Excerpt
Introduction: Who Was Harriet Jacobs?
It wasn’t easy to be brave when everything felt dangerous. Harriet Jacobs knew what it meant to live with fear. Not the kind of fear you get from a scary story or a thunderstorm. This was a different kind of fear—the kind that follows you, hides in the corners of your day, and makes you second-guess every step. And yet, even when she was scared, Harriet didn’t give up. That’s the first glimpse of her courage: she kept going.
There are a lot of different kinds of bravery. Some people are brave in battle. Some speak out when no one else will. Some, like Harriet, stay completely still—quiet as a whisper—for a very long time, just to protect the people they love. And that takes a kind of strength most people can’t even imagine.
When Harriet was a girl, she didn’t ask to become a hero. She wanted what every child wants—to feel safe, to stay close to her family, and to be treated kindly. But the world around her was unfair. She didn’t get to choose where she lived, who she lived with, or even what happened to her own body. All of those choices belonged to someone else, just because of the color of her skin.
But here’s what’s powerful: Harriet didn’t let unfairness decide who she was inside.
Even as a child, she paid close attention to the people around her. She listened, quietly, and learned. She saw the difference between people who used power to hurt, and those who used love to heal. And she held tightly to the people who showed her kindness. That’s something strong people do. They don’t always shout, but they don’t forget.
As Harriet got older, the danger in her life grew. There were times when it would have been easier to give in. To stop fighting. To stop hoping. But Harriet had something that couldn’t be taken from her—her mind. Her thoughts, her plans, her beliefs. Even if she couldn’t walk freely down a street, she could dream of a better world. And she did.
That dream wasn’t just for her. It was for her children. For her grandmother. For other girls and boys who didn’t want to be treated like property. Harriet’s courage came from love. Not just any love—but the deep kind that makes you do hard things. Hard things like crawling through the dark. Like hiding in a space not much bigger than a coffin. Like waiting for years, without sunlight, without stretching your legs, without hugging your children.
She didn’t do it because someone told her to. She did it because she refused to let someone else control her future. Even when her body was trapped, her spirit wasn’t.
Now, you might wonder—what does that kind of courage feel like? Does it mean you’re never scared? Harriet was scared. She had to be. But courage doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It means you keep going, even when you are. That’s what Harriet did. Day after day. Year after year.
She listened through the walls to her children playing outside, just beyond her reach. Her heart must’ve ached. But she stayed hidden, because that was the only way she could keep them safe. She watched from a tiny peephole as the seasons changed and life went on. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. That’s not a kind of bravery we hear about in adventure movies—but it should be. Because it’s real. And it’s strong.
What makes Harriet’s story powerful isn’t just what happened to her. It’s what she chose to do about it. She didn’t get angry and cruel like the people who tried to control her. She didn’t decide the world was only made of pain. She decided it was worth changing. And she was willing to suffer for that change if it meant her children might grow up with freedom.
She didn’t pick up a sword or a torch. She picked up a pen.
When the time finally came, she told her story. She didn’t pretend it was easy. She didn’t try to make herself look perfect. She told the truth—every painful, brave, honest part of it. That truth helped people understand what slavery really did to human beings. Not just to their bodies, but to their hearts, their hopes, and their families.
Some people didn’t want to believe her. Some didn’t want to listen. But many did. And her words helped open their eyes.
It’s easy to talk about heroes after they’re safe, after they’ve won. But Harriet was a hero when it was dangerous to be one. Her life was full of moments when she could’ve stayed silent. When she could’ve chosen the easier path. But again and again, she chose the harder one. She chose truth. She chose love. She chose freedom.
It wasn’t easy to be brave when everything felt dangerous. Harriet Jacobs knew what it meant to live with fear. Not the kind of fear you get from a scary story or a thunderstorm. This was a different kind of fear—the kind that follows you, hides in the corners of your day, and makes you second-guess every step. And yet, even when she was scared, Harriet didn’t give up. That’s the first glimpse of her courage: she kept going.
There are a lot of different kinds of bravery. Some people are brave in battle. Some speak out when no one else will. Some, like Harriet, stay completely still—quiet as a whisper—for a very long time, just to protect the people they love. And that takes a kind of strength most people can’t even imagine.
When Harriet was a girl, she didn’t ask to become a hero. She wanted what every child wants—to feel safe, to stay close to her family, and to be treated kindly. But the world around her was unfair. She didn’t get to choose where she lived, who she lived with, or even what happened to her own body. All of those choices belonged to someone else, just because of the color of her skin.
But here’s what’s powerful: Harriet didn’t let unfairness decide who she was inside.
Even as a child, she paid close attention to the people around her. She listened, quietly, and learned. She saw the difference between people who used power to hurt, and those who used love to heal. And she held tightly to the people who showed her kindness. That’s something strong people do. They don’t always shout, but they don’t forget.
As Harriet got older, the danger in her life grew. There were times when it would have been easier to give in. To stop fighting. To stop hoping. But Harriet had something that couldn’t be taken from her—her mind. Her thoughts, her plans, her beliefs. Even if she couldn’t walk freely down a street, she could dream of a better world. And she did.
That dream wasn’t just for her. It was for her children. For her grandmother. For other girls and boys who didn’t want to be treated like property. Harriet’s courage came from love. Not just any love—but the deep kind that makes you do hard things. Hard things like crawling through the dark. Like hiding in a space not much bigger than a coffin. Like waiting for years, without sunlight, without stretching your legs, without hugging your children.
She didn’t do it because someone told her to. She did it because she refused to let someone else control her future. Even when her body was trapped, her spirit wasn’t.
Now, you might wonder—what does that kind of courage feel like? Does it mean you’re never scared? Harriet was scared. She had to be. But courage doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It means you keep going, even when you are. That’s what Harriet did. Day after day. Year after year.
She listened through the walls to her children playing outside, just beyond her reach. Her heart must’ve ached. But she stayed hidden, because that was the only way she could keep them safe. She watched from a tiny peephole as the seasons changed and life went on. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. That’s not a kind of bravery we hear about in adventure movies—but it should be. Because it’s real. And it’s strong.
What makes Harriet’s story powerful isn’t just what happened to her. It’s what she chose to do about it. She didn’t get angry and cruel like the people who tried to control her. She didn’t decide the world was only made of pain. She decided it was worth changing. And she was willing to suffer for that change if it meant her children might grow up with freedom.
She didn’t pick up a sword or a torch. She picked up a pen.
When the time finally came, she told her story. She didn’t pretend it was easy. She didn’t try to make herself look perfect. She told the truth—every painful, brave, honest part of it. That truth helped people understand what slavery really did to human beings. Not just to their bodies, but to their hearts, their hopes, and their families.
Some people didn’t want to believe her. Some didn’t want to listen. But many did. And her words helped open their eyes.
It’s easy to talk about heroes after they’re safe, after they’ve won. But Harriet was a hero when it was dangerous to be one. Her life was full of moments when she could’ve stayed silent. When she could’ve chosen the easier path. But again and again, she chose the harder one. She chose truth. She chose love. She chose freedom.