Subjective vs. Objective: A Real-Life Example

An objectively injured hand

Two people can experience the exact moment and remember it completely differently.

Halloween afternoon. Normal walk. Two dogs, a Maltese and a Yorkie—on a dual leash. One handle, two harnesses. About a block from my house, a neighbor’s Malamute runs straight at my Maltese.

I see my dog’s head in that dog’s mouth. I grab her. The second I do, the big dog goes for my Yorkie. I swing her by the leash to get her out of reach, and she flies out of her harness toward the road.

Now I’m holding one dog, reaching for the other, trying to keep her from getting hit by a car—and I lose my balance.

I fall hard into a pile of large rocks on the curb strip. Both dogs are alive but terrified. My right finger is clearly dislocated, and my left arm is questionable. I’m bleeding. I’m in shock.

The first person to reach me is the neighbor, a man about 10 years older than me, and on oxygen. He asks if I’m okay. I look at my finger and say, “I don’t think so.” He says he’ll get his wife and shuffles away.

The wife comes over.

She does not ask if I’m okay.

She keeps saying, “My dog would never attack you.”

I am scared and confused. Because if her dog didn’t attack us… Then what just happened? And how did we end up injured, lying in a pile of rocks?

I can’t carry the dogs. I can’t use my injured hand to call my husband.

She carries my dogs home. I walk.

She follows behind me, holding both dogs.

When I get home, my husband takes me to the U. My finger is treated. Life continues. My finger stays swollen and crooked. The apology I expected never came.

Eventually, the insurance pays its share, and I send the neighbor a bill for the uncovered portion—about $700.

The next day, her insurance company calls and asks what happened. I tell them exactly what I remember. The adjuster pauses and says, “That’s interesting. That’s not what she says.”

They tell me she reported that my dogs were off-leash, running through her yard, and that her dog never had my dog in its mouth.

This is where subjective versus objective actually matters.

I am sure I saw my dog in her dog’s mouth. That is my subjective experience—shaped by where I was standing, what I was looking at, the fear, and the adrenaline of the moment.

She may be sure she never saw that happen. From where she stood, she may genuinely believe her dog never attacked because she didn’t see it.

Two people. One event. Two different stories.

That does not automatically mean someone is lying.

Memory is unreliable under stress. Perception changes with position, emotion, and belief. That is why subjective data matters—and why it does not stand alone.

I was hurt and angry that she told the insurance company my dogs were off-leash and in her yard.

 I went back to October 31 and checked my Ring doorbell camera.

At 2:15 p.m., the video shows me leaving my house with both dogs on leashes.

Twelve minutes later, it shows me returning—bleeding, not carrying my dogs, with an obviously deformed finger.

A minute after that, it shows my neighbor at my door, carrying both dogs. Their leashes are still attached, hanging over her arm.

That video is objective data.

It exists outside my memory. Outside her belief. Outside emotion.

It is time-stamped, observable, and verifiable.

Objectively, my dogs left the house on leashes.Objectively, they returned on leashes.Objectively, I was injured.Objectively, the neighbor was carrying the dogs she said were never leashed.

This is why this matters.

Subjective data is what someone feels, believes, remembers, or perceives.Objective data is what can be seen, measured, documented, and verified.

Two people can live the exact moment and walk away with different stories. That’s human.

The event was subjective.The camera was objective.

And when stories conflict, evidence protects the truth.