From Pain to Peace: My Journey Through Chronic Pain, Menopause and Movement
- bronwyntutty
- Dec 17
- 4 min read
A personal story of chronic pain, menopause and healing. How my body forced me to slow down, listen, move differently, and find peace on the other side.
Today I took myself out of my normal world. Seaside. Woodland walk. A small, cosy café.
I did something deliberate: I changed my environment to give myself permission to write. The urge to write has never left me - life just has a habit of getting loud and busy. If I don’t carve out space like this, the words stay trapped inside me.
Today also marks six days without anti-inflammatory painkillers. That feels huge.
When pain takes over everything
At the end of August 2025 (two days after the kids went back to school, two days into a brief pause from full-time single parenting) I drove myself to hospital because the pain became unbearable.
I was taking my son to school when I started crying mid-drive. “I’m in so much pain. I think I need to go to hospital.”
Without hesitation he said, “Mum, you have to go. I’m making you go.”
I dropped him off and cried the whole way home. I was scared. I felt alone. I feared for my life, my future, my son’s future. Pain has a way of hijacking the mind; it took me places I didn’t choose.
I sat in my driveway and let it be ugly. I stopped trying to hold it together. I stopped trying to solve logistics (Will they keep me in? Who will collect my son? What if…) and just let myself fall apart.
And then something extraordinary happened.
Two friends appeared, almost magically. One helped me pack for hospital and offered support with my son. Another rearranged beds, hoovered the house, and quietly made my space safer and softer. Looking back, I believe my nervous system knew there was support available. I didn’t need to be brave. I could surrender.
The NHS did what it could: blood tests, strong anti-inflammatories, and a referral to rheumatology (still waiting).
The body keeps the score
In hindsight, my body wasn’t just reacting to summer. It was expressing everything it had been holding for over a year.
Some deeply gnarly things had been happening in my personal life. I will never again underestimate the body’s capacity to store emotional pain, and then demand to be heard.
I’d stopped teaching Nia in May 2025 after eight years. Something in me needed simplicity. Soon after, the pain escalated. Movement, once my anchor, became frightening.
I tried bootcamp. Gym classes. Strength training for my peri-menopausal body. I pushed through, believing “no pain, no gain” applied here too.
It didn’t.
By June, I could barely get down onto the floor. Getting off the toilet was excruciating. Tying my shoes felt brutal. I felt ashamed needing help with basic tasks. Ashamed for “wasting NHS time.” Ashamed for not being able to cope.
When slowing down isn’t a choice
The pain didn’t ease over summer. I chose natural therapies alongside medical tests. Acupuncture. Herbal medicine. Massage. Reflexology. Bloods. More bloods. Lead tests. More appointments than I can count.
I kept telling myself: See the summer through. Trust the process.
But when school returned, my body collapsed.
Day two of term, I fell out of bed and crawled across the floor. That’s all I could manage. It was terrifying.
I returned to hospital and left with Naproxen and Omeprazole - medication that became my lifeline. I hated needing it. I hated how my life now revolved around pain management.
And yet, it helped me survive.
A different way in
After a week in Spain (yes, I packed pharmaceuticals like a pro), I knew something had to change.
Then a Facebook advert found me. And honestly? It landed perfectly.
Movement. Mobility. Pain without fear.
I signed up for a 30-day challenge. Then, after one powerful coaching call, I committed to a three-month programme that cost more than I’d ever imagined spending on myself at this moment in time.
And I don’t regret it for a second.
At the same time, I returned to work I’d encountered earlier: Nicole Sachs’ Mind Your Body and her practice of JournalSpeak - a way of releasing stored emotional pain through uncensored writing. I do it most days now. It’s uncomfortable. Liberating. Essential.
What pain has taught me
Am I still in pain? Yes.
Is my relationship with pain different? Completely.
I no longer ask, “How do I make this stop?”I ask, “What is this pain trying to tell me?”
I move my body every day now: not because I should, but because it’s who I am. I’m learning how to squat, walk, bend, lift properly. I’m rewriting decades of poor movement patterns with curiosity instead of judgement.
“This is how it feels today.” “I wonder how the next one will feel.”
That shift alone has changed everything.
I’ve also realised something unexpected: this pain has made me a better coach. More embodied. More present. More attuned to sensation, emotion, and truth.
From pain to peace
As I finish this, written slowly over two weeks, I’m officially post-menopausal. I can squat with both heels down. I swim twice a week. I follow an anti-inflammatory diet. I still take pain relief. I still wait for rheumatology.
And I am at peace with all of it.
This pain forced me to listen. To slow down. To live differently. It stripped things back until only what mattered remained.
That’s how pain led me to peace.
If you’re living with pain and searching for answers, I see you. I’m happy to share what’s helped me; and I welcome any conversation this has stirred in you.
With love,
Bron x
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