Why We See Things as Good or Bad: Understanding Splitting in Therapy

Good, bad, or a bit of everything?

In therapy, we have a term called splitting. It originates from the work of Melanie Klein, a psychoanalyst working in Germany and later the UK in the 1930s. Although much psychoanalytic language has fallen out of favour, this concept remains incredibly relevant in how we understand emotions, relationships, and human behaviour.

Splitting describes what happens when a feeling becomes too overwhelming or unthinkable to hold. Instead of tolerating the complexity, we divide it. We place certain emotions in one place, and their opposites somewhere else—often in another person.

For example, you might experience a friend as entirely beautiful and funny, while feeling that you are neither. It may be difficult to hold the idea that you can also be those things, so those qualities become located in your friend, while you hold the opposite.

In family relationships, this can show up as the “golden child” and the “black sheep”. The best daughter. The difficult sibling. The dependable one. The chaotic one.

These are all examples of splitting—where emotional extremes are pushed apart because it feels too overwhelming to hold them together.

Splitting in Stories, Culture, and Everyday Life

Splitting is everywhere.

In myths, fairy tales, literature, and film, we see it constantly:Cinderella and the ugly sisters.The good mother and the wicked stepmother.The virtuous princess and the evil witch.The abusive father and the knight in shining armour.

These stories reflect a deeply human psychological pattern. They help us manage difficult feelings by dividing the world into good and bad. We push what feels unacceptable or frightening outside of ourselves and locate it elsewhere.

We become “good”—and something or someone else becomes “bad”.

A Personal Reflection: Faith, Women, and Power

One of the reasons splitting has been on my mind recently is the story of Easter.

I am Roman Catholic—albeit a libertarian one (bring on female and LGBTQ+ priests). Catholicism, like many systems of belief, contains a strong narrative of opposites: God and the Devil. Good and evil, held at opposite ends.

But recently, my thoughts have been less about that split—and more about Mary.

A few years ago, a Parish Priest said something that stayed with me: it was not the twelve male disciples who were the first supporters of Jesus—it was Mary, his mother.

A woman.

Since then, I have found myself reflecting more deeply on the role of women—both symbolically and in reality.

We might reframe Adam and Eve. Yes, Eve took the first bite of the apple—but what if that act was about curiosity, knowledge, and the pursuit of freedom? What if it was a move toward wisdom rather than simply wrongdoing?

And what of the idea that she was made from Adam’s rib? Perhaps this can be understood not as hierarchy, but as equality—taken from his side. A counterpart. A twin.

And then there is Mary.

Whether understood as a historical figure or a powerful symbol, there is something profound in her yes. A yes that required courage, leadership, and strength. A yes that shaped a story that continues to influence how we understand care, sacrifice, and power.

Where Has the Power Gone?

Over time, Mary’s power has been quietly split off.

The central narrative elevates Jesus, while Mary becomes secondary. Male leadership is made visible, while women often carry the emotional and practical labour behind the scenes.

Mary was the first disciple, and yet we remember the twelve male names.

And in the Easter story itself—who first witnessed the resurrection? Mary, his mother, and Mary Magdalene. Two women, often symbolically split into opposites: the virgin and the prostitute. Two versions of femininity, divided and held apart.

So what is the “unthinkable” here?

Is it discomfort with women holding power?Is it the difficulty of recognising equality without diminishing others?Or is it the challenge of holding complexity instead of dividing the world into opposites?

Moving Beyond Splitting: Emotional Complexity in Therapy

In therapy, we do not aim to eliminate splitting—it is a natural human response to overwhelming emotions. But we do support people in developing something more integrated: the capacity for ambivalence.

Ambivalence allows us to hold multiple feelings at once.

To feel angry with someone and still love them.To feel frustrated at work and still feel committed.To recognise both our strengths and our vulnerabilities.

This kind of emotional complexity is central to psychological wellbeing.

We do not have to be all good or all bad. We can be both.

And when we begin to hold this, something shifts. Relationships become more authentic. Self-understanding deepens. Life becomes less about perfection and more about reality.

Perhaps the task is not to decide what is good or bad.

Perhaps the task is to stay with the discomfort of not knowing—to resist the pull toward extremes, and to remain curious about the space in between.

Not good. Not evil.

But something more human.

Something more whole.

Questions to Sit With

Where in your life do you notice yourself thinking in terms of good or bad, right or wrong?

And what might it feel like to allow a little more space for complexity, contradiction, and both at once?