Are providers allowed to struggle?

What do you think of when you think of a provider?

Put together. Polished. Well-spoken. Compassionate.

Professional, neutral, and somehow beyond the messiness of what they treat.

In the therapy world, it’s often considered best practice for providers to remain neutral, to keep their personal lives tucked away so that the therapeutic relationship remains focused on the client. Historically, clinicians have been seen as “blank slates”—steady, objective, and untouched by the very issues they work to heal in others.

But times are changing.

Many of today’s clinicians enter the field because of their own lived experience. They know the terrain because they’ve walked it. I once spoke with a Clinical Director at a local treatment center who told me that nearly half their staff were in recovery themselves, yet most never disclosed it to clients.

Why not? What are we afraid of?

What happens if a clinician is known to be in recovery from an eating disorder—and is asked to share a meal with a client? Would every bite be scrutinized? Would every food choice be judged? Would the provider still be taken seriously if their recovery wasn’t deemed “perfect”?

We tend to place providers on pedestals. But that raises a real question: Are providers allowed to struggle?

Lived Experience Isn’t a Liability—It’s a Strength

I became a Certified Eating Disorder Recovery Coach because I felt called to give back after decades of living in the grips of my own eating disorder. Most coaches are recovered. I deeply believe that my lived experience makes me more effective in my coaching, not less. I get it in a way you can’t learn from a textbook.

But then comes the next question:

When are you “recovered enough” to help someone else?

I used to think recovery would be this singular, magical moment. That I’d check off every box and finally feel "done." But recovery doesn’t work like that. The shift from “in recovery” to “recovered” is often subtle, and it can be hard to even recognize when it happens.

The Recovery Standard: Helpful or Harmful?

Carolyn Costin—one of the pioneers in peer coaching for eating disorders—has her own definition of recovery:

“Being recovered to me is when the person can accept his or her natural body size and shape and no longer has a self-destructive or unnatural relationship with food or exercise… When recovered, you will not compromise your health or betray your soul to look a certain way.”

Her program requires that coaches meet this definition for two full years before being eligible to train.

While I respect her definition and the intention behind it, I also found it difficult. It felt lofty—like a final destination that didn’t leave room for nuance or real-life situations. I followed the two-year guideline, but I often felt frustrated while waiting. I wanted to help others and felt I was ready—yet I was waiting for someone else’s calendar to say it was time.

Even Now, I Still Ask Myself: “Am I Recovered Enough?”

I have my own coaching business now. I have clients I support. I’ve shared my story on the news. I’ve built a reputation for being strong in my recovery. And still—still—I have moments where I question myself.

Just recently, I had a lapse. I broke my foot and started moving less, which affected my hunger cues. Then came a week of intense stress all while managing three jobs, two volunteer roles, certification training, client sessions, my own therapy, plus trying to have a social life. I wasn’t skipping meals to lose weight, but I wasn’t prioritizing my eating, and things began to slip.

But here’s the difference:

I recognized it.

I told my team.

I used my sponsor.

I made a plan.

I reset priorities.

And I got back on track.

That, to me, is recovery.

So… What Counts?

Does that lapse mean I’m not recovered? Does it mean I shouldn't be helping others? Would the providers who refer to me still trust me if they knew? Would my clients?

These questions live in my mind more often than I’d like to admit. I wrestle with them. A lot.

We’re so often fed this idea—implicitly or explicitly—that recovery is a straight line. That it’s a ladder you climb, rung by rung, until you finally reach some “healed” version of yourself and stay there forever. But anyone who's actually been in recovery knows: it's not a straight line. It’s a winding, messy, deeply human path. One that includes setbacks, slip-ups, growth spurts, long plateaus, and yes—lapses.

Recovery isn’t a checkbox you tick. It’s not a finish line you cross once and for all after years of perfect eating and perfect mental health.

Recovery is a relationship—with yourself, your body, your thoughts, your coping skills. And like any relationship, it takes work. It evolves. It has good days and hard days. It requires maintenance, attention, prioritization, and forgiveness.

A lapse doesn’t erase years of progress. It doesn’t undo the insights I’ve gained, the skills I’ve developed, or the strength I’ve built. What matters most is what I do next.

And that, to me, is the real heart of recovery.

Recovery and Credibility Can Coexist

As providers—whether we’re therapists, coaches, or peer specialists—we are not immune to stress, lapses, or the human experience. Lived experience, whether it is from an eating disorder or another mental health battle, doesn’t make us weak or incapable. If anything, it’s our secret weapon. It allows us to show up with empathy, honesty, and real-world insight.

Yes, we should have strong support systems. Yes, we should practice what we preach. But we also need to give ourselves permission to be human.

There is no perfect provider. In fact, most providers are clients themselves.

But what does exist—and what truly matters—is a provider who is compassionate, grounded, and self-aware.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what our clients need.