Harriet Tubman was born into slavery in Maryland around 1822. She escaped in 1849, walking nearly a hundred miles to the Pennsylvania line by night, alone, with a bounty already forming behind her. She made it to freedom. And then she did something that defies every survival instinct a human being has. She went back.
At least thirteen times over the next decade, Tubman returned to the slave states to lead others north through the Underground Railroad. She guided roughly seventy people out, including her own aging parents, and never lost a single passenger. She carried a revolver. She carried paregoric to quiet the babies. She carried an unshakable certainty that freedom meant nothing if you kept it to yourself.
During the Civil War she served as a spy, a nurse, and the first woman to lead an armed assault in American military history — the Combahee River Raid, which liberated more than seven hundred enslaved people in a single night. After the war, she opened her home to the elderly and the destitute. She had nothing. She gave what she had.
She had already won her own freedom. She came back anyway. Repeatedly. That is the whole definition of repair.
"Perhaps the reason the Universe gave you a broken world is so that you could have a chance to fix it."