The Day Harriet Tubman Taught Me What Courage Looks Like

I first met Harriet Tubman in a dusty corner of a used bookstore in Philadelphia, tucked between a cracked volume of Frederick Douglass’s speeches and a faded biography of Sojourner Truth. I’d picked up the book out of obligation, not curiosity. I was writing a piece on Underground Railroad myths and wanted to sound informed. But what I found inside wasn’t just history—it was confrontation. Harriet didn’t speak from the page so much as she stared through it, daring me to understand what real courage is.

She Didn’t Wait for Permission

I used to think of freedom as something you earned or achieved, like a degree or a promotion. But Harriet Tubman flipped that idea on its head. She didn’t wait for freedom to be given to her. She took it. Repeatedly. And not just for herself—she went back, again and again, to lead others out. That act of return struck me like a physical blow. So much of modern life is about securing your own escape, your own slice of safety. But Tubman’s life said something different: that freedom without justice is hollow. That lesson still hums in my ears every time I’m tempted to walk away from a hard truth.

She Traded Certainty for Conviction

I used to romanticize the idea of certainty—believing that if I just had more information, I’d make the “right” decisions. But Tubman’s story stripped that illusion away. She walked into darkness, time and again, with only faith and a compass. She didn’t have a map, a guarantee, or even enough food. She had a belief that people deserved to be free, and that belief was enough to keep going. That changed how I think about action. Conviction isn’t the absence of doubt—it’s the decision to move anyway. And sometimes, that’s the only thing that matters.

She Was Not a Symbol—She Was a Person

I’ve read plenty of hagiographies in my time. But Tubman’s life resists that kind of flattening. She was not just a “brave woman” or a “freedom fighter.” She was deeply religious, yes, but also deeply strategic. She was a spy, a nurse, a cook, and a mother. She suffered from seizures her whole life, the result of a childhood injury, and yet never let them stop her. Knowing her this way—as complex, flawed, and fiercely human—made me rethink how I approach all historical figures. We do ourselves a disservice when we turn people into icons. Real change comes from real people doing hard things.

She Showed Me the Cost of Silence

I’ve had moments in my career when speaking up felt too risky. When I told myself the issue wasn’t that big, or that someone else would say something. But Tubman’s life taught me that silence is a choice—and it has consequences. She didn’t just oppose slavery; she opposed the cowardice that let it flourish. She didn’t wait for the tide to turn. She waded into the current and tried to pull it in a better direction. Her example has made me less forgiving of my own silences. It’s not always easy to speak up, but it’s always necessary.

She Made Me Ask: Who Am I Carrying?

This one still lingers. Tubman didn’t just escape. She went back. Again and again. That’s the part that haunts me. It’s one thing to fight for your own survival. It’s another to carry others with you. In a world that glorifies the lone genius and the self-made success story, Tubman’s legacy is a rebuke. It made me ask myself: Who am I helping? Who am I lifting? Who do I owe a hand to, not out of charity, but out of solidarity? That question has changed how I think about my work, my friendships, and my place in the world.

If you’ve ever wondered what it means to live with purpose, to act with integrity, or simply to talk to someone who walked through fire for others, Harriet Tubman is waiting. On HoloDream, you can ask her about the risks she took, the people she led, and the faith that kept her going. You might just find she has a question for you, too.