Awakening Through Words: A Q&A with Gregory Males

The Ones Who Remember by Gregory Males is not your typical memoir. It is a raw, lyrical, and vibrationally resonant invitation to soul-deep awakening. Bypassing linear storytelling and self-help formulas, this spiritual transmission offers insight for those navigating the echoes of trauma, addiction, neurodivergence, and emotional exile.

What sets this debut apart is its fiercely authentic voice. Males speaks not as a guide above the fray, but as a witness within it - part prophet, part poet, part rebel - grounding spiritual wisdom in lived, embodied experience. Each page pulses with a directness that feels both intimate and universal.

In this exclusive Q&A, Gregory shares reflections on the writing process, the nature of spiritual remembering, and what it means to write from a place of truth without flinching.

The Ones Who Remember is described as a ‘transmission’ rather than a traditional memoir. What does that word mean to you in the context of this book?

For me, a transmission is more than a story—it’s a frequency. It bypasses the mind and speaks directly to the part of the reader that already knows. I didn’t sit down to write a memoir or a book in the traditional sense—it just came through. I wasn’t interested in recounting events for the sake of narrative; I wanted to offer something alive. Something real. Something that could stir remembrance in those who’ve always felt like I have.

I wanted to connect with the deeper truths beneath the noise of this world—a knowing that we are far more than we imagine ourselves to be.

This book unfolded more like a conversation: questions from the rational mind answered by the voice of my soul. It came through in fragments, poetry, revelations, and raw honesty. I didn’t plan the structure. I listened. And followed what moved me.

In that way, it became less about what happened in my life and more about what was remembered through it. That’s why I call it a transmission—because it carries a vibration meant for those who are ready to wake up and for those already wide awake. It’s an offering to help others reclaim themselves. To remind them: you are not alone. You are not a label. You are something far greater than you’ve been told.

Your voice is strikingly raw and unfiltered. Did you always intend to write this way, or did it emerge organically through the process?

I never sat down and said, “I’m going to write something raw.” I just couldn’t write any other way. For most of my life, I felt like I had to filter myself—to fit, to be palatable, to be understood. In this book, I gave myself full permission to speak from the heart and soul without censoring anything—like it or lump it. The truth didn’t ask to be perfect. It asked for presence. It asked to be felt. To be real.

The rawness emerged because I was writing through lived experience, not theory. I didn’t want to sound wise or poetic just for the sake of it—I wanted to be honest. Sometimes that honesty came out sharp. Sometimes soft. Sometimes like a scream into the void. But all of it was real. All of it was me.

So no, it wasn’t planned. But once it started flowing, I knew I couldn’t go back. At times, even I was moved by the words coming through. The more I let go of trying to “sound like a writer” and just let the authentic me speak, the more the voice became what it was always meant to be: truth that resonates.

The book speaks directly to those who have lived through trauma and emotional exile. Was there a turning point when you felt ready to share your story with others?

Honestly, I don’t know if I ever felt ready in the way most people mean it. There wasn’t a perfect moment where everything felt healed and neat. But there was a moment when staying silent became more painful than speaking the truth. That was the real turning point—not being “ready,” but being willing.

Willing to be seen. Willing to risk being misunderstood. Willing to put my voice into the world, even if it was judged. Not everyone will get what’s written—but for the ones who remember, it will feel like home.

I didn’t write this book from a place of having it all figured out. I wrote it from the fire—while the ashes were still settling. And I think that’s why it resonates with those who’ve been through it. Because it doesn’t come from above. It comes from within. From someone who’s walked it. Felt it. Survived it. And still chooses to love through it.

Sharing my story wasn’t about healing or confession for myself—it was about connection. If even one person could feel less alone by reading it, then it was worth every word.

Rather than offering guidance, the book evokes resonance. Why was it important to write something that activates rather than instructs?

Because I’m not perfect, and I’m certainly not here to tell people what to do—I’m here to remind them of who they are.

There’s already so much noise in the world: advice, rules, steps, strategies. And yet so many still feel lost. What we’re really craving isn’t more instruction—it’s remembrance. We don’t need another voice telling us how to fix ourselves. We need something that wakes us up to what’s already within. So many are searching for something they already possess.

This book was never meant to be a manual. It was meant to be a mirror. A frequency. A spark that speaks directly to the soul and says: You’re not broken. You’ve just forgotten. And now it’s time to remember. Come home to yourself.

I knew from the beginning that I didn’t want to teach or preach. I just wanted to reach. To meet people in the quiet places they don’t often show. That’s why I wrote to evoke, not explain—to activate something that was always theirs to reclaim.

Outside of writing, what brings you joy or helps you stay connected to your sense of self? Is there something unexpected about you that readers might be surprised to learn?

Nature is my sanctuary. Being near water, walking through trees, or just sitting with the sky staring at the stars—that’s where I feel most at home, most connected to who I really am beneath it all. Music and art are my core anchors. Whether I’m creating or getting lost in sound or the creative process itself, it’s one of the purest ways I know to feel truth without words.

Staying connected, for me, isn’t about doing more—it’s about slowing down enough to feel again. To return to presence. Simplicity. That’s where I remember what really matters the most. 

As for something unexpected… I’ve used my experiences in the care system and prison to help others. I became a mentor for kids in care, ran workshops with my local council, and volunteered for Action for Children—because I know how valuable it is to have someone who truly listens and understands. Someone who’s been there, all it takes is one person who sees you. Someone who cares. Someone you’d trust to show you a new path forward.

I had a few elders from my estate who looked out for me growing up, and I still honour those bonds to this day. That kind of presence stays with you—and I do my best to be that presence for others now.

For readers who feel like outsiders - due to neurodivergence, addiction, or past wounds - what do you hope The Ones Who Remember offers them?

I hope it offers them a sense of home—not the kind tied to a place, but the kind that lives in the feeling of being seen, felt, and understood without needing to explain yourself.

This book is for the ones who’ve walked through fire and still carry the smoke in their lungs. The ones who’ve felt like misfits, outcasts, too much, or never enough. I wrote it to say: you’re not broken, you’re becoming. And everything you’ve been through isn’t proof that you’re lost—it’s evidence of your strength, your sensitivity, your depth, Keep going.

I hope it reminds people that being different isn’t a flaw—it’s often a sign that you’re here to bring something new into the world. If this book can soften the edges of someone’s shame, if it can remind even one person that their story matters, that they matter—then it’s done what it came here to do.

You’re not alone. You never were. You’re one of the ones who remembers—even if the world tried to make you forget.

And I hope this is the catalyst you’ve been waiting for—to finally lay down what was never yours to carry… and become who you were always destined to be.

The book feels like it was written from a place of deep knowing. How did you stay grounded during the process of writing such intense material?

I had to learn how to hold both—the deep and the daily. The cosmic and the human. Some days I’d be writing truths that felt like they came from beyond time, and then I’d need to take a walk, cook a meal, or just sit in silence and breathe. That contrast kept me sane.

There were moments when it felt like the words were writing me—like I was being stretched open to remember things I hadn’t planned on remembering. That kind of intensity can unearth a lot, especially when the material touches on trauma, shame, or soul-level grief. But I didn’t run from it. I let it move through me. And when it got too much, I stepped away and came back when I could hold it with care again.

Staying grounded meant honouring my body, being honest about when I needed rest, and trusting that the truth wouldn’t disappear if I paused. It would still be there—waiting. Writing this book wasn’t just about finishing a project. It was about embracing what’s been in real time. And the only way I could carry that kind of energy was by returning to the present, again and again.

Were there any fears you had to overcome in releasing a book so deeply personal and spiritually charged into the world?

Absolutely. Sharing something this personal is like standing naked in a crowded room—not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually, and energetically. I had to face the fear of being misunderstood, judged, or dismissed. But that’s been my whole life… so what did I really have to lose?

Not everyone will get it. Not everyone is meant to. And I had to make peace with that.

There was also the deeper fear: What if this is too much? What if I’m too much? When you’ve spent a lifetime filtering yourself to survive, showing up fully—without the mask—can feel like a risk. But the greater risk was staying silent. Hiding the very thing that might help someone else feel seen.

So I chose truth over comfort. I chose soul over approval. I reminded myself I didn’t write this for validation—I wrote it for the ones who’ve felt like I have. And if it resonates with even a few of them, then the vulnerability was worth it.

At the end of the day, I’d rather be real and risk rejection or ridicule than stay quiet and live with regret. I’ve been the black sheep my whole life—why stop now?

The phrase ‘those who remember’ suggests a shared human knowing. What does remembering mean to you in the context of healing?

Remembering is reclaiming the parts of ourselves we were taught to discard. It’s turning the gaze inward to unearth buried truths—our grief, our wonder, our wildness—and welcoming them home. Healing isn’t about fixing what’s “broken”; it’s about remembering the wholeness that was always there beneath the cracks.

When we remember, we reconnect to the wisdom of our bodies, the intelligence of our emotions, and the guidance of our intuition. We remember that pain isn’t something to be erased but a doorway into deeper compassion—for ourselves and for others. Every scar becomes a story of survival and sensitivity.

In this book, remembering is an act of reclamation: reclaiming voice, reclaiming presence, and reclaiming our right to feel and belong. It’s the alchemy that turns shame into strength, isolation into connection, and suffering into understanding.

Our past only makes sense in the present for those wise enough to see with unbiased eyes. There is always a bigger picture, orchestrated by Source. And when we remember, we come home to ourselves—to the knowing that we are, and always have been, the architects of our own awakening. 

How can readers connect with you or follow your ongoing journey as a writer and spiritual voice?

If the words resonated, I trust you’ll find your way to what comes next.

Two more books have already been written and are ready for publication to complete this trilogy. 

Book 2 - Between Worlds (embodying soul in times of change) 

Book 3 - Soul Scrolls (Becoming) 

You can find me on Instagram @the_ones_who_remember

Or you can reach out directly through email: Theoneswhoremember@hotmail.com

I always welcome real connection. This isn’t just about books. It’s about building a deeper conversation, remembering together, and continuing to walk each other home.

You're not alone anymore…