Sunday 14th December 2025
At the beginning of this year, I decided I wanted to incorporate more movement and exercise into my life and join a gym. It wasn’t about changing my body or proving discipline to myself. It felt more like responding to a quiet, familiar longing; the desire to feel in my body, rather than always slightly beside it.
Movement has always been part of my life. As a child and teenager, I swam, danced, did gymnastics, and joined in with sports at school. I loved being active and expressive with my body. But experiencing DPDR since a young child meant that even while moving there was a sense of reaching for something – a feeling of presence that never quite landed. I didn’t know why at the time. I just knew I wanted to feel more here.
DPDR isn’t just about thoughts or perception, it’s deeply connected to the nervous system and the way the brain processes bodily signals. Research suggests that people with depersonalisation and dissociation often experience reduced interoceptive awareness which is our ability to sense internal bodily cues like breath, heartbeat, muscle tension, and physical effort. When that internal feedback is muted or disconnected, it can contribute to feeling unreal, detached, or outside of yourself. Movement helps stimulate those signals.
When you exercise, your brain receives a constant stream of information:
- muscles contracting and releasing
- changes in breath and heart rate
- pressure, balance, coordination
Studies exploring movement-based and body-focused therapies (including dance and mindful movement) show that increasing bodily awareness can reduce dissociative symptoms over time. Not because movement “fixes” DPDR, but because it supports mind–body integration. In simple terms: movement gives the brain something tangible and trustworthy to tune into.
What It Actually Feels Like for Me
Here’s the honest part: the gym isn’t some peaceful grounding haven for me. If anything, my derealisation is often more noticeable there.
Being in a large, busy space with strangers, mirrors, noise, and that underlying anxiety of “am I doing this right?” can be overwhelming. There’s a level of alertness and self-consciousness that definitely spikes DPDR for me at times. And yet, I notice something important. I feel more connected. Even when the world feels a bit unreal, my body feels more there. The mind-to-muscle connection. The awareness of strength and effort. The sensation of moving through space with intention. It forces me, gently but firmly, into my body.
One thing that’s important to say: increased symptoms during exercise doesn’t mean movement is harming you. Exercise activates the nervous system. Heart rate rises. Adrenaline increases. For a system already sensitive to bodily changes, that can temporarily amplify DPDR symptoms, especially in environments that feel socially or sensory overwhelming.
But activation isn’t the same as danger. Over time, repeated exposure to these sensations, in a controlled, intentional way can actually help the nervous system learn that bodily activation is safe. That increased heart rate doesn’t mean something is wrong. That being in your body doesn’t automatically lead to harm. This is part of how trust is rebuilt.
What’s helped me most is letting go of the idea that movement has to feel good, grounding, or calm to be worthwhile. Sometimes it feels awkward. Sometimes I feel spacey. Sometimes I feel disconnected and connected at the same time. But movement has become a practice of presence, not a test of how “recovered” I am. I’m not exercising to escape DPDR. I’m exercising to stay in relationship with my body, even when that relationship feels imperfect.
I don’t believe in one-size-fits-all tools. And I don’t believe movement is a cure. But I do believe it’s one of the most accessible ways to gently support reconnection, especially when approached with curiosity rather than pressure.
Movement:
- increases body awareness
- interrupts constant mental monitoring
- strengthens mind–body communication
- offers lived experiences of safety in the body
Not instantly.
Not dramatically.
But gradually, in small, accumulative ways.
If you live with DPDR and you’ve always longed to feel more in your body, you’re not broken for that longing and you’re not failing because it hasn’t come easily.
Your body hasn’t been absent.
It’s been protective.
And movement, for me, has become one way of slowly, imperfectly, reminding my nervous system that it’s okay to be here.
All my love, Kate x
Mostly Kate 