Movement Heals Your Body, Mind, and Broken Hearts
Movement has always been the beat of my drum. For as long as I can remember, I have felt most alive when I move. Dance carried me to some of the biggest stages in the world, and when the time came to hang up my professional dancing shoes, Pilates became my new rhythm. It was over 20 years ago that I first found Pilates, and I still can’t get enough of it.
I was fortunate to train with some of the earliest STOTT trainers to arrive in Australia. Under the guidance of pioneers like Lisa Kaye and Michelle Scott, I completed my full certification on all apparatus. Richard Chew and Rachel Crompton took a chance on a bright-eyed dancer looking for her next chapter, and I jumped in with both feet. Since then, I have taught in studios all over the world, presented at PMA in the USA, FIBO in Germany, IDEA in Los Angeles, owned studios, sold studios, and even launched Xtend Barre in Australia and globally. Movement became less about me as a dancer and more about how Pilates could transform other people’s lives. It gave me purpose.
“And then, one day, I couldn’t move.”
It was a warm and steamy afternoon in February 2024. My eldest son was watching as I schooled my young showjumping mare, yes I was an equestrian rider and come from a long line of them in my family. The last thing I remember is riding towards a jump. My mare clipped the rail, it got caught, and she buckled to her knees. My chin hit the ground first, snapping my head back into extreme hyperextension. I didn’t know it then, but my neck had fractured, and my spinal cord was severely bruised. I lay face down in the dirt, paralysed.
Through my screams, my son rolled me onto my back. I kept begging him to sit me up, but thankfully, he didn’t. The life-flight helicopter arrived quickly and took me to Princess Alexandra Hospital in Queensland, Australia. I remember none of it. My first memory is waking up in the ICU, unable to move. It was nothing short of traumatic.
The diagnosis: a stable neck fracture, a spinal cord kink at a narrowing in my spinal column, and severe bruising. Central Cord Syndrome—partial paralysis. Time would be my only healer. My legs came back first. Two weeks passed before I could lift my arms. Regaining mobility, strength, and dexterity became my entire world. The simplest things—pegging out washing, holding a fork, brushing my hair—were monumental tasks. My family bore witness to those first brutal eight weeks; only they truly know how dark it was.
I was sent home with a bag full of opioid medication to dull the excruciating nerve pain. The pain was so intense I couldn’t bear the touch of a fly on my skin. I had to wear a neck brace 24/7, even in the shower. My mum would help me bathe, patting my skin dry as gently as she could, but even the softest towel felt like razors against my body.
I was in a constant state of grief. I sobbed for most of the day, for weeks. I wasn’t used to being still. I wasn’t used to not moving. The medication left me in a haze, disconnected from myself. So, as much as I could bear, I dropped the meds and designed my own rehab.
I have never been more grateful for the gift of movement.
“Pilates—something I had spent decades teaching others—became my salvation.”
I couldn’t roll in bed without assistance. I couldn’t sit up without using my hands to support the weight of my head. But I could stand. I could move my legs. So, I started with plies—hundreds of them. The rhythmic bending and extending of my knees became my therapy. My arms were another story. I had no lift, no strength. But I could swing them. I called them my little “flaps in the breeze,” walking around my house with my arms gently swaying by my sides.
I did balance work, held gondola poles for support, and incorporated every foundational Pilates principle I had ever learned. I wrapped a TheraBand around my skull to carry the weight of my head so I could attempt supine flexion.
“Every tiny movement was an experiment, a battle, a victory.”
Being stuck at home drove me crazy. My family was endlessly supportive, but I was drowning in guilt. How could I be so consumed by my grief when I had been lucky enough to walk away from that accident? When I could have been in a wheelchair?
I needed to return to the studio. I needed the energy of movement around me. I had recently sold my studio, Vibrant Body, and had just started teaching at Elevation Studios in Highfields in Queensland. The owners graciously allowed me to teach in my neck brace, with another instructor on standby. It was a tonic for my soul. People thought I was mad for going back to work, but it was exactly what I needed. It gave me purpose again.
A year has passed, and I am not the same person. An experience like this changes you. Grateful? Yes. Angry? Sometimes. Perspective-shifted? Absolutely.
Movement is therapy. I believe this more than ever. If I hadn’t spent a lifetime moving, my recovery would not have been as positive. Pilates has a program for every body, every ailment.
These days, nothing much phases me. Stress can trigger my nerve pain, and honestly, when you’ve almost had movement taken from you, nothing else really matters. I’ve set up a small Pilates space at home for private clients and for myself. Now, I embody what the restorative side of Pilates truly means. It’s easy to get caught up in the flashy, commercialised side of the industry, but “at its core, Pilates is about reconnecting with your body. It’s about healing.”
Horses are part of my soul. I come from a long line of equestrians—my grandfather, my father, my brother, and me. No matter where I’ve traveled, I’ve always sought out horses. Their presence is healing. Running my hand over a horse’s face, feeling their breath against me—it grounds me. It’s more meditative than any sound bath or guided relaxation.
I have no memory of my accident, only fleeting flashes—a sensation of rain on my face as I was lifted into the helicopter, the ceiling lights of the hospital hallway. But I remember waking up in the ICU, unable to move. I remember my daughter crying, “I just want my mummy back.” I remember my husband, who had driven to the hospital not knowing if he would be bringing me home in a wheelchair. My son, who saw it all, now carries his own trauma.
The first months were relentless. The nerve pain, the loss of muscle, the atrophy—it was a battle. I couldn’t do traditional core exercises, but I could engage my trunk to roll over in bed. I couldn’t do mid-back series on the reformer, but I could simulate it standing. I recreated footwork exercises with gondola poles, relying on my fragile grip strength. Slowly, my strength returned. My balance improved. My body remembered.
“Pilates gave me my life back. Today, I live by a simple motto: Do more, worry less.”
I don’t take movement for granted. I don’t take life for granted. Pilates heals—bodies, minds, and even the most broken hearts.
Rockell has been teaching Pilates for over 20 years, with movement starting from her childhood passion for dance. She performed at the Moulin Rouge in Paris and other global venues. A STOTT-certified instructor, Rockell combined her love of dance and Pilates through Barre workouts, bringing Xtend Barre to Australia and expanding it internationally. She now lives in SE QLD with her husband, three kids, and animals, teaching group and private sessions. Rockell is passionate about helping women manage pelvic organ prolapse, a journey she has navigated since 2007.