When we hear “eating disorder recovery,” we might picture individuals triumphantly stopping disordered behaviours or, in severe cases, lives saved through medical intervention. But recently, I’ve come to understand that these “successful” scenarios mark only the beginning of recovery. The real work begins when individuals confront the deeper psychological roots of the disorder. This work is not quick, easy or sequential.
This shift in perspective reminds me of a quote from Margaret Wheatley’s Turning to One Another, which has always resonated with me:
“Meaningful conversations depend on our willingness to forget about neat thoughts, clear categories, narrow roles. Messiness has its place. We need it anytime we want better thinking or richer relationships. The first stage is to try and listen well to whatever is being said. Eventually, we will be surprised by how much we share in common."
At Silver Linings, there has always been an emphasis on the importance of "meeting people where they are at" which I deeply believe in. Acknowledging our shared humanity as well as someone’s unique identity is critical for recovery. It’s essential to connect with that wholeness —seeing people first as individuals, not as their struggles. In care work, it's easy to adopt a “fix it” mentality, but eating disorders are unique in that they often arise from an need to feel in-control and can spiral into a rigidity that consumes a person’s life. The solution then isn’t another rigid system. Instead, we must create brave spaces where people can unravel and be heard by someone who can sit with them in the messiness.
This is not to discount the value of specific methods and skill-building techniques, they absolutely help, but their efficacy is magnified when there is a foundation of trust and human connection. I’ve discovered that when recovery is approached with understanding , patience and space for vulnerability, that’s when true healing begins.
Recovery, much like life, is inherently messy. Within that messiness—just like in creativity and growth—lies the path to the change we seek. By making room for imperfection and the individual stories that emerge from this process, we can offer the kind of support that leads to genuine, long-lasting recovery.
I’m curious if others have found value in making space for messiness?
Warmly,
Corinne