Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP): A Consumer-led and Peer-driven Framework that Emerged from Grassroots Activism and the Lived Experience of People with Mental Health Challenges Themselves.

Over the past three decades, the recovery paradigm has reshaped mental health policy, practice, and research by shifting the focus from symptom reduction to the pursuit of meaning, autonomy, and citizenship. Unlike the biomedical model, which emphasises diagnosis, pathology, and professional control, recovery-based approaches foreground hope, self-determination, and the recognition of lived experience as legitimate expertise (Byrne et al., 2015; Bonney & Stickley, 2008). Recovery is therefore not only a clinical objective but also a philosophy and social movement, embedded in values of inclusion, empowerment, and social justice (Turner, cited in Bonney & Stickley, 2008).

Within this paradigm, a number of structured recovery models have been developed to guide practice, each reflecting different origins and emphases. Some, such as the Recovery Star, were co-designed by service providers and consumers as tools for measuring and planning progress within service contexts. Others, like the Collaborative Recovery Model, were shaped through academic research and clinical partnerships. In contrast, the Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) stands apart as a consumer-led and peer-driven framework that emerged from grassroots activism and the lived experience of people with mental health challenges themselves (Copeland, 1997; Perkins & Slade, 2012).

WRAP has become one of the most influential and widely adopted recovery models internationally, with applications across community, inpatient, and peer-support settings. Its popularity rests on both its structured design and its values-based ethos: it provides individuals with practical tools for managing distress and maintaining wellbeing, while embodying recovery principles of autonomy, peer support, and personal responsibility (Copeland, 2002; Leamy et al., 2011). Importantly, the model resists reduction to clinical outcomes alone, positioning recovery as a deeply personal and self-directed process.

This essay will critically analyse WRAP by exploring its origins and development, key features and attributes, and the evidence base regarding its effectiveness. It will also examine how WRAP might be applied within a community-based psychosocial rehabilitation setting, before offering a critical discussion of its strengths and limitations. In doing so, the analysis will not only demonstrate an understanding of WRAP as a recovery model but also engage with broader debates about the meaning and measurement of recovery within contemporary mental health services.

Origins and Development of the Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP)

The Wellness Recovery Action Plan, more commonly known as WRAP, was developed in 1997 by Mary Ellen Copeland, a woman with lived experience of mental illness who was seeking ways to support her own wellbeing and that of her peers (Copeland, 1997). Unlike many models that are designed within clinical or organisational contexts, WRAP emerged directly from the consumer/survivor movement. It was created through participatory research with groups of people who had experienced severe mental health challenges and who came together to share strategies that had worked for them in promoting stability and hope (Copeland, 2002). This grounding in lived experience is significant because it positions WRAP not as a clinical intervention imposed upon service users, but as a self-help and peer-support tool designed by and for people with mental health concerns.

Scholars such as Perkins and Slade (2012) have highlighted that the origins of recovery models matter because they shape both the philosophy and the practice implications of the tools. A model like WRAP, born out of consumer-led research and activism, inherently privileges self-determination, autonomy, and peer knowledge. In contrast, models such as the Recovery Star were developed within service organisations partly as outcome measurement tools, which inevitably introduce tensions between consumer ownership and institutional accountability (Slade et al., 2014). The lecturer’s guidance for this assessment reinforces this point: understanding the context of development is crucial, since a model co-designed by consumers may carry very different meanings and applications than one developed by services for managerial purposes (Stewart, 2025).

The late 1990s context is also important. At that time, mental health systems were still largely dominated by biomedical approaches that prioritised diagnosis, pharmacology, and professional expertise. Against this backdrop, WRAP was radical: it provided a structured framework that allowed people to articulate their own definition of wellness, to identify early warning signs and triggers, and to plan for times of crisis on their own terms. This was consistent with the broader recovery movement, which positioned hope, empowerment, and meaning-making as central to living with mental health concerns (Anthony, 1993).

Consumer-led initiatives such as WRAP can also be read as acts of resistance against the marginalisation and silencing of people with mental illness. Bonney and Stickley (2008) describe recovery not only as a personal journey but also as a “doctrine for change,” emphasising the way in which grassroots activism pushed services and governments to re-examine long-held assumptions about mental illness. In this sense, WRAP’s development represents both an individual self-management tool and a collective statement about the legitimacy of consumer expertise.

Over time, WRAP evolved from a local peer-support initiative into a global model disseminated through training, manuals, and peer-led groups. Its spread reflects both the accessibility of its structure and the resonance of its values. Importantly, WRAP remains rooted in the ethos of peer facilitation: Copeland and colleagues have consistently argued that WRAP is most effective when taught by people with lived experience, thereby ensuring that its emancipatory origins are not lost in translation (Copeland, 2002). However, as some critics have noted, the expansion of WRAP into mainstream services raises questions about whether its radical consumer-led philosophy can be maintained when adopted by professionalised systems (Davidson et al., 2009).

Thus, the origins and development of WRAP illustrate both its unique contribution to recovery-oriented practice and the challenges of sustaining consumer ownership in institutional contexts. Grounded in lived experience, WRAP represents a paradigm shift towards self-determination and empowerment, but its history also signals the potential risks of co-optation as recovery language becomes integrated into service policies and procedures.

Key Features and Attributes of WRAP

At its core, the Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) is a structured yet flexible self-management tool that enables individuals to take an active role in maintaining their wellbeing and managing periods of distress. Copeland (2002), who formalised the model through extensive work with consumer groups, describes WRAP as a practical framework built around everyday strategies that people themselves identified as useful in navigating mental health challenges. Unlike treatment plans written by clinicians, WRAP is designed to be authored by the individual, with or without peer support, thereby reinforcing autonomy and ownership of the recovery journey.

The WRAP model is organised into several interrelated components. The Wellness Toolbox is the foundation, consisting of personalised strategies and resources—such as exercise, mindfulness, or creative activities—that the individual identifies as helpful in sustaining wellness (Copeland, 2002). From this toolbox, a Daily Maintenance Plan is developed, which outlines routines and practices that help maintain stability. This daily plan operationalises recovery as a lived practice, rather than an abstract goal.

A distinctive feature of WRAP is its attention to early warning signs and triggers. Individuals are encouraged to reflect on and document the subtle indicators that suggest their wellbeing is at risk, such as changes in sleep, withdrawal from social contact, or negative thinking patterns. By pairing these with proactive coping responses, WRAP fosters a sense of agency, enabling people to intervene before a crisis escalates (Perkins & Slade, 2012). In this way, WRAP embodies the recovery paradigm’s emphasis on self-management and resilience, contrasting sharply with medical models that often wait for acute deterioration before acting (Byrne et al., 2015).

Perhaps the most innovative element of WRAP is the Crisis Plan, sometimes referred to as an advance directive. Here, individuals articulate their preferences for care during times when they may be unable to make decisions for themselves. This includes naming supporters, identifying preferred and non-preferred treatments, and outlining conditions that help or hinder recovery in a crisis. Copeland (2002) argued that such planning is both empowering and protective, allowing individuals to retain a voice even in circumstances where autonomy is compromised. The inclusion of a Post-Crisis Planensures continuity by focusing on recovery and reintegration once stability is regained.

Another defining attribute of WRAP is its insistence on peer facilitation. Copeland and colleagues have consistently maintained that WRAP is most effective when led by trained peer supporters who bring credibility through lived experience (Copeland, 2002). This is consistent with the wider consumer movement, which has long championed peer support as a means of reducing power imbalances and fostering mutuality (Davidson et al., 2009). Patricia Deegan’s recovery story, often cited in the literature, exemplifies how peer-led models can restore hope and disrupt professional hierarchies by positioning consumers as active contributors to recovery knowledge (Deegan, 1996).

The values underpinning WRAP—hope, self-determination, and personal responsibility—reflect its consumer-led origins. As Bonney and Stickley (2008) argue, recovery is not a linear process measured solely by clinical improvement, but rather a personal and social journey of reclaiming meaning and identity. WRAP operationalises this philosophy by offering practical tools that align with an individual’s own definitions of wellness, rather than imposing external benchmarks.

Nevertheless, the very structure that makes WRAP accessible and adaptable also raises questions about its implementation. Scholars such as Slade and colleagues (2014) have noted that while WRAP is intentionally flexible, the drive for services to adopt measurable outcomes can risk transforming it into a bureaucratic exercise. When WRAP is implemented in ways that prioritise documentation over empowerment, its consumer-led ethos is diluted. This tension illustrates a recurring challenge within recovery-oriented practice: how to preserve models rooted in lived experience while meeting organisational demands for accountability.

In sum, the key features of WRAP—its toolbox, maintenance planning, early warning signs, crisis and post-crisis planning, and peer facilitation—capture the essence of recovery as both a philosophy and a practice. The model offers individuals a tangible way to enact recovery principles in daily life, while also challenging services to reconfigure relationships of power and expertise. Yet, its effectiveness depends heavily on whether it is implemented in ways faithful to its consumer-driven origins.

Evidence Base and Effectiveness of WRAP

Since its development, the Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) has been the subject of a growing body of empirical research, including randomised controlled trials (RCTs), systematic reviews, and qualitative studies. The evidence largely supports WRAP as an intervention that fosters empowerment, self-determination, and quality of life, though findings around its impact on clinical outcomes remain mixed.

One of the earliest systematic accounts of recovery outcomes emphasised the centrality of hope, empowerment, and personal agency as key indicators of wellbeing (Anthony, 1993). Building on this tradition, Copeland (2002) argued that WRAP contributes to recovery precisely because it allows individuals to author their own plans for maintaining wellness and navigating crisis. Empirical studies have largely confirmed these claims. For example, Cook and colleagues (2012) conducted a large-scale RCT and found that participation in WRAP was associated with significant improvements in self-reported hope, recovery, and quality of life, alongside reductions in psychiatric symptoms. These findings suggest that WRAP can generate meaningful change in domains that matter most to consumers.

Systematic reviews have echoed these results, though they also highlight limitations. Slade and colleagues (2014), in reviewing recovery-oriented interventions, concluded that WRAP demonstrated moderate effectiveness in promoting personal recovery outcomes, but that evidence for its influence on hospitalisation rates or long-term clinical trajectories was less consistent. This reflects a broader tension in the recovery literature: while consumers and peer advocates emphasise empowerment and citizenship, services and policymakers often prioritise measurable reductions in service use. Davidson and colleagues (2009) caution against evaluating WRAP solely through clinical endpoints, noting that its purpose is to enable people to live meaningful lives, not necessarily to eliminate symptoms.

Qualitative studies provide further depth to understanding WRAP’s impact. In Patricia’s recovery story, for instance, peer support and WRAP planning were described as pivotal in regaining control and building a sense of purpose after periods of distress (Deegan, 1996). Such narratives highlight how WRAP resonates with lived experience by validating personal knowledge and enabling individuals to create practical strategies rooted in their own circumstances. Similarly, research exploring carers’ perspectives suggests that frameworks like WRAP can provide families with reassurance by clarifying crisis plans and offering a language for collaborative support (Johnstone & Boyle, 2018). However, these studies also reveal the strain carers may feel when models remain heavily individualised and do not adequately integrate relational or systemic dimensions (Lawn et al., 2015).

Despite its overall positive evidence base, critiques of WRAP have emerged, particularly around fidelity and implementation. As Byrne and colleagues (2015) note, the peer-facilitated ethos of WRAP is not always upheld when services integrate it into routine practice. In some contexts, WRAP has been delivered by clinicians rather than peers, undermining its original intention to rebalance power dynamics in mental health care. Others, such as Perkins and Slade (2012), caution that while WRAP is adaptable, it risks becoming a “tick-box” exercise when co-opted into managerial frameworks that prioritise documentation over empowerment. These critiques suggest that effectiveness is not only about the tool itself but also about the conditions of its implementation.

Another limitation lies in the cultural specificity of WRAP’s evidence base. Most empirical studies have been conducted in high-income, Western countries, often within community mental health services. As highlighted in research on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander mental health needs, recovery models must incorporate cultural safety, kinship, and holistic views of wellbeing to be truly effective (Dudgeon et al., 2014; Page et al., 2022). Similarly, reviews of LGBTIQ mental health care demonstrate that recovery-oriented services often neglect issues of stigma, discrimination, and identity affirmation (Rees et al., 2021). While WRAP’s flexible structure suggests it could be adapted for diverse populations, the evidence for such adaptations remains limited.

In sum, the evidence indicates that WRAP is effective in improving subjective outcomes such as hope, empowerment, and quality of life. Its impact on clinical outcomes like hospitalisation remains less clear, reflecting both methodological challenges and philosophical debates about what counts as “success” in recovery. Crucially, the evidence also underscores that WRAP’s effectiveness depends on fidelity to its consumer-led, peer-facilitated ethos. When implemented authentically, WRAP has the potential to transform not only individual lives but also the cultures of mental health services.

Application to a Specific Setting: Community-Based Psychosocial Rehabilitation

To appreciate the practical utility of the Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP), it is important to consider how it might function within a defined service context. For this analysis, a community-based psychosocial rehabilitation setting provides a particularly relevant lens. Such settings are designed to support people living with severe and persistent mental health difficulties to build skills, strengthen social networks, and pursue personal recovery goals in their communities. Unlike acute inpatient units, which focus on short-term stabilisation, psychosocial rehabilitation emphasises long-term wellbeing, social participation, and empowerment—objectives that align closely with WRAP’s values.

The principles of WRAP fit naturally within this context. Copeland (2002) envisioned WRAP as a tool to help individuals define their own version of wellness, manage symptoms proactively, and retain control even in times of crisis. In a community rehabilitation program, WRAP could be introduced in group settings, facilitated by trained peers, where participants work collaboratively to identify their wellness strategies, triggers, and early warning signs. Such an approach reflects the broader recovery movement’s emphasis on mutual support and citizenship, where people not only manage their conditions but also reclaim meaningful roles in society (Davidson et al., 2009).

Evidence from peer-support research underscores the relevance of WRAP in these environments. Patricia Deegan’s widely cited recovery narrative, for example, illustrates how tools like WRAP, when combined with peer support, can instil hope and provide concrete pathways for regaining purpose after periods of illness (Deegan, 1996). More recent studies, such as those collated in Insiders or Outsiders: Mental Health Service Users’ Journeys Towards Full Citizenship, highlight how structured recovery planning supports individuals to move beyond service dependency towards fuller participation in community life (Hamer et al., 2014). In psychosocial rehabilitation, WRAP thus becomes more than a self-management plan; it is a vehicle for fostering citizenship and reducing the marginalisation that many people with mental illness experience.

A further strength of WRAP in this context lies in its crisis and post-crisis planning components. Community rehabilitation often involves supporting individuals with histories of frequent hospitalisation. By developing advance directives through WRAP, participants can articulate their preferences for care, identify supports, and outline strategies to minimise relapse. Research indicates that such planning not only enhances self-efficacy but also reassures families and carers, who often experience anxiety around crises (Lawn et al., 2015). This aligns with the lecturer’s emphasis that recovery tools must be considered in terms of the specific population and setting: in community contexts, the relational dimensions of recovery—family, peers, carers—are particularly salient (Stewart, 2025).

Despite its strong fit, implementing WRAP in community-based rehabilitation is not without challenges. One barrier is the reliance on peer facilitation. While central to the model’s ethos, peer roles are often undervalued or underfunded within formal services. Without investment in peer workforce development, WRAP risks being delivered by clinicians, which may dilute its consumer-led philosophy (Byrne et al., 2015). Another challenge is the question of cultural appropriateness. Research into Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander mental health needs, for example, emphasises the importance of kinship, connection to Country, and collective healing (Page et al., 2022). WRAP, developed in a Western, individualised context, may require significant adaptation to resonate with Indigenous worldviews. Similarly, studies on LGBTIQ mental health highlight the need for recovery tools to explicitly address stigma, discrimination, and identity affirmation (Rees et al., 2021). Without such modifications, WRAP may inadvertently exclude or alienate diverse populations.

There is also the issue of organisational co-optation. Perkins and Slade (2012) caution that when consumer-developed models like WRAP are integrated into service systems, they can be repurposed to meet managerial demands rather than consumer needs. In community rehabilitation, there is a risk that WRAP could become another bureaucratic form to be completed, rather than a living document of self-determined wellness. Maintaining fidelity to WRAP’s ethos therefore requires deliberate safeguarding of peer leadership, consumer ownership, and flexibility in practice.

Overall, WRAP has significant potential when applied to community-based psychosocial rehabilitation. Its structured framework supports individuals to develop practical strategies for daily wellbeing, proactive responses to triggers, and plans for crisis and post-crisis recovery. When authentically implemented, it complements the broader goals of rehabilitation: empowerment, skill-building, and reintegration into community life. However, its effectiveness depends on ensuring cultural adaptation, resisting service-driven co-optation, and investing in peer workforce capacity. These conditions are essential if WRAP is to retain its transformative potential within psychosocial rehabilitation settings.

Critical Discussion: Strengths and Limitations of WRAP

The Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) occupies a distinctive position within recovery-oriented practice, combining practical strategies with a strong values-based ethos. Its strengths are clear, but so too are the tensions and limitations that emerge when it is implemented in diverse service contexts.

One of WRAP’s greatest strengths lies in its consumer-led origins. Developed by Mary Ellen Copeland (1997) in collaboration with peers, WRAP resists the top-down imposition of recovery frameworks created by professionals or service organisations. This genesis imbues WRAP with authenticity and credibility among consumers, who often experience mainstream mental health services as disempowering (Davidson et al., 2009). The very fact that WRAP was shaped by people with lived experience positions it as a counterbalance to the biomedical model, affirming that those who live with mental health difficulties are best placed to define what recovery means.

Another strength is WRAP’s emphasis on self-determination and empowerment. Scholars such as Anthony (1993) and Bonney and Stickley (2008) remind us that recovery is less about eliminating symptoms than it is about reclaiming autonomy and living a meaningful life. By enabling individuals to identify their own wellness strategies, recognise triggers, and plan for crises, WRAP offers a practical way to enact these principles in daily life. Research demonstrates that this approach leads to improvements in hope, empowerment, and quality of life (Cook et al., 2012).

WRAP is also notable for its flexibility and adaptability. Unlike highly prescriptive interventions, it provides a framework that can be tailored to diverse circumstances. Its portability has allowed it to be implemented in community groups, inpatient units, forensic services, and even schools (Slade et al., 2014). This flexibility enhances accessibility and supports its global dissemination.

A further strength is the model’s commitment to peer facilitation. Copeland (2002) and others have insisted that WRAP is most effective when led by peers, because this disrupts hierarchical power dynamics and fosters mutuality. Peer-delivered WRAP groups provide not only recovery skills but also role modelling and a sense of solidarity. As Patricia Deegan (1996) and later peer narratives illustrate, seeing others thrive despite mental health challenges can instil hope in ways that professional authority cannot.

Yet, despite these strengths, WRAP is not without limitations. A central tension concerns the measurement of recovery outcomes. While WRAP emphasises subjective indicators such as hope and empowerment, service systems and policymakers often prioritise quantifiable outcomes such as reduced hospitalisation or cost savings. Scholars such as Perkins and Slade (2012) have warned that this creates a risk of “co-optation,” where WRAP is used as a managerial tool rather than a consumer-led practice. In such cases, WRAP can devolve into a bureaucratic checklist, undermining its transformative intent.

Another limitation relates to implementation fidelity. As Byrne and colleagues (2015) point out, when WRAP is delivered by clinicians instead of peers, its ethos of mutuality and empowerment is weakened. The peer workforce remains underfunded and undervalued, which raises concerns about the sustainability of authentic WRAP delivery. Without systemic investment in peer roles, WRAP risks being stripped of its core identity.

Cultural appropriateness also emerges as a limitation. While WRAP’s structure is flexible, it was developed within a Western, individualistic framework. Research into Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander mental health highlights the importance of holistic approaches that integrate kinship, spirituality, and connection to Country (Page et al., 2022). Similarly, reviews of LGBTIQ mental health needs reveal that recovery models often fail to address the impact of stigma, discrimination, and identity affirmation (Rees et al., 2021). Without deliberate adaptation, WRAP may inadvertently exclude or alienate culturally diverse groups, undermining its inclusivity.

Finally, WRAP raises questions about the burden of responsibility. Its emphasis on self-management, while empowering, can inadvertently shift responsibility away from services and onto individuals. As Tew and colleagues (2012) argue, recovery is not simply a matter of personal resilience but also of addressing structural inequalities such as poverty, housing insecurity, and social exclusion. If implemented without attention to these wider determinants, WRAP may risk reinforcing neoliberal narratives of individual responsibility.

In summary, WRAP’s strengths lie in its consumer-led origins, its practical empowerment strategies, its flexibility, and its commitment to peer facilitation. However, limitations around measurement, fidelity, cultural adaptation, and structural context cannot be ignored. The challenge for practitioners and policymakers is to preserve the integrity of WRAP’s ethos while ensuring its relevance across diverse populations and systems.

Conclusion

The Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP) represents one of the most significant contributions of the consumer movement to contemporary mental health practice. Emerging in the late 1990s from Mary Ellen Copeland’s work with peers, WRAP embodies the recovery paradigm’s values of hope, self-determination, and empowerment. Its distinctive features—including the wellness toolbox, daily maintenance planning, identification of triggers and early warning signs, crisis planning, and post-crisis recovery—offer individuals practical strategies to regain and sustain wellbeing. Importantly, WRAP’s insistence on peer facilitation positions lived experience at the centre of recovery, challenging traditional hierarchies of knowledge in mental health care.

The evidence base for WRAP is compelling in relation to subjective outcomes. Research consistently demonstrates improvements in empowerment, hope, and quality of life, though findings regarding reductions in hospitalisation and symptom severity remain mixed. This reflects both the challenges of measuring recovery and the philosophical tensions between consumer-defined and service-defined outcomes. Within community-based psychosocial rehabilitation, WRAP aligns strongly with service goals of empowerment, reintegration, and citizenship. Yet, its effectiveness depends heavily on the preservation of its consumer-led ethos, as well as thoughtful adaptation to culturally diverse populations.

Critically, WRAP is not without limitations. Risks of co-optation, loss of fidelity, and cultural inappropriateness underscore the need for ongoing vigilance. Furthermore, while WRAP empowers individuals to manage their wellbeing, recovery cannot be reduced to personal resilience alone. Broader social determinants—such as stigma, poverty, racism, and exclusion—remain powerful influences on mental health, reminding practitioners that models like WRAP must be integrated into systemic approaches that address structural inequalities. In conclusion, WRAP provides both a philosophy and a toolkit for enacting recovery. It stands as a consumer-led innovation that has shifted practice globally, yet its transformative potential depends on authentic peer leadership, cultural adaptation, and resistance to bureaucratic reductionism. This critical analysis of WRAP provides a foundation for engaging with the model at a personal level. The following reflective component will explore the lived experience of completing a WRAP plan, offering insights into how the model resonates in practice and how it might inform future approaches to supporting consumers in recovery.

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