling the resonance of this message. For all I know there could be a woman in Finland who deeply resonates with this message, but may never comment or let me know publicly or personally. Yet she’s holding the grid for a school, a hospital, a community of 10,000 people. That’s the ripple effect.
Becoming whole is the return and integration after the exile. And it happens in layers.
Exile isn’t always a border you cross—it’s the place in your being that was too much to feel.
Now before we enter the ancestral field, take a moment to gently feel into the places in your being that may still be in hiding. Not to fix them—but to begin the invitation of return.
When did I learn it was safer to leave myself than to be with what I feel?
Ancestral Echoes — Exile in the Bloodline
Many of those who feel like they never belonged anywhere—in their family, culture, birthplace, or in general—are those who carry the memory of exile in their DNA. At one time or another, probably all of us had ancestors who were immigrants, even if that goes back many many generations.
I would say exile is an integral part of the human condition. We all carry this trauma in one way or another.
Exile often begins generations before we become aware of it. It may originate in:
Forced migration, war, invasion, colonization, or genocide
Religious persecution, ethnic cleansing, or cultural erasure
Intergenerational shame, secrets, or betrayals
Silence: the absence of origin stories passed down or other stories that simply weren’t spoken in our families
This imprints the subconscious and nervous system with programs like: “We don’t belong,” “We must survive by hiding,” “To be seen is to be punished.” “It’s dangerous to be seen.” “It’s safer to be invisible.” “I’m safer away from my family.”
When someone feels fundamentally exiled from belonging—whether through personal trauma, ancestral displacement, or cultural erasure—there are two broad strategies the defense system might adopt:
Collapse / Invisibility
“It’s safer to be small.”
“If I’m quiet, I won’t be expelled again.”
“It’s dangerous to be seen.”Inflation / Supremacy
“If I’m above them, they can’t exile me.”
“If I declare myself and my culture superior, I can finally belong to something strong.”
“If I embody certainty, I’ll never feel fear again.”
Now perhaps you’re starting to see the issues in our world in a new light. Supremacy may look like dominance but it isn’t true strength—it’s armored fragility. It is exile pretending to be empire.
What’s interesting is that the more supremacist a person is, about their culture, their race, their religion, their nationality or family genetics, when you really get to know them (which BTW you can only do if you drop the judgment and actually listen to them) you find out how alone they really feel.
They’re usually nostalgic for a time in history in which they believe they belonged. Even though they may be very proud of their hometown, their state, their country, their family… they don’t feel like they belong here and now, wherever that is. The stance of supremacy is actually a way of avoiding the feelings of not belonging, which is an ancestral memory of exile.
Supremacy—at its core—is often a disguise for a rupture. It performs dominance to mask dislocation. It over-identifies with identity to avoid the void beneath it.
The ones who cling most tightly to supremacist ideologies of any kind are often the loneliest. Not because they are the most unloved—but because out of defensiveness they have severed the very inner pathways that would allow real belonging to take root. They are exiled from their own softness and vulnerability. And their belonging has been outsourced to rigid identity constructs that feel like protection.
It goes hand in hand with the idealization of a certain time in history or a promised utopian future. The nostalgic longing for an idealized past or place is often a trauma echo. It’s a coping mechanism for the loss of ancestral land, language, culture, or coherence.
But the past being yearned for often never truly existed—at least not as it’s remembered through idealization. It’s a symbolic homeland, not a literal one.
Supremacy latches onto these golden-age myths because they offer a sense of order, hierarchy, and “rightness” in a chaotic world. That’s why we see supremacy amplified nowadays as these wounds of exile are stirring in the collective subconscious. Here in America, we are openly hearing the phrase “Golden Age” again, for the first time since the post-war era of the 1950s.
But this longing—at its root—is spiritual homesickness. And returning to ourself, to our connection with the Creator, to that state of unity with All That Is, cannot be healed by domination or punishment of the other. It also can’t be healed through partnership or anything external. Only by reintegration.
Integration is the return.
Supremacy says: “You must be like me to belong.”
Healing says: “You already belong, because you exist. And you’re part of everything.”
We explored a bit about ancestral exile in Episode 5 when I spoke about the history of the Caucasus Mountains, perhaps one of the most impacted lands on the planet with this theme. (As a side note, it’s a wild synchronicity that the Caucasus region appeared in the headlines last week AND the underlying frequency is about a land grab, control and possession of that land, disguised as a “peace” deal.)
So many generations and millennia of people there being invaded, displaced, forced to migrate, or even exiled from their own communities during the clan wars, like the experience my ancestors shared with me, where they wanted to teach me the difference between possession of the land and stewardship.
That area is like a bridge between continents and cultures. It’s a liminal space charged with the memory of exile.
Turkey is another country where there’s been a long history of people, cultures and ethnicities passing through or emigrating there from wherever they were exiled from. If you’re Turkish, and even if you grew up somewhere else, you probably feel a strong connection to the exile theme in your bones.
The Jewish lineages have a long history of exile and persecution. That ancestral trauma is what birthed the supremacy of the statist ideology of Zionism, which is also combined with the supremacy of some forms of End Times Christianity, which is a sect of Christianity.
At the core of Zionism is the desire to possess the land, and that is currently fueling the genocide in Gaza. Of course supremacy also exists in Islamic terrorist ideology, which is a reactionary product of the invasion, destruction and wars that were waged on their people by the West.
So much trauma. So much war.
Yet it’s shocking to see what people of any culture and religion will justify in order to maintain the false safety of supremacy. It also didn’t start with them. It’s the continuation of ancestral battles.
Those wars, fueled by the trauma of exile, will continue to destroy generations, as each one feels justified to avenge the last.
Anywhere the history of slavery touched on this planet, which was many places, including Africa most notably, that leaves an ancestral trail of exile for generations. Many people who don’t even know where their ancestors came from or what is their origin story.
My ex-husband’s parents lived in Senegal in western Africa. About 24 years ago when we went to visit them, they took me to an island called Gorée, where there’s a historical site called La Maison des Eclaves (the House of Slaves).
I’ve been to some dark energy places on the planet, but what I felt there was like no other. The building has replications of cells dividing men, women, and children. And there’s a doorway that opens to the rocks and the sea. The Door of No Return.
When I was there, I was told this is the last point in Africa that millions of slaves saw as they were sent on boats to the Americas. Many years later I read there have been some questions about the true number of people who went through that particular door when there were so many other places from which slaves were sent to the Americas.
Regardless, the grief and trauma of that exile, its all there in the field of that land, that site, and the threshold of that doorway heading out to the sea. That place and those memories don’t connect to my history. Yet even so, I remember feeling angry and sad for a while after we left that day. An overwhelming feeling that I just wanted to go home.
Most of my life I think I was looking for a place that would feel like home, not the place I grew up in, but perhaps the nostalgia of a place I’ve never known. I finally started connecting the dots last year between my personal, familial, and ancestral story of exile.
I’ve moved around a lot in my adult life. In my dog’s 12 years on this planet with me, we’ve moved 16 times. Each space I make my own so that I feel at home, yet everywhere I’ve lived, it’s always been clear that I’m not from there. I guess you could say I have a gypsy spirit too, even though that’s not my bloodline.
In late 2023, I started getting a strong intuition that I needed to leave Texas, the place where I’d landed in May of 2020 as a “COVID refugee” seeking freedom during all the insanity in the world.
Texas was never a place I planned to live, and I wouldn’t have otherwise chosen it for its culture, food, weather, or landscape. But it was the land that called me when I needed a place to put down some roots during the storm. And that’s exactly what it was. I stayed there almost 4 years, the longest I’d been in one home since I left my parents’ home.
Eventually, I knew it was time to leave and I waited for the intuitive pull to show me where to go.
At some point during my reflection, I felt the pull to move to Oklahoma. Also not a place on my must-visit list. I didn’t know why, but I just knew I had to go to the northeast part of the state. As soon as I got there, I understood.
I had entered a geographic morphic field that holds one of the most profound imprints of collective exile on the North American continent.
I immediately tapped into the local energy field, which was basically the end of the line of the Trail of Tears. In the 1800s, several native tribes were displaced and forced to migrate under incredibly harsh and traumatic conditions. There was an immense amount of suffering, starvation, disease, and death, including exposure to the cold and other weather elements.
The land in Oklahoma awakened memory in my own cells.
What surfaced in that year—through the solitude, the insomnia, the cocoon-like retreat I intuitively constructed around myself—was the visceral grief I was carrying that finally had a space to be felt.
It was the unwinding of ancient grief stored not only in my lineage but also in the memory of the land and the local field.
The ache of exile that I connected with in Oklahoma wasn’t just personal—it was ancestral, collective, and planetary.
Specifically, I was living in Cherokee Nation, which is the area around Tulsa. About one fifth of the Cherokee population perished due to the so-called Indian Removal Act signed by President Andrew Jackson.
The Trail of Tears, like any terrible ancestral or collective tragedy, isn’t just history. That memory of trauma and exile is alive in the subconscious and nervous systems of their descendants, and it’s also living in the morphic field of the land.
Frozen collective trauma is often masked as personal pain: addictions, alcoholism, domestic violence, and poverty… but really it’s the ancestral story that never found peace in an entire population of people.
Like others who were exiled, the natives were forced to suppress it to survive, hoping to provide a better future for the next generation. Yet the pain and the wounds echoed through generations. Much like any of our families and cultures had to do at one point in our own history.
I was drawn to Oklahoma to sit in a space that remembers exile.
Not to be consumed by that memory—but to bring coherence to it. I entered a field of ancestral saturation of that theme. Not just of the natives—but a resonance of all who have been removed from home and self, including my own lineage.
There was a heaviness in Oklahoma that I couldn’t name, and it was more than the oppressive heat. I could feel it everywhere… in the wind, in the dirt, in my own gut.
That terrain of the old “Indian Territory” as it was named back then, is encoded with ancient grief and dormant resilience. I realized I wasn’t there just as a witness, but as a translator. I was called to feel what many had to forget in order to survive. This wasn’t just about personal healing—it was a lineage attunement assignment, a remembrance of both pain and power.
I was only in Oklahoma for one year. Once I tapped into those codes in the collective field of the land, of both the trauma and the resilience, I was able to dig much deeper into my own personal and ancestral trauma healing, then transmute that into the next level of my purpose work in the world.
I hardly left the house that year. I barely went outside. My dog didn’t want to be outside either. That year, I cried more than I spoke. Sleep became elusive. The nights were long and full of messages I couldn’t translate—yet. Social contact was minimal.
The rest was inner excavation. My soul’s self-imposed sequestration to metabolize what had been held in my lineage for generations. I felt it and yet I didn’t just feel the grief. I learned that grief held in presence transmutes into wisdom and beauty.
In the final days of that year in Cherokee Nation, my seasoned inner alarm woke me up early one morning. I sensed the storm was arriving but I wanted to get more sleep. So many nights were interrupted by violent storms and I was ready to be done with it. I dozed back off.
Ten minutes later, I jumped to my feet when the tornado siren blared and then the emergency alert on my phone screamed. Fear surged in my body, as usual. Yet in the 5 years I spent in North Texas and Oklahoma, I heard so many of those alarms and nothing ever came close.
I almost didn’t take it seriously that morning. My dog wasn’t budging from the bed. But something felt different in my body. So I grabbed her like a football and headed into the bathroom, our refuge with no windows.
As soon as we sheltered in place, the electricity went out. I sat down on the floor with my panting dog, to check the local radar on my phone. I was horrified to find out that the tornado was already on the ground close by, and headed straight for where I lived.
That realization should’ve put my nervous system into fight or flight overdrive. But instead, it was an instant feeling of calm. I’ve never felt such a depth of peace in my body in my entire life. My dog stopped panting when she felt it too.
I don’t know how to explain it but just knew in the depths of my being that I was either going to be okay and unharmed or it was the calm before death, in which case I was going to be okay too.
Even outside, there should’ve been a LOT of noise, wind and debris flying around. Yet it was unbelievably still and silent.
Just as I wondered if we were in another dimension, the lights came back on. I waited a little bit to be sure the danger had passed. Meanwhile I sent some messages to loved ones.
Then I went to look out the window as I was making coffee. Nothing was damaged. There was no sign a tornado had just come through. I heard some helicopters flying around but I didn’t leave the house the rest of that day because I was in the final push writing the book.
The next day, I drove one minute down the road, and just a few blocks away from where I lived, there was destruction all around. Roofs blown off, massive trees uprooted and laying on houses, sheds and fences blown away. I was one minute away from the tornado.
That experience taught me that there’s no real safety out there in the world. The only safety is internal.
Yet when we feel unsafe, we often try to control the external circumstances. Just like when we feel the wound of exile—we seek belonging outside ourselves.
What happened that morning was a moment of surrender.
Stillness doesn’t always arise from mastery, practice or decisions we make. I didn’t do any of that in the moment. Sometimes it arrives spontaneously when all effort is exhausted, when the nervous system simply lets go because it no longer wants to sustain the charge of chaos.
That wasn’t the freeze response because I was very present, very much feeling myself and my environment.
What I experienced wasn’t the absence of chaos—it was the relinquishment of control within chaos.
And in that surrender, the exile ended—not because the storm passed, but because for the first time, I didn’t leave myself during the storm.
Tornadoes, like other natural disasters, are completely out of our control. It was no accident that it happened ten days before my departure. That storm didn’t lead to destruction for me personally. It represented a completion of the process I was called there to Oklahoma to integrate.
The stillness I found within was the sacred silence that breaks the exile spell.
It was a stillpoint where nothing needed to be resolved, avoided, defended, or proven. In that moment, fight-or-flight dissolved. My nervous system experienced what it feels like to trust embodiment fully.
That’s the frequency of return.
I’m not saying I caused the storm to shift. But by embodying coherence, I no longer participated in the field of fragmentation. And I do believe there was some element of divine intervention.
Later reflecting on it all, I realized I don’t need to try to control the outer world—because when you return to the center of your being, storms, especially emotional ones, can finally lose their dominion over you.
Exile ends with stillness. The return is to the stillness within.
When I left Oklahoma, I exited a cycle. I entered there in a field of exile. And I left carrying a code of return.
In my return from exile, my body became a physical place of return through transmuting layers of grief into wisdom over that year. I learned how to feel more of my own lineage, my oversoul memories of far away places, as well as the memory in the field of the land. And that also allowed me to tune into the codes of resilience so I could embody these and share these with others.
I would never want to have to repeat that year, but it was so worth it. I learned how to reweave the lineage and the grid of the land through deep listening in my body.
I realized that our ancestors don’t need fixing—they need remembering. They don’t need us to suffer. They need us to remember.
Sometimes we are called to places on the planet without knowing why. We may not realize how our internal alchemy is upgrading the coherence in the energy grid around us.
It’s wild because in Texas, I felt like I was fighting to exist in a place where the land and weather is so hostile. But really, it was the resonance of what I was carrying internally and the field there. Then in Oklahoma, as a result of this inner transmutation, I experienced how the land yields to those who come in humility and stewardship, not possession, defense, or need.
The land doesn’t forget. But when a heart returns to listen, that vortex becomes a metabolizing bridge between the past, the present, and a new future.
You might be carrying grief for a homeland your body never stood upon—but your soul remembers the leaving of those who came before you.
Collective Exile and the Post-2020 Reactivation
Ancestral displacement in its many forms, imprints unprocessed exile in the field, subconscious and body. There’s a deeper part of us that remembers places we’ve never lived, experiences we’ve never had.
Until we learn how to access our ancestral memories through the quantum field and the DNA, its patterns and themes appear as a resonance in everything we do and experience, and we won’t understand why. Instead we will often assume it’s bad luck, a punishment, or because God has forgotten us.
As we’ve been exploring in season 2 of the podcast, not everyone in the family or culture can feel the unresolved trauma. It doesn't mean they’re not affected. Many are numb. And that’s a form of survival. This is why there’s a certain loneliness that comes with being the ones who go first. Those of us who can feel and remember what our ancestors tried to forget.
Then came 2020.
In Episode 5, I mentioned how that whole experience was like a morphic detonation in our species, triggering up to the surface more of our unresolved history—personal and ancestral, and collective.
The plandemic was a modern exile event.
Initially it may not have appeared that way, as we were told to stay home. And home seems to be the opposite of exile. But remember, trauma means it doesn’t feel safe to return “home” to the body because that’s the place of unmetabolized pain.
The lockdowns forced us to face our pain. Of course most of us didn’t, at least not initially.
Most of us automatically turned to defense mechanisms: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Some of us drank, others turned to food and other substances, porn, social media, TV, Netflix, or even workaholism.
Some became obsessed with compliance to feel safe. Some abused others who didn’t comply in order to feel safe and powerful.
Some took their lives, as doctors saw more suicides in the first month of lockdowns than they normally see in an entire year. Suicide is the ultimate illusory escape from exile, yet the exile merely loops back around on itself.
Many got in fights online or in real life.
Many of the elderly fled into states of dementia because it was too painful to be separated from their loved ones.
Some people convinced themselves everything was fine or even better than normal because they got to stay home and didn’t have to see people or work.
But all of these are defense mechanisms that help us adapt to the trauma.
When we don’t feel connected to others, we often exile ourselves from the real world into the virtual world. And everything was set up during the plandemic to encourage us to do so. It’s so much easier to use this form of virtual escape because we just reach for a device.
Society is ever more disembodied and checked out. We are being programmed to ghost ourselves when we curate an online persona while losing touch with the living inner truth of the real human being that we are.
This is the digital exile.
The new generations are coming into the world, for the most part, already exiled into the digital world. Which for them, actually feels more real than the real world. They are digital natives, after all.
When you see 2 teenagers texting each other while sitting on the sofa together, you start to see the impact of the exile patterns from our ancestry combined with the nature of the digital world—an exiled landscape where we have a virtual avatar that represents our curated identity.
While this trend is really sad, as it becomes more prevalent and obvious, it’s also an opportunity for us to become more aware of the exile patterns in our personal, ancestral, and collective experience.
Before we can see the wound, we recognize the defense mechanisms. These behaviors also tell a story about what we’re avoiding, escaping or trying to numb. We can acknowledge this without judgment or shaming ourselves. It was what once made us feel safe. Yet it’s not real safety.
In Episode 2, I spoke about my own defensive reaction in 2020 and how I was trying to escape the pain initially. I mentioned I eventually began an embodiment practice on my patio, which was the start of my inner work. You can get my FREE guided meditation to help you in this process. The Daily Embodiment Practice is linked in the show notes.
Anyone who says they were fine during the plandemic, that’s just denial. It’s a lot like when people say they had a great childhood, but really that’s just a way of burying the pain.
Denial isn’t a conscious decision. It’s automatic. We don’t realize we are doing it when it’s happening. We can only notice our own denial in retrospect.
During the plandemic we were separated from loved ones, whether by force, coercion or by choice due to our own fears.
We were exiled from truth amidst all the lies, deception and censorship.
We were exiled from physical touch, a biological imperative for mammals.
We were exiled from togetherness, despite the incantations like “staying apart keeps us together.”
2020 amplified the ancestral and collective wounds that had never healed, but not to punish us, though there was a lot of abuse and manipulation that went on. It was also an opportunity to notice the trauma we already carried.
That dark time in human history also reflected a more abstract collective exile. This is the species level exile—the sense of separation from God, the Creator, Spirit, Source, from the unified field or whatever you call it. It also leads to a separation from nature and All That Is.
This is the core trauma of separation itself—of being born into forgetting who we really are. The illusion of individuality as isolation. A deep homesickness that has no name yet all of us feel, even if we aren’t aware of where it’s coming from.
This is the deepest root exile. All other exiles echo from here.
The Sacred Function of Exile
Recognizing the sacred function of exile isn’t about romanticizing the pain or wearing it like a badge.
Exile awakens the longing for return—and this is the genesis of healing. The pain brings the pattern into awareness so we can return through embodiment.
This is why the theme of exile has been amplified in our world since 2020. It’s turning up the volume on the longing that many of us feel for returning.
Yet it’s still a subconscious feeling for most people. It’s difficult to name. So the increase in that longing is stirring the desire to heal and integrate, again even if this isn’t a conscious awareness that most people have yet. If you’re here resonating with this message, you’re probably one of the ones who go first.
Our inner healing has personal, ancestral and collective benefits. It’s the ultimate form of planetary service.
Exile is never the end of the story. The deeper the exile, the more sacred the return.
To become embodied is to return.
To remember is to return.
To integrate is to return.
To discover inner stillness is to return.
To honor the wound without collapsing into it—that’s the true threshold of return.
Returning isn’t about going back to where you came from. It’s returning to who you were before you were fragmented. That’s your essence.
When we welcome the fragmented self back into coherence, we don’t just heal ourselves. We offer healing codes to others around us, in our family, in our lineage, our community, and in the human collective. We restore the grid on this planet.
In returning, we release the echo of exile so more people can start tuning into those codes of wholeness and resilience.
The inner work over time is how we become a lighthouse for others still adrift in the storm. Initially, we become the lighthouse because of the storm. But eventually, we realize we don’t need the storm to be the lighthouse.
Re-Patterning the Return
Silence was the prison. Stillness is the return.
Silence, in the realm of exile, isn’t peace—it is suppression. It’s the absence of feeling. It’s the conditioned numbness of generations who had no permission to feel, to scream, to speak, to sob, or to collapse. They tried to keep it together to survive.
That silence isn’t restful. It’s full of emotional residue.
But stillness isn’t just the absence of sound or movement. It’s the presence of self. It’s coherence. The signal without the noise.
Stillness is where your breath is allowed to land in all the places it was once exiled.
It’s where the nervous system relaxes, not because the world got safer—but because you returned.
Stillness is homecoming. Because in stillness, we don’t have to prove our worth or belonging. Our presence becomes enough.
Stillness doesn’t erase the llanto—the lamentation—it holds it. It becomes the place where the grief of exile can be put to rest.
And before we return to the world… we must first return to ourselves.
So I invite you to gently ask: How did you leave yourself? And how might you return?
Many of us left every time hypervigilance became a substitute for self-trust. Every time we felt we had to perform and hide the pain to be believed, accepted, loved. Every time the atmosphere around us asked for less truth than we carried… we silenced our knowing in order to maintain connection. We left every time safety meant scanning for threat instead of softening into belonging.
We left through the body—tightened jaw, guarded spine, armored muscles, breath held mid-sentence.
We left through the mind—ruminating in logic to try to understand what happened, blaming ourselves for what our intuition already knew, escaping through fantasy to some idealized place and time.
We left through the heart—numbing feeling to survive a world that didn't know how to hold our depth.
Leaving yourself was never failure. It was a trauma adaptation. A brilliant, sacred intelligence that chose fragmentation as a way to continue. To survive. And it served its purpose.
But now… coherence is calling. Not because the threat in our world is gone. If anything, it’s intensified. And that in itself is the calling.
We are ready to return when the body is ready to relinquish control within the chaos.
This is a process of layered exploration and integration over time until a spontaneous moment when that return is marked by a sacred experience. Coherence is staying present with ourselves, even when we want to leave. And eventually, through that practice, we return.
Embodiment and integration is the act of ending exile.
The return is remembering who we always were before the rupture and fragmentation. Yet this isn’t a mental construct and there isn’t a checklist, a framework to follow. It’s a feeling, a knowing in the body, that you’re home.
The return is to re-inhabit the very parts we once abandoned to be accepted, to survive, to stay small enough to feel safe, or to make someone else feel safe.
We are going to explore more angles and depths of exile in upcoming episodes. Exiled grief. The morphic detonation of in 2020 and the crack in the inherited architecture of forgetting. The Plandemic of Disconnection: Exile in a digital age. The new children who are native to exile.
You Are the Place They Come Home To
There was a time when you left yourself.
It wasn’t your fault.
And it wasn't weakness.
It was an innate and intelligent drive to survive.
You left through vigilance, performance, silence.
You left through tightening what was meant to flow.
Through shrinking what was meant to shine.
Because the world around you… was not yet ready for the truth you carried.
And maybe you weren’t either.
So leaving became surviving.
Fragmenting became fidelity.
Exile became identity.
But exile is just a chapter—not the book.
And now, if you’re attuned to the frequency of this message, coherence is calling you toward return and liberation.
You’re remembering how to stay.
Not to stay in the pain—but to stay with you.
With truth. With breath. With presence.
Stillness isn’t absence. It’s presence—so full, so whole, it no longer needs to prove its worth through noise.
This is the return.
Not to a version of you that once was.
Not to somewhere out there.
But to the place in you that never left.
To your essence—the unfragmented witness.
Welcome home.
You can get access to my FREE Daily Embodiment guided meditation here to help you learn how to presence the sensations and feelings in your body, which is the first step to healing and integration. This is where my inner work began.
✨ To go deeper, visit: https://www.innerintegration.com
💎 Work 1:1 with Meredith: https://www.innerintegration.com/coaching
🪶 About Meredith https://www.innerintegration.com/meredith_miller
💌 Leave an audio or written message for Meredith here: https://castfeedback.com/674e0c0bdba7ce98fbcfe35a
✅ Subscribe to the Inner Integration podcast on Apple, Spotify or anywhere else you listen to podcasts.
I'm super excited to share my new book cover wrap with you!
I believe this book is going to help a lot of people understand what happened during that dark time in human history, where we are now as a result of that, and where we can go from here if we don't want to follow the path of captivity laid out for us by the social engineers.
It's my mission to bridge the gap between trauma and purpose, so this book doesn't just stop at the victimhood of what happened to us. I take the reader on a journey beyond the powerlessness of victimhood, and the defensiveness of survivorship, into the realm of integration, evolving, and Becoming Whole.
I believe that our personal choices become the legacy we pass on to future generations, whether we have kids and grandkids or not.
Our inner work is the way to change the world.
If you need relief because you’re overwhelmed with symptoms, which are draining your energy and robbing your quality of life, you can get your VIBE here.*
Everything is frequency, and frequency is the future of medicine.
It’s non-invasive, empowering and supports your medical sovereignty. You can use it on horses, cats and dogs too. It ships internationally from USA.
This technology has a 98% success rate with the symptoms of PTSD. It can help you self-regulate, do maintenance and alleviate your symptoms (triage) so you have more energy to do inner work (evolution) and create the life you love.
There are 59 different protocols to select from, for physical, mental and emotional wellbeing, enhancing cognitive function and spiritual growth.
I interviewed the rocket scientist who developed this affordable and effective pocket device. You can listen to the interview here and I also share my experience with it. I recently used it on my dog after she had a major digestive issue from drinking water at the dog fountain. She was almost entirely better the morning after using the 36-minute general inflammation protocol with the VIBE. And the day after she was back to normal.
Information on this page is for educational purposes only and should not be interpreted as medical advice or for preventing, diagnosing, curing or treating any disease. Consult a qualified professional for any questions specific to your health and wellbeing.
*This is an affiliate link and I may earn a commission from your purchase.
Share this post