Seeing Beyond the Surface

Imagine a man gets a dog.

He sees it only as a servant, an object to serve him, a mirror for his ego. The dog validates him when it comes when called, performs tricks, or appears loyal. He does not see the dog as an individual, with its own needs, desires, and dignity. He sees only what benefits him. Much like predatory men see women: as interchangeable objects, vessels, shadows of their ego, rather than fully alive beings.

The dog has its own nature, its own personality, its own heart. It craves attention, care, and connection. It gives loyalty, affection, and instinctive empathy. But the man is oblivious. He cannot feel or mirror the interior world of another being. He is blind to her pain, to the signals she gives, to the subtle language of suffering and survival.

At first, the dog tries to bond, to meet him halfway, to adapt. But the man grows inconsistent, unhinged, unpredictable. He might ignore the dog entirely, shout at it, rush its walks, or deny it sustenance and care. He might lavish attention and treats in public, only to withhold them in private. He might even physically threaten or harm it.

Eventually, the dog shows signs of trauma: shivering, aggression, withdrawal, self-harm. The man blames the dog. “It’s sick. It’s dysfunctional. It’s ungrateful.” Others notice the symptoms and can sense the abuse. A quivering, skinny, untrusting dog with an overconfident, arrogant owner screams the truth—but too often, the dog cannot recover fully and may be destroyed, abandoned, or replaced. The system favours efficiency, not rehabilitation. No one calls the dog manipulative or claims it is “abusing” the owner for showing distress.

Now imagine this pattern in human form. A woman bears the brunt of abuse: hair falls out, her eyes lose their light, her skin dulls, her weight changes, her emotions swing between rage, tears, and shutdown. She becomes hypervigilant, wary, guarded. And society? It blames her. “She’s manipulative. She’s dramatic. She’s weak. She’s toxic.” Meanwhile, the abuser is shielded, celebrated, allowed to move freely, charming and unscathed.

Here is the difference: female survivors can recover. Unlike the dog, she can heal when offered safety, structure, validation, and care. She can reclaim her body, voice, and agency. She can learn, grow, and rise again. She can transform trauma into strength, rage into art, silence into witness. The machinery that perpetuated harm does not have the final word.

And yet, the irony persists. People are often more sympathetic to animals than to women. The wounded dog may receive attention, while the woman suffers judgment, disbelief, and dismissal. She is expected to forgive quietly, accommodate, shrink, smooth her edges to protect others’ comfort. The dog cannot speak. The woman can—and she must.

Abuse leaves marks, but the human spirit endures. The survivor’s resilience is unparalleled. She bears witness, carries wisdom, embodies survival. The system may attempt to erase, silence, or mislabel her, but she persists. She recovers, transforms, becomes living proof that love, care, and validation are potent forces for reclamation.

The man may fail to see; he may deny, charm his way through life, leaving trails of brokenness behind. But the survivor, when recognized and supported, rises. She becomes a mirror not just of what was endured, but of what is possible. She illuminates the contrast between predation and integrity, blindness and awareness, destruction and reclamation.

Let this be clear: the dog may suffer, and some cannot recover. The woman who survives abuse is not so limited. She can and does reclaim herself. She can and does thrive. The difference lies in recognition, care, and human accountability. The lesson is simple: stop seeing only what serves your ego. Start seeing the life before you. Start witnessing the truth.

The dog analogy is tragic.

But it makes something brutally clear.

A woman’s survival is revolutionary.

She rises like fire through stone,

like rivers cutting canyons through centuries of neglect.

Her voice cannot be silenced, her truth cannot be stolen.

She is witness. She is fury. She is renewal.

And the world—finally, inevitably—will see her light.