The Duality of Healing

I’m in the process of catching my narratives and reframing them. It’s actually been super helpful—because instead of living inside my diagnosis (or in this case, the label of my psychosis), I’ve started focusing on the behaviors of my brain and lovingly redirecting them, like I would a child who’s learning.

One of the biggest habits I’ve been unlearning is living in “black and white.” You know, the “all or nothing” mindset. As Star Wars would say, I was living in absolutes. That made duality really hard for me to understand. It was always either one or the other. It couldn’t possibly be both… right?

Duality, Chaos, and Art

The easiest way I can explain my thinking is through art.

Nietzsche wrote about the Apollonian and Dionysian in creativity. The Apollonian is structure and logic—like a musician following a score. The Dionysian? Chaos, ecstasy, and frenzies of creativity. I was first introduced to this concept through John Logan’s play Red. And I interpreted it as: “You have to pick one.”

So I did. In school, I took everything apart. I questioned every theory, every tradition, and put things back together like a busted blender. That made me seem chaotic. So I leaned in. I got branded: Dionysian. Wild. Uncontained. Follows the beat of my own drum.

But here’s what we all missed: duality doesn’t mean opposition. It means relationship. These concepts don’t cancel each other out—they complete each other.

Even the ancient Greeks knew this. Apollo would leave his temple at Delphi during winter, and Dionysus would take over until spring. They weren’t enemies—they took shifts. That’s duality. That’s the artist’s paradox.

Who I Am and Who I’m Becoming

At the East Side Institute, Lois Holzman teaches about the dualism of who we are and who we are becoming. It’s not a binary. It’s a both/and.

That lesson changed me.

It reminded me that personal development isn’t about choosing who you used to be or who you want to become. It’s about living in the tension between the two. That tension is what gets me out of bed in the morning.

Can I Be a Healer While Still Healing?

I like to call myself a healer. It’s my dream to help others grow, evolve, and heal. But before starting Scaros Performance Healing, I had a list of reasons why I couldn’t possibly be a healer:

• I live with anxiety and depression

• I used relationships for validation

• I’ve self-harmed

• I drink

• I smoked

• I need help more than I can help others

• I’m a sinner!

  
  

Then I realized: healing is not a destination. It’s not a checkbox you earn before helping others.

The dualism of healing means I can be in my own process and walk with others through theirs.

The Myth of the Perfect Healer

Somewhere along the way, we were sold this story: only the perfect can help the imperfect. Only the certified, the saintly, the white-coated priest-doctor can do “real” healing.

But that’s just another humanistic fantasy—one rooted in control. Churches, hospitals, schools, media—they’ve all told us: You’re not good enough on your own. Trust us to save you.

It’s the same narrative that said everyone’s a sinner, and then sold salvation.

If we believe that a “sinner” can’t help others, we let oppressive institutions win.

So Here’s What I’m Reframing:

• I’m studying how my brain works. That alone can help someone else learn about theirs.

• My past—self-harm, toxic relationships, unhealthy habits—is part of the roadmap. It lets my clients know: You’re not alone.

• There’s no such thing as “too far gone.” We’re all somewhere on the path.

• To sin is to err. And to err is to be human. Healing is just humans helping each other remember how to enjoy being human.

• I love helping myself. I love helping others. That’s the journey.

  
  

Final Thought: We’re Not Here to Be Perfect

We’re not here to be perfect. We’re here to experience. We’re here to feel things. Try things. Mess things up. Get curious. Grow.

We’ve got our senses. We’ve got our stories. We’ve got each other. And all of that is enough.