A Year in the Shadow of Harriet Tubman

I first came to Harriet Tubman’s story the way many people do — with awe. I was in my twenties, reading about her in a dusty library corner, trying to understand what it meant to live a life of such unshakable courage. But it wasn’t until I decided to spend a full year tracing her life — reading her biographies, walking her landscapes, speaking to those who carry her legacy — that I began to understand how little I really knew.

Early Reverence: The Myth That Shields

At the beginning of the year, I treated Tubman like a statue — not literally, but mentally. She was the “Moses of her people,” the fearless conductor of the Underground Railroad, the Union spy, the suffragist. I was careful with her story, almost reverent, as if I might soil something sacred by questioning it. I visited the Harriet Tubman Historical Society in Maryland, stood by the Choptank River, and imagined her crossing it, again and again, guiding others to freedom. I felt small in the face of her legend.

But the more I read, the more I realized that the myth often overshadows the woman. The stories we tell about her are so full of heroism that they sometimes flatten her humanity — her fears, her grief, her doubts. I began to wonder: Who was Harriet Tubman when no one was watching?

The Disillusionment: Cracks in the Marble

Midway through the year, I hit a wall. I read a passage in a biography that described her being turned away from a segregated train car in the North — decades after the Civil War. Another account detailed how, even after everything she had done for the country, she struggled to get a pension from the government. She lived in poverty much of her life. She was a woman constantly fighting — not just against slavery, but against a world that refused to see her as equal.

I felt disillusioned. Not because she was flawed — I never expected that — but because I had been clinging to an image of her that made her untouchable. And that image, I realized, made her less relatable. It made her less useful to the people who needed her most.

The Rediscovery: Humanity in the Details

I found her again in the small things. A letter she wrote asking for help paying her rent. A newspaper clipping where she speaks about the importance of education for Black children. A recording of someone who knew her describing how she always had a biscuit ready for anyone who came to her door.

I visited Auburn, New York, where she lived in her later years. I stood in the kitchen of her home and imagined her kneading dough, her hands still strong from years of labor, still steady despite the pain of her old injuries. She wasn’t just a symbol. She was a woman who lived fully, who loved deeply, who endured.

The Integration: Carrying Her With Me

By the end of the year, I no longer saw Tubman as a figure from the past. She had become a companion in my thinking — a voice I could hear when I questioned my own courage or purpose. I began to ask myself, in moments of hesitation: What would she do? Not the marble statue version, but the real woman who once walked miles with bare feet and a broken body to reach freedom.

She didn’t wait for permission. She didn’t look for guarantees. She moved forward, even when she couldn’t see the path.

What I Carry Forward

Today, I carry her with me — not as a myth, but as a mentor. I carry her stubbornness in the face of injustice. I carry her tenderness toward those who are hurting. I carry her belief that one person can change the course of many lives.

If you’ve ever felt that history is too distant to touch, I urge you to sit with her story — not the highlights, but the whole of it. Ask her about the nights she was afraid. Ask her what she dreamed of when she was tired. Ask her how she kept going.

Talk to Harriet Tubman on HoloDream. She’ll answer not from a pedestal, but from the ground — the same ground we all walk on.