KIM ZEIGLER'S EXTENDED STORY
Like many, my life story has been shaped by both highs and lows. It’s not only about what I’ve endured, but also about what I’ve created and nurtured along the way.
This is my story of navigating life as a highly sensitive person (or HSP) — someone who experiences the world through heightened sensory awareness and feels deeply. Living with this trait has been both a challenge and a sacred gift, especially in such a polarizing, yet transformative, time in Earth’s history.
Throughout my journey, certain themes have guided the course of my life and shaped my transformation — from rising above health challenges and strengthening my sense of self-worth to reclaiming my own spiritual path and soul sovereignty. My story is still unfolding, and I’m learning how to love the spaces where old wounds once lived — creating room to receive new opportunities and welcome the infinite possibilities that are yet to come.
I’m sharing this story not only for my own healing, but also for other sensitive souls who live with heightened awareness and tender hearts. You deserve to feel seen, understood, and valued for the meaningful way you experience the world. I also offer this story to those who wish to better understand, appreciate, and support the sensitive souls in their lives.
The experiences I share here are more than a reflection of my past — they’re a transmission of energy, offered with love, to awaken something within you. My hope is that in reading my story, insights from your own will gently rise to the surface — bringing support, compassion, and empowerment.
EARLY PROGRAMMING
As a highly sensitive person, I’ve always experienced the world with a heightened sensory awareness. From an early age, I absorbed energy and emotions like a sponge — feeling things deeply before I had the words to explain them. At that time, I didn’t have the awareness to differentiate what energy was mine and what I had taken on from others. This made being out in public, social events, or witnessing emotionally intense situations especially draining and overwhelming.
Being a sensitive child also presented challenges for me within my family. I was deeply affected by the emotions and energies within the household. As the youngest of three siblings — and the only girl — I took everything to heart, whether it was directed at me or not. My body still processed it all — sensing the tone behind someone’s words, absorbing the meaning beneath the surface, and feeling whether something was perceived as “good” or “bad”.
All of this hyper-attunement wasn’t just a trait — it was a survival tool that helped me navigate the emotional environment of our home, which often felt delicate, strained, and complex. In many ways, the tone of our household reflected my mother’s emotional state and how she was coping with the lingering pain of her unhealed childhood wounds.
A LIFE CHANGING EVENT AT 8 YEARS OLD
As the youngest sibling of three and the only girl, I spent much of my childhood quietly observing others and learning to model their behaviors. It was how I survived as a deeply sensitive child who often felt overwhelmed by the world around me. I found comfort in retreating into imaginative play, where I discovered a sense of safety in solitude and freedom through creative independence.
Looking back, I can see how these early coping strategies were more than just signs of emotional survival — they were glimpses of my soul’s gifts: tuning into subtle energies and exploring the creative realms. I didn’t yet have the awareness, support, or tools to feel empowered in these gifts, but they were always present.
When I was eight years old, my life changed significantly. First, my grandmother — the most nurturing of my grandparents — passed away from bone marrow cancer. Her death was the first loss I had ever known. As a highly sensitive child, the emotional and energetic intensity was more than my nervous system could process. I wasn’t just grieving my own loss — I was also absorbing the sorrow of everyone touched by her life.
Then, an unexpected, life-threatening health crisis occurred — one I now believe was triggered by the emotional and energetic overload of her passing. One night, my parents found me in bed unresponsive and turning blue. Multiple complications were unfolding at once. An ambulance was called to our home, and I was later airlifted to the nearest children’s hospital. The systems and functions of my body were shutting down, and it sent me into a coma.
My case was difficult for doctors to diagnose and treat. There was a lot of trial and error, and tremendous uncertainty about which treatment options might work. A range of heavy medications were administered through my small body in a desperate effort to stabilize me. The prognosis was grim. My parents were told to prepare for the likelihood of paralysis, permanent brain damage, or death.
During my hospitalization, I remember having terrifying nightmares and intense spiritual encounters with dark energies. It was a grueling fight for life — one that felt far beyond what my eight-year old self could comprehend or endure.
In addition to those frightening encounters, my senses were in a state of neurological overload. At times, I remember taking on the textures of whatever I touched — like a chameleon. The hardness of a wooden rocking chair, the softness of a blanket — every surface I encountered became a full-body sensory experience. It was overstimulating, disorienting, and completely beyond my control.
Amid all of the chaos, I remember an ethereal moment with my grandmother. Her energy felt comforting, familiar, and full of light. Her loving presence nurtured me with a sense of safety and protection — the healing medicine I needed most.
After weeks of hospitalization and being treated for multiple conditions, I weighed only 35 pounds. When I was approved to return home, I was placed on medication to treat epilepsy and closely monitored. After an unfortunate relapse and a second hospitalization, I eventually made a full recovery.
That time was difficult for everyone in my family. My parents were consumed by the crisis — traveling back and forth between home, work, and the ICU. My brothers were left in the care of extended family, their routines disrupted, their emotions largely unspoken. I later learned how neglected and confused they had felt — and I carried a deep guilt for being the source of that disruption.
Even in the midst of that difficult season, there was an immense outpouring of love and support. Extended family and friends showed up with meals, prayers, and their presence. Classmates made get-well cards, poems, and handmade crafts. I now recognize and appreciate just how much collective care surrounded our family during that time of uncertainty.
RECOVERY
Returning home from the hospital marked the beginning of a new reality. I didn’t fully understand what had happened or why — and neither did anyone else. But something deep within me had shifted. I had survived a close encounter with death, and it felt like I’d been given a second chance at life for a reason greater than myself.
