From Fragile Spine to Freedom: Katie's Recovery Story

Our blog today comes from Katie Rothwell, who recovered from debilitating chronic back pain using mindbody approaches, reclaiming her life and going on to support others with their healing.

For most of my life, my identity revolved around being fit, strong and active. Growing up, I was sporty and adventurous. I played hockey, swam competitively, played tennis, joined the cadets, and loved every opportunity for challenge and adventure.

During university, I took up water polo, swam the English Channel as part of a relay team, and climbed Mount Kenya.

After graduating, I joined the Royal Air Force as a Physical Education Officer and became captain of the RAF Ladies Water Polo Team. Fitness wasn’t just something I did — it was who I was.

So when back pain suddenly entered my life, it threatened my identity.

The Beginning of My Back Pain

Not long after becoming a mother, I woke one morning with excruciating back pain for no obvious reason. I was trying to take my toddler to nursery before work, but I could barely move. I couldn’t even lift my child into the car.

At the time, my husband was serving in Iraq, so I was solo parenting while also serving in the RAF myself.

Because I was in the military, I was able to access medical support quickly. I had an MRI scan and was sent on a month-long spinal rehabilitation course. I was prescribed diazepam and naproxen, but while they dulled me emotionally and exhausted me, they did very little for the pain itself.

Then came the diagnosis.

My MRI showed degenerative discs, and I was told I had “Degenerative Disc Disease.”

The consultant warned me my spine was fragile and advised me to avoid impact activities:

“No hiking. No assault courses. No tennis.”

I was only 30 years old.

I spiralled into despair. My career, identity and mental wellbeing were all tied to being active and capable. I genuinely believed my body was damaged and vulnerable.

I also remember one physiotherapist telling me the pain was “all in my head.” At the time, that comment made me furious. Now I understand that all pain is processed by the brain — but all pain is absolutely real. The way that message was delivered to me felt dismissive and invalidating, and it only increased my fear and anger.

Searching for Answers

Like many people living with persistent pain, I tried almost everything.

Massage. Dry needling. Osteopathy. Craniosacral therapy. Gentle Pilates. Various rehabilitation approaches.

Some things helped temporarily, but nothing truly resolved the cycle I was trapped in.

After leaving the RAF, I trained in massage and craniosacral therapy because I wanted to help others. Yet despite all my learning, I still experienced recurring pain - sometimes in my back, sometimes in my neck and shoulders.

The turning point came when an osteopath recommended a TED Talk by Australian pain scientist and physiotherapist, Lorimer Moseley.

For the first time, someone explained pain in a way that made sense.

I learned that severe pain does not necessarily mean severe tissue damage, and that many “abnormalities” seen on MRI scans — such as disc degeneration and bulges — are extremely common, even in people without pain.

In fact, many healthy 30-year-olds would show similar findings to mine on a scan. That information was incredibly reassuring. It reduced a huge amount of fear, and my symptoms began to ease.

But I still wasn’t fully better.

Discovering the Stress Connection

By then, our family had moved to Saudi Arabia for my husband’s work, and we had another child. Living there brought significant stress and emotional strain.

Around that time, my neck pain became severe, and another MRI showed muscle spasm.

The more I learned about pain science, the more I began to notice links between stressful periods in my life and flare-ups in my symptoms. Solo parenting while my husband was at war had been enormously stressful. Moving countries and adapting to life in Saudi Arabia was stressful too and that’s only part of the stress I experienced there.

I could see the connection logically.

But despite understanding more, I still had pain.

The Missing Piece: Emotions

The biggest breakthrough came after we moved back to Shropshire and life became more stable.

I attended further professional training and listened to a webinar by Georgie Oldfield, founder of SIRPA, who spoke about the role of stress and emotions in chronic pain.

Part of me already knew this. But I hadn’t fully connected it to myself.

Then, during a craniosacral therapy training course, we practised something called Somatic Emotional Release. During the session, my whole body began shaking uncontrollably, almost like shivering.

What surfaced shocked me.

I realised I had been holding onto enormous amounts of anger, resentment and grief. Some of it related to our experience in Saudi Arabia, but some of it was directed — unfairly — towards my lovely husband.

Deep down, I was jealous.

While he was away serving his country, receiving medals and progressing in his military career, I felt I was expected to quietly put my own career on hold to raise children and cope alone.

I hadn’t consciously recognised any of these emotions. I had suppressed them completely.

Looking back, I can also see personality traits in myself that are often linked with chronic pain: perfectionism, pressure, people-pleasing, and a deep fear of appearing weak. Military culture had reinforced the idea that I should simply “cope,” even when I was struggling emotionally.

That experience changed everything.

After that emotional release, my back pain never returned in the same chronic, consuming way it once had.

Getting My Life Back

Recovery didn’t mean becoming superhuman or never feeling pain again.

I still experience aches and symptoms sometimes — because I’m human.

The difference now is that I no longer fear them.

I understand my body. I recognise stress patterns. I notice when I’m overdoing things emotionally or physically, and I know how to respond before symptoms spiral.

Most importantly, I have my life back.

Since recovering, I’ve run assault courses with cadets, hiked mountains with my children, regained my sense of adventure, and rediscovered trust in my body.

In June 2026, I’m even taking part in another open water swim challenge.

If someone had told the terrified 30-year-old version of me — the woman who believed she had a fragile spine and a permanently broken body — that this would be possible again, I would never have believed them.

But recovery is possible.

And there is hope.

Katie leading an active life with her beloved pups post recovery