When Healing Needed a Boundary: How Restraint Supported Recovery in My Lovebird

There are moments in caring for a fragile life when love stops looking soft.

Not cruel or angry, but firm in a way that feels almost contrary to love.

I found myself in one of those moments with my little lovebird, Chewy-TooToo.

Chewy-TooToo today, during a collar-free session, back to himself: bathing, playing, and resting after a long period of recovery.

For months, he had been caught in a cycle that prevented his body from healing. New feathers would begin to grow around his tail and rump, and almost instinctively, he would return to the area again and again until the healing unraveled. Several times this led to bleeding, and there was ongoing irritation. Over time and repeated vet visits, it became clear that careful supervision alone was not enough. I realized this was time when healing needed a boundary.

I couldn’t be there every moment. And even when I was, I couldn’t always intervene in time.

Eventually, I had to consider something I resisted for a long time: restraint.

Not as punishment or force, but as a gentle limitation that would remain in place even when I wasn’t watching. I delayed this decision for a long time, but he kept picking at his tail feathers, opening the wound again and again, so I knew had to do something. So for nearly half a year, we moved through setbacks, failed attempts, and brief moments where progress seemed to undo itself overnight. There were times his tail would bleed even while wearing a store-bought collar. Clearly, they weren't a solution for him. Yet after each setback, I would clean him, we'd try another version of a store-bought collar, monitor his behaviour closely, and eventually discover that it, too, could not fully prevent him from reaching the injured area.

Hormonal suppression had been suggested as another option, but I didn’t feel at peace pursuing that route unless absolutely necessary. So I continued observing, adjusting, and experimenting.

A simple tool created to support recovery when repeated injury made healing difficult to maintain.

What is often unseen in situations like this is how emotionally demanding prolonged healing can be.

After trying months with store-bought collars and temporary solutions, I eventually realized that I myself needed to be the one who designed a collar that prevented him from reaching the injured area.

Based on what I learned from the store-bought collars, not only did a successful collar need to be extremely light (only a fraction of his body weight and thus, not take away his ability to fly), but based on Chewy-TooToo's uncanny ability to reach his back area, it also needed to be structured enough to fully prevent access to the injured area altogether. And that meant it had to be indestructible, at least for long enough to permit healing. I tested different materials, shapes, and proportions, adjusting for comfort, visibility, and stress. Even the colors were kept soft and neutral so they would not overwhelm him visually.

Still, there was no avoiding the fact that it changed his world.

His movement was affected. Flying became more difficult, though he still tried and gradually adapted. When I first placed it on him, he was so disoriented because it alters a bird's cone of vision and distorts his auditory senses. Even how he rested and interacted with the flock shifted, as they initially reacted to how unfamiliar he looked. His temporary home became a hospital cage, which I modified extensively to enable him to safely reach his food and water while wearing the collar. He discovered that shredding paper toys was a new enjoyable activity, providing him with a sense of control to help manage the stressful changes.

There were many moments I questioned the process... but I reasoned that the protection the collar provided despite its restrictions on him, was preferable to the alternative.

At first, this daily routine was emotionally difficult for me as well. Each time I needed to restrain him, he would pull away and make small sounds of uncertainty that were hard to ignore. I dreaded those moments every day. Over time, though, I became calmer and more confident in handling the process, which in turn helped reduce stress for him, too. Even though it is still something neither he nor I naturally enjoy, the routine has gradually become gentler and more familiar for both of us.

Once the final version of the collar was working, for over a month this collar stayed on continuously—even through failed bath attempts that soaked the material. I kept multiple backups ready so I could quickly replace it before moisture caused irritation to his neck.

It felt relentless at times.

And yet, slowly and steadily, healing began.

Looking back, I can say with certainty that this collar changed everything. It created a boundary his body could finally heal behind.

First, his tail feathers returned. Then some of his rump feathers began to regrow. Over time, I realized something important: extended periods in the collar meant that when it was briefly removed, he would over-preen the areas he had been unable to reach while wearing the collar, sometimes undoing progress. I knew then, that after his tail healed, we'd be in for a long transition process in which he would need to be gradually weaned off the collar, in order to train him into healthier preening habits. Even now, a couple months after his tail healed, his rump feathers are still recovering gradually.

While Chewy-TooToo wore his collar full-time for about a month, Henry, his bonded companion, helped support his grooming needs. Their bond remained a steady source of comfort during that crucial stage of healing.

But stability is returning. The frantic cycles are softening into calmer grooming patterns, though he still needs gentle reminders at times. More than a year since the initial injury, the process is still ongoing.

But he is bathing again. Playing again. Sleeping with his head tucked into his back again.

Small things—but they felt enormous after months of watching him struggle.

Healing rarely arrives all at once. More often, it unfolds gradually, through consistency and the willingness to stay within the boundaries that allow restoration to take root.

The healing came from what the restraint made possible, day after day. It interrupted a cycle he couldn’t break on his own. And over time, his behaviour began to change, too.

So healing happened because of the collar… and healing is still happening through it. The collar actually serves a two-fold purpose: first the crucial healing of this tail by preventing further damage, and second, by supporting the gradual process of relearning healthier grooming patterns. As I wean him off the collar, he transitions away from the habits that were keeping the cycle of injury in place. What began as a protective boundary gradually became a space where not only recovery could be completed, but prevention of further injury when no longer wearing a collar could be realized.

Chewy-TooToo is still not fully through the process. We are now in a slow transition stage—gradually increasing collar-free time while reinforcing healthier preening habits.

Now that we're past the first, crucial phase of the healing process, which allowed him to regain all his tail feathers (he had lost 9 of the 12), and we focus on re-training him into healthy preening habits, each day still involves a measure of restraint. In order to safely give him supervised collar-free time, I need to gently hold him to remove the collar and later restrain him again to put it back on. That means two moments of handling and interruption every single day—something he does not naturally enjoy. Even in this phase, the process requires patience, consistency, and a willingness to temporarily create discomfort in service of long-term healing and healthier habits.

There are good days and difficult ones, but overall, there is progress. And perhaps that is the deeper lesson.

Healing often begins long before everything looks healed.

And I couldn’t help but notice how often this same pattern appears in our own lives.

We tend to view restraint as something negative: limitation, restriction, delay, or inconvenience. But sometimes restraint is what protects something fragile long enough for it to strengthen. Sometimes a boundary is what preserves life while healing takes place. And sometimes it is the framework that makes restoration of healthier habits possible when willpower alone is not enough.

This season has mirrored parts of my own life and studio practice: I'm now learning to strategically pull back in certain areas, simplify others, create healthier limits financially and creatively, and build stronger foundations rather than continually pushing forward at full speed.

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A Reflection to Ponder

Have you ever experienced a season where a limitation in your life eventually revealed itself as protective rather than restrictive?

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Closing Thought

I’ve been gathering reflections like this from the studio—stories shaped by art, birds, restoration, and the meaning found in ordinary moments.

I’m currently preparing a small collection called Seven Reflections from the Studio, which I'll be adding to my website as a free resource. If you'd like to revisit it later, you'll be able to find it under About & Resources > Free Reflection Guides.