More than a kind face
At Wandi Nerida, clinical care is only part of the picture. Alongside our therapists, dietitians and nursing staff, a team of Recovery Navigators is available to participants throughout their day — these are dedicated staff members who know from personal experience what it means to live with an eating disorder, and what it takes to recover. Nic is one of those people. A former nurse with almost 20 years in mental health, a mother, and someone with her own lived experience of eating disorder recovery, she has been part of the Wandi Nerida team for four years. We asked her to share what the role really involves.
So, what exactly is a recovery navigator?
My role is to be on the floor with participants for eight hours a day. Whatever they need, wherever they go, we’re there. That means supporting them at the table during meals, going on outings with them, running support groups, sitting with them during distressing moments, and everything in between. It’s hands-on, it’s constant, and honestly, no two days are exactly alike.
There are usually one or two of us on any given shift, and while we each keep a close eye on three or four participants, we work as a team with the nurses, the doctor, and the rest of the clinical staff. If we notice anything that’s beyond our scope, we go straight to the nurse in charge. There’s a very clear structure, even while the work itself is quite fluid.
The peer difference
I think it matters enormously that participants know they’re being supported by someone who has also experienced those dark moments. When you know that the person sitting beside you has genuinely been there, has felt those things, and knows what helps and what doesn’t, it builds trust a bit faster.
That said, we’re not therapists. These are two very different pathways and we’re all very clear about that. What we offer is something different: a consistent, calm presence. Someone who is in your corner in another way. A work friend, if you like, with professional boundaries firmly in place.
I’ve had participants go through an entire admission and tell me on their last two days, “You remind me of my mother.” That kind of trust isn’t something you can manufacture. It builds slowly, through showing up, through being reliable, through sharing just enough of yourself to let them know you’re human too. I’m one of the longer-serving recovery navigators here, and I’ve learned that some participants gravitate to someone younger; some prefer a bit more life experience. The key is reading what each person needs. All of the recovery navigators bring their own backgrounds and personalities into this work and that range is actually a real strength of the team.
What does a typical day look like?
We start with a handover. Then participants come downstairs for breakfast and the day begins. We set up the tables, prepare the meal trays, portion the menu plans and support those who are portioning for themselves — watching gently, stepping in if distress rises. If someone hasn’t been able to finish a meal, we sit with them through that process, because it can bring up quite a bit of emotion.
Once breakfast is done, we move to the lounge for board games, conversation, and for checking in quietly with anyone who seems to be struggling. Then groups kick off: art, sewing, equine therapy, whatever’s on the schedule. We do the groups with them. If someone can’t manage a particular group that day, one of us sits out with them instead, just chatting, building that rapport, creating some safety.
Meals happen six times a day, so that rhythm anchors everything. In between, we’re providing hot packs and cold packs, or other soothing things, doing documentation, supervising showers and bedtime routines for those who need it. There’s a lot of quiet, steady work that doesn’t sound dramatic but matters enormously.
The toolkit: more than scented candles
When someone is in distress at the table or coming out of a difficult group session, we have a lot of tools to draw on. Cold packs are brilliant for acute distress — something about the sensation really helps regulate the nervous system. Hot packs are more for winding down, for that physical discomfort that can come for some people. We use essential oils, deep breathing, fidget toys, and grounding techniques. Some participants make their own heat packs in our sewing group, which is lovely as they end up using something they’ve created themselves.
Then there are the bigger releases: bowls of ice, ice-throwing at a wall, scream sessions. It sounds confronting if you haven’t seen it, but it works. Different things work for different people, and part of our job is helping participants figure out what to put in their own toolkit. Some come in knowing exactly what helps them. Others need to discover it here.
My own story
I always had that perfectionist streak. Everything had to be just so, from a very young age. As I got older and body image pressures crept in, I fell into all the unhelpful patterns: over-exercising, restricting, purging. I was living in a small country town where professional support was thin on the ground. If your psychologist couldn’t make it because of floods or the Christmas break, you could go months without seeing anyone.
My support mostly consisted of my mother, a close friend, and when I met him, my husband. He helped me without even knowing he was doing it — just by being steady and real. Recovery was a long, slow burn. Lots of wobbles, ups and downs, trials and errors. The turning point for me was realising I wasn’t living but only existing. And there were so many things I wanted to do that this illness kept getting in the way of. That’s when something shifted.
I went on to work as a nurse for nearly 20 years, mostly in mental health. I became a mum. And then, after a difficult personal period of my own — nothing to do with my eating disorder, but a significant loss nonetheless — I found Wandi Nerida. Coming here has been one of the best things I’ve done. You heal yourself a little by helping others heal. I’ve learned as much from our participants as I hope I’ve given them.
The hardest parts, and the best
The hard moments are real. Watching someone struggle. Seeing someone go through the motions without yet feeling the feelings. As I call it, it’s doing the do but not feeling the feels. They get there in time.
But the rewards are tenfold. A hug on someone’s graduation day. A handmade card. An aha moment — when you learn that something you’ve said really lands. Sometimes you can just see it in a participant’s face.
We run a weekly Alumni group every Monday night. It’s a Zoom check-in for previous participants, open to anyone who wants to drop in, camera optional. Around 10 to 14 people join most weeks. When someone logs on and says, “I really needed to see your face today”, that’s the biggest buzz. That’s why we do it.
Participants have said things to us like: “Thank God you were here today, I don’t know how I would have managed.” “Thank you for just being silent and being there when I needed you most.” “Thank you for knowing what to do without me having to ask.” Those words stay with you. It’s the participants themselves that make this work so rewarding, and Wandi so special.