26/08/2026
So a few things about me you need to know if we’re going to hang out here:
I’m a Londoner living in Somerset. Been here 14 years. Still not local. Apparently that takes about 300 years or your great-great-grandmother being born in the village. I’m working on it.
I bloody love being an osteopath. Specifically, I love the bit where you get to be properly nosy about bodies. Not just “where does it hurt” but “why is your body doing that weird thing and what else is connected to it that you haven’t noticed yet?”
Which was all very interesting and professional until I became the woman with the pelvic floor problem.
The leaking. The strategic pre-exercise wee. Fun times.
So I went looking for help and got handed more pelvic floor squeezes. Nothing about my breathing. Nothing about my hips, my ribs, my feet, the fact that I was basically bracing my entire torso like I was about to be hit by a car. Just: squeeze harder.
My osteopathic brain had a full meltdown.
Because I’d spent years learning that bodies don’t work in isolation. That the stiff ankle changes how you walk. That your pelvic floor responds to what’s happening above it, below it, around it. That if something’s not working, you find the relationship that’s broken, you don’t just yell at the symptom and hope it behaves.
And yet here I was, being told my pelvic floor was the problem, full stop. As if it existed in a neat little box between my legs with no connection to the rest of me.
I got obsessed.
What if we treated the pelvic floor the way osteopaths are trained to treat everything else? As part of you. Connected. Integral to everything else.
Turns out that question became Pelvic Rebel.
I’m so happy to have you here. ❤️