Freelance writer, S.D., who describes themself as a wobbly, neurospicy, multidisciplinary creative and serial snacker, uses their experiences to share tips and advice on how to stay mobile during the winter months if you live with limited mobility, pain, fatigue or other impairments.

Before we get into the meat and potatoes of this piece, you should know that I’m not a health professional or personal trainer. I’m simply writing from years of trial and error, with a sprinkle of delusion or tenacity – depending on whom you ask.

For context, I live with long-term mobility and balance impairments due to cerebral palsy, often layered with fatigue and pain. Some days I move more freely; on others, I’m in careful, wobbly penguin mode. This isn’t medical advice – just reflections on what helps me stay as mobile as possible when winter rolls in and stiffens me up.

Winter as a wobbly disabled person

I love the autumn and winter months as a human. However, as a wobbly person, those months can be treacherous. As the temperatures dip and the rainy weather settles in for a long visit, venturing outside can become nigh impossible.

The result? An existential dip in flexibility alongside a great upsurge in stiffness, discomfort, and general creakiness. Medication doesn’t always help either – it can leave me sleepy and foggy, which makes thinking about movement arduous at best.

Portable exercise equipment with minimal fuss

My saving grace over the past few years has been intentional movement, no matter how inconsistent or incremental. Movement doesn’t need to be impressive. Sometimes it just needs to happen; gently, slowly, kindly.

Let’s be real. Being disabled can also mean being priced out of movement. Equipment can be expensive, bulky, or impossible to store. Accessible gyms exist, and they’re great, but getting there takes time, planning, energy and, sometimes, bravery. And with a dynamic disability, you may not even know until the morning whether the trip will happen.

When it comes to movement, I go for small, portable things that don’t require a logistics plan or a motivational speech. My newest favourite is a cheap ropeless skipping rope, which has turned out to be a bit of a game-changer. It’s slightly weighted, so I can get gentle cardio and upper-body work – and best of all, there’s no rope to trip over. A small but meaningful victory for wobblies everywhere.

Next is the OG of my collection – the pilates ring. Compact, inexpensive, and easy to stash away, it offers just enough resistance to feel useful without demanding too much from me.

Then there are the exercise balls. I have three: a large one, a smaller one, and a peanut-shaped one – apparently, I now collect spheres. They help me move my lower limbs into ranges of motion I can’t reach alone. I’ve used them on and off in physiotherapy for years, so they feel familiar and safe. On low-energy days, one ball becomes my “full-body workout,” gently supporting me while I alternate between upper- and lower-body movement.

Weights come next: wrist or ankle weights and lightweight dumbbells. “Lightweight” is wildly subjective and should always be optional. I switch between them depending on energy. I’m not trying to get ripped – I’m simply persuading my muscles not to resign altogether.

Then there are resistance bands. Long bands and loop bands are inexpensive, portable, and adaptable. They come in rubber or fabric versions, but I prefer fabric because they behave themselves. Long bands support assisted lower-limb stretching, while shorter loops are great for seated or upper-body work. Simple tools. Minimal fuss. Exactly the level of enthusiasm my winter body can manage.

Next is the under-desk mini elliptical pedal exercise machine. This has been another game-changer, arriving as a gift at exactly the right time. One of my long-term goals is to get back on a bike or trike. I used to ride as a child and miss the uncomplicated freedom it gave me.

Over the years and after multiple surgeries, I lost the ability to propel my legs in that way. The elliptical movement has given me hope. The motion feels familiar, and although progress is slow and nonlinear, it helps me reconnect with that goal.

Finally, the suspension trainer, a piece of exercise equipment that is made of adjustable straps with handles that let you use your body weight to do strength and balance exercises. It has the steepest learning curve for me, but it allows access to muscles I can’t reach using other equipment.

Big brands often mean high prices, but budget-friendly alternatives exist. Safe setup matters, and having someone you trust at first can make all the difference. What you need to feel confident is personal to you and your body.

If your body moves differently, movement still exists

What works for me won’t work for everyone. Wheelchair or seated users might use resistance bands, gentle spinal mobility, or ball-grip-and-release.

People with chronic fatigue may prefer microscopic movement – one joint at a time – with pacing baked in. Neurodivergent babes? Stimming counts.

Housebound wobblies might focus on breathwork or soothing hand massage. And if blinking is your movement today? That still counts as existing – and that’s enough.

The mental impact of winter

Winter doesn’t just land in the body, it lands in the mind. Isolation. Darkness. Stillness. It can feel heavy. Some reframes that help me: connection counts, even one message: “daylight is precious”, “rituals matter”, “doing less is allowed”, “asking for support is strength”.

Sometimes movement helps my mind. Sometimes my mind needs gentleness first. Both things can be true.

Snackable ways to move – or simply be

Movement can look radically different from day to day. Some days, it’s brushing my teeth without needing a sit-down halfway through. Other days, it’s simply noticing that my body exists at all – which, in winter, can feel like a small miracle. None of this is failure. It’s adaptation, survival, and creativity.

On uncooperative body days, I use “movement snacks”: tiny bursts of activity, one to ten minutes, once or twice a day. A wiggle, a stretch, a seated dance to your favourite song – it all counts. Add what you can, when you can. Start where you are. Go from there.

Warmth, community, and staying human

We are whole humans, not productivity projects – despite what hustle culture keeps whispering in our ears. Winter survival doesn’t always look like movement. Sometimes it looks like playlists on repeat, audiobooks you only half absorb, crafts that are 87% finished, or stretching while stroking the cat (optional cat, strongly recommended).

And then there’s community. A message. A meme. A shared moan about the weather. All tiny reminders that I’m not wobbling through life alone. Disabled humour and solidarity keep me moving in their own quiet way – not always physically, but emotionally. Which, quite frankly, is the only fitness regime I can realistically commit to some days.

And then there’s warmth – which really ought to be available on prescription at this point. Winter feels colder in a wobbly body. So, I layer up like an onion with trust issues – heated blankets, wheat bags, warm socks, and whatever hot drink I fancy. Warmth grounds me.

Food helps too – soups, teas, snacks – gently sanding down winter’s sharp edges and loosening my body just a little. Not fixing. Not transforming. Just holding me together enough to wobble another day. And honestly? That’ll do.

What is winter mobility?

And if none of that lands on a particular day, the work becomes permission – permission to rest, to be slow, to be tender with a body already doing more than anyone can see.

That, to me, is winter mobility: staying present, kind, and here. If keeping warm, being gentle with yourself, and staying in your community is all you can manage, you’re doing enough.

What ways have you found to stay mobile during the winter months? Let us know in the comments box, on social media or contact us to share your personal story.

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