The Stories That Shape How We Move

Eleanor had a double knee replacement sixteen years ago. After her operation, kneeling felt painful and uncomfortable, so she stopped.

Not because she couldn’t, but because the pain became a warning, then a habit, then a rule.
A quiet barrier that shaped how she moved through the world, or didn’t.

Eleanor joined our Nature Moves group last year. Within a month, she knelt down for the first time in over a decade.

“I can’t believe what it’s done for me,” she said.
“I can now kneel on my new knees, something I haven’t done for at least 16 years.”

She didn’t need a complicated rehab programme, she needed space to move, play and reimagine what her knees, and her body, might still be capable of. And to learn that pain doesn’t have to mean the end of the road.

We’ve heard stories like Eleanor’s again and again.

Lynne, one of our WildStrong coaches, watched her mum, Hazel, grow more anxious and less mobile after her own knee op.

“She was scared to move,” Lynne said.
“She lost confidence and she started losing strength too.”

These aren’t rare stories. They’re part of a wider pattern.

Well-meaning advice “Don’t overdo it,” “Avoid impact,” “Be careful”  often comes from a place of caution but it can plant fear where support is needed. And that fear doesn’t just reduce risk, it reduces life.

Andrew, wrote recently about his own back injury, and the stark contrast between disempowering treatment and informed care.

“I left feeling less equipped to manage my pain than before,” he wrote.
“My observations were dismissed. I felt less like a person, and more like a problem.”

That feeling, of being less capable after seeking help, is far too common. Especially for older adults or anyone post-surgery.

Because pain is frightening, it tells us to stop. But often, what we need to do is pause, not retreat. 

Nil Teisner often talks about how pain must be flirted with which I think is a great way to look at it. Not bulldozed through, but visited, gently, curiously, repeatedly, until that movement becomes less frightening, less painful, more familiar.

Pain is a message, a signal to slow down and to pay attention but it’s not a red card. Every time we approach a movement with curiosity, we’re helping to rewire the body–brain conversation, teaching our nervous system that this position, this load, this way of moving is safe again (it’s called fear avoidance extinction training if you’d like more on this).

On a recent episode of the Playful Nature podcast Todd Hargove talks about remapping the territory - that if you've been in pain for a while your brain starts to form an image of that area as a block that can’t move without hurting. ​​And to help rebuild a more accurate map you need to reintroduce sensation without triggering pain. 

The body isn’t broken, replacements are not the end and cautious advice should never mean a cancelled future.

We talk a lot about affordances, the idea that your environment offers you invitations to act, a tree to climb, a log to carry, a floor to kneel on. But affordances aren’t just physical, they’re psychological, emotional and cultural.

If you're told your knees are fragile, you stop using them. If you're told to be careful, you stop exploring. And little by little, the number of things you feel allowed to do shrinks. The world narrows.

But stories can change with the right kind of space, one that doesn’t rush or instruct, but invites and people surprise themselves.

They lift heavier than they thought they could, they get up and down from the ground again, they fall, and get back up and perhaps they kneel.

But mostly they start to trust their bodies again.

Because movement isn’t just about strength or flexibility, it’s about rewriting the quiet stories we carry, about what we can and can’t do, what we’re “too old” for, what’s “safe.”

At Nature Moves, we create the conditions for new stories to emerge, ones rooted in play, connection, and capability, not caution and decline. 

Eleanor said it best:

“If I miss a class, something’s missing from my week.”

That something is joy, strength, and the belief that movement still has more to offer you, even 16 years later.

We asked Hazel to say a few words and here’s what she sent us, I can’t think of a better way to close this article.

“..at 70 years old, after a knee replacement I knew I was lacking in strength. My balance wasn't great  and my confidence was getting lower. I was keeping fit by swimming 3 times a week and walking the dog. My daughter gradually persuaded me to give WildStrong a go. Getting outside and picking up objects, balancing on things and generally being active in a new way at my stage in life was a bit scary, but a bit exciting too! I can't believe the difference in my strength and confidence. I can now do tasks in the garden and house that I would have left for my husband to do! And my confidence is so much better for it.  I also have a group of new friends. I didn't think living with a new lease of movement and life would be quite so possible (or fun) at this stage of life, and after a knee replacement!”