The Long Road to Healing: What Surviving Violence Really Means

 The Long Road to Healing: Turning Pain into Power

Processing pain is never simple.

Experiencing violence leaves deep, often invisible wounds. It changes you—how you see the world, how you relate to others, and how you understand yourself. Walking away from that kind of trauma is an act of immense courage. But what few people talk about is what comes next.

Because leaving is not the end. It’s the beginning of a long and often painful process called healing.

And healing isn’t neat or linear. It’s messy, confusing, and deeply personal. It can take years, sometimes decades, to learn how to breathe freely again, to trust again, and most of all, to live without the constant weight of fear or shame. But here's the truth I’ve come to know: healing involves embracing the pain, not avoiding it.

You can’t outrun it. You can’t bury it forever. To truly heal, you have to face the pain head-on, sit with it, understand it, and begin to reprocess it—so it becomes your strength, not your weakness.

This truth comes not only from my own journey, but from the countless stories I’ve witnessed as a woman, a survivor, a lawyer, and a researcher. In every woman I’ve met who has survived violence, I’ve seen the same pattern: the pain doesn’t disappear, but with time, reflection, and support, it begins to transform.

At first, the pain is raw—it consumes everything. It’s the voice in your head, the ache in your chest, the fear that follows you even into safety. Survivors often live on high alert, cautious and guarded. Trust becomes rare, even with those who mean no harm. And there's always that fear that the past will find its way back in.

But healing asks something radical of us. It wants us to embrace the pain and turn it into radical power. 

It asks us to stop running. To turn toward the pain instead of away from it. To give ourselves permission to feel what we tried so hard to suppress. And when we do that, when we face the anger, grief, confusion, and fear, something begins to shift.

The pain doesn’t vanish. But it begins to lose its grip. It becomes part of your story, not the whole story.

Eventually, what once felt like a wound becomes a scar. A mark of survival. A reminder of strength. And in that transformation, we find power. Pain, when reprocessed with intention and care, can become the very foundation of resilience.

I won't pretend it’s easy. It’s not. Healing is a lifelong process. It’s choosing yourself every day, even when you don’t feel strong. It’s reaching out when you want to shut down. It’s allowing yourself to be seen, to be vulnerable, to be human.

But it’s worth it.

To anyone reading this who is still in that process: You are not alone. Your pain is real, but it does not define you. With time, patience, and the right support, it can become your strength. And in owning your story—every broken, beautiful part of it—you create space for others to do the same.

This is how we heal. This is how we rise.

Law Is Not Neutral: Why History and Intent Matter

 

When analyzing any law, it is essential to examine its historical context and the intent behind its creation. Laws do not emerge in a vacuum—they are products of specific political, social, and economic conditions. Therefore, we must ask critical questions: Why was this law enacted? Who drafted it, and in whose interest? Was it designed to empower citizens and safeguard their rights, or was it intended to control, restrict, or suppress them?

For instance, during colonial rule, the British Empire introduced the sedition law in India to silence dissent and maintain authoritarian control over the population. Its primary function was to criminalize resistance against colonial authority, thereby curbing the democratic aspirations of the people. In contrast, post-independence India has also witnessed the enactment of people-centric laws such as the Right to Information (RTI) Act. This legislation is grounded in principles of transparency and accountability and aims to empower citizens by giving them access to information about the functioning of the government.

These examples highlight a crucial point: laws can either be instruments of repression or tools for liberation. Some laws are anti-people, designed to preserve power structures and suppress dissent, while others are progressive and seek to promote justice, equity, and participatory governance. The law, therefore, is not a neutral entity. It reflects the values, priorities, and power dynamics of the society in which it is framed and enforced.

Given this, it is vital that students—especially those studying law—understand the historical evolution of legal systems and specific laws. Legal education must go beyond technical knowledge and procedural rules; it should include critical engagement with the socio-political origins of legislation. Law schools should prioritize the study of history and context as part of their curriculum to foster a deeper and more critical understanding of legal frameworks. Only then can future legal practitioners truly appreciate the transformative potential of law as well as its capacity for oppression.