Interview with My Friends: Part 3

I had the amazing opportunity to be a contestant on a reality television show and entrepreneurial competition in June called The Blox. It was a fantastic experience that I will never forget. It will air sometime early 2025.

I met some unforgettable people in Tulsa that I know will remain in my circle for a lifetime. One of these inspirational  women is Ebony Hall. Her story is impactful. With her permission, I’m sharing it here. Please check out the book for more stories.

Peace and Power,

~Karolyn

Echoes of Strength: Unthinkable Lessons in Resilience and Redemption

by Ebony Hall

One: The Descent

A Bittersweet beginning

My birthday has always been bittersweet, marked by the anniversary of my mother’s death. Let me take you back to how this all became my reality.

It was two days before my birthday, and the heat at Ft. Polk, Louisiana, was oppressive, even for the seasoned soldiers who had just arrived at the Joint Readiness Training Center (JRTC). It was mid-August, and the relentless sun bore down with a merciless intensity that made everything shimmer in a heat haze.

It was 113 degrees as we hopped off the 5-ton trucks, the hot air hitting like a wall. I immediately sought relief, heading straight for the nearest water buffalo to fill my hat with cool water, which I then placed on my head, savoring the brief respite from the heat. The momentary comfort reminded me that I wasn’t just battling the external elements but also the internal storm brewing within me.

Ft. Polk, now known as Ft. Johnson. Regardless of what the base was called, I couldn’t shake the sense of

foreboding that had settled over me.

After unpacking my gear in the tent, I secretly checked my phone—a forbidden luxury out here. I knew I

shouldn’t have brought it, but I couldn’t resist. My mother had promised to sing “Happy Birthday” to me

the next day because I would be too busy in the field on my birthday. I wasn’t going to miss that call. Her

voice was beautiful, so much so that she had once been offered the chance to be signed by Whitney

Houston herself. But my grandmother, fearing the drug usage in the music industry, had dissuaded her.

As the sun began to set, we busied ourselves setting up the tents and preparing for the days ahead. We had

just arrived, and the real training wouldn’t start until tomorrow. Dinner was a subdued affair, and soon,

everyone retired to bed, exhausted from the day’s journey. I stayed up all night, texting my mother and

sister under my sleeping bag, the small screen of my phone a comforting connection to the world I had temporarily left behind.

The Last Call

The next morning, I rushed through breakfast, eager to check my phone for messages. But there was nothing—no missed calls, no texts. It was a Sunday, so I told myself that my mom and sister were probably getting ready for church and would call me later. I tried to keep busy, moving between the chow hall and my tent, but anxiety gnawed at me, growing stronger with each passing hour. Something felt off.

My usual optimism was clouded by a sense of dread that I couldn’t shake.

Finally, a text message came through. My heart raced as I opened it, only to find a message from my sister that read, “Mama passed out in church!!” Panic set in. I frantically tried to call her, but there was no answer. My mind raced with possibilities, and I told myself it must be a heart attack—at 47, my mother was still young enough to pull through. But as the minutes ticked by with no further word, my fear deepened.

The Day My World Stopped

The next message I received shattered whatever fragile hope I had been clinging to: “Mama is a vegetable.” I didn’t fully understand the medical term, but I knew enough to realize it wasn’t good. I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. I ran to the chow hall, desperate for help, for someone to tell me it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. I found my sergeant and blurted out what little I knew, without caring if I exposed myself about my phone, but his response was cold and dismissive: “Tell your family to call the Red Cross. There’s nothing we can do right now.” His words felt like a slap in the face, leaving me standing there, stunned and powerless.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I stormed back to my tent, tears streaming down my face. I was alone, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Another text buzzed through, this one delivering the final blow: “She passed.” The words were surreal, impossible to comprehend. I threw my phone across the tent and screamed out in anguish, cursing God for taking my mother away. My mind spiraled into a dark place, consumed by grief and anger.

Two: Into The Abyss

The Breaking Point

In a haze, I grabbed my M16, walked into the tent where the church service was being held, and loaded the magazine. My hands were shaking, tears blurring my vision as I lifted the rifle to my mouth. I screamed out, desperate for an escape from the unbearable pain. The Chaplain rushed toward me, his voice calm yet urgent as he pleaded with me to put the rifle down. He hugged me tightly as I broke down, telling him through sobs that my mother had died and that no one was helping me.

The Chaplain, recognizing the severity of my state, intervened on my behalf. Little did I know, my grandmother had already contacted the Sergeant Major, who had, in turn, contacted the Company Commander since the Company Commander felt I needed training before I see my dying mother. Within minutes, a truck arrived to take me away from the field, back to the barracks where I could begin the journey home.

As we drove away, I called my friend Lyle. My voice was eerily calm as I delivered the news: “My mom passed away.” He thought I was joking at first, but I quickly corrected him. I was in shock, the reality of my situation still not fully registering despite everything that had happened.

The next day, my twenty-first birthday, I flew into Atlanta, GA, and walked through the airport, tears streaming down my face. My family met me there and drove me to Columbus, GA, where I finally saw my mother, lying lifeless on a ventilator. The sight was too much to bear, and I lost all control, lashing out in anger at the doctor, begging him to do something—anything—to bring her back. My family had to pull me away, leading me in prayer as I struggled to find some semblance of peace.

But peace was elusive. The doctor explained what it meant for my mother to be in a vegetative state, and then he dropped the bombshell: as the oldest, it was my responsibility to decide whether to keep her on life support or let her pass. I sat there, stunned, realizing that this was how I would remember my twenty-first birthday—not as a day of celebration, but as the day I had to decide whether to let my mother die.

Deployment and Despair

I’ll never forget the words my mother spoke to my sister and me when we were little: "If something ever happens to me, and I won’t be the same, let me go." Those words echoed in my mind as I faced the hardest decision of my life. Reluctantly, I made the choice to let her go, knowing it’s what she would have wanted. But in that moment, a part of me died too. The person I was before that day was gone.

After we laid her to rest, the harsh reality hit—life moves on, even when you feel like yours has stopped.

Bill collectors still called, and while her coworkers brought food, the business she dedicated her life to continued as if nothing had changed. She was replaced, and life marched on, indifferent to my pain.

An emptiness grew inside me, a void impossible to fill. I put on a brave face for family, laughing and joking as if I were okay, but inside, I was crumbling. The night of her funeral, August 18, 2007, I went to the club and drowned myself in alcohol, desperate to numb the unbearable pain.

In the midst of my grief, I knew I needed to be closer to my family, so I sought a compassionate reassignment to Fort Benning, GA, now Fort Moore. My grandmother, using her connections, helped me through the process. Fort Benning approved it, but my company commander—the same man who insisted

I needed more field training before I could see my dying mother—had the final say. He denied my request, claiming I just didn’t want to deploy. He was right. I wasn’t mentally prepared, but I had no choice.

I packed my things and returned to Fort Polk, LA, now Fort Johnson. Three months later, in November 2007, I deployed to Baghdad, Iraq.

The Darkest Hour

One December afternoon on the FOB, the world felt like it was closing in on me. The weight ofeverything became unbearable, and I needed to end the pain. I rushed into the barracks, found an empty room, and locked the door behind me. My mind was racing as I loaded my M4 rifle, placed the butt on the ground, and pointed the barrel at my face. As I slowly squeezed the trigger, I prayed, asking God for forgiveness, even in my anger and doubt. But just before the trigger clicked, an overwhelming joy flooded over me, stopping me in my tracks. I couldn’t pull the trigger. Tears streamed down my face, but in that moment, I knew it was God who had saved me.

Three: The Road to Redemption

Flicker of Hope

I remember telling my roommate what I had almost done. She sat with me, prayed, and then took me to a clearing barrel where we fired off the round I had nearly used to end my life. It was a symbolic release, and afterward, I felt a strange joy in my heart. The emptiness was still there, but I knew I had a purpose.

But purpose didn’t erase the pain. Three years later, when my grandmother passed away, it felt like the final blow. That loss pushed me into a decade-long struggle with alcohol, drowning myself to numb the grief I never had time to process.

The Battle Within

One day, a close friend asked, “Who is this Ebony now?” The question hit hard. It made me realize that after surviving my darkest moments, I was still slowly killing myself with alcohol. Why was I still plotting my own demise after fighting so hard to stay alive?

That was my wake-up call. I decided to reclaim my life, not just for myself but for the purpose I knew I had. I stopped relying on alcohol and started rebuilding, step by step, moving closer to the person I was meant to be.

After everything, I found my way to a successful tech career. I own a staffing agency that not only provides jobs but changes lives. I’ve impacted countless individuals by sharing my experiences, helping them find their paths forward. Today, those who love me enjoy the best version of me.

Looking back, those dark times didn’t break me—they built me. I’ve used my experiences to guide others through their struggles, showing that even in the darkest moments, there’s a way forward. My journey wasn’t easy, but it led me to where I am now—successful, fulfilled, and surrounded by love. If I can do it, so can anyone else.

“Sometimes you have to go down in the valley to reach the mountaintop.” - Ebony Hall

What If I Had Ended It? I Would Not Have Been Able to Do This.

Had I ended my life on that December day, I would have missed out on the profound impact I’ve been able to make in the lives of others. One of the most powerful examples of this is my work as an IT instructor and mentor for a second-chance program for the formerly incarcerated. This program wasn't just about teaching technical skills; it was about rebuilding lives. Participants received free laptops, internet access, and vouchers for CompTIA IT Fundamentals (ITF+) and CompTIA A+ certifications.

They also received stipends, SNAP Food Stamp Assistance, and, more importantly, hope.

Among the many individuals I had the honor of mentoring, there was one participant whose resilience struck a deep chord within me. Homeless in California, he attended every class, every Zoom call, and even my optional "mindful mornings," where a small group of us would start the day with motivational videos and visualization meditation. Despite his circumstances, he was consistently the top performer in his class. His tenacity reminded me of my own fight, and I knew I had to do everything in my power to help him succeed.

I reached out to him regularly, offering not just technical guidance but emotional support. When he passed his exams with top scores, he called me with a plan: he was coming to Atlanta, where I live. He had saved his stipend checks, bought a car, and was ready to sleep in it, use a Planet Fitness membership for showers, and do whatever it took to break into the tech industry.

I couldn't turn him away. I guided him to my church, where he received food and clothes without judgment, and I brought him dinner each night. During the day, he studied at the library while I networked relentlessly on his behalf, calling employers and recruiters. Within two weeks, I found him a job in the tech industry with a base salary of $19 an hour and opportunities for overtime where he made $27 an hour. He also found a space in a shelter.

Today, that same man has his own apartment, and a new car, is thriving in his IT career, and we are now close friends. His success and the fulfillment it brought me sparked something even greater in me. It was this experience that turned my idea of opening an IT staffing agency into a reality. Helping him was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, and it solidified my purpose: to be a force for change, to be the rebel with a cause, to lead others from darkness to purpose.

So, if you ever find yourself questioning your worth or your purpose, remember this: your life is bigger than you. We are all on an assignment. The struggles you face today might be the very foundation of someone else’s future. Never underestimate the power you hold to change lives—starting with your own.

Rising From the Ashes

Pain is inevitable, but it doesn’t have to define you. Use your struggles as fuel to propel yourself forward.

Every challenge is an opportunity to grow stronger and wiser. When life knocks you down, remember you’re still here for a reason. Even in the darkest moments, a purpose is waiting to be discovered—keep searching until you find it and let it guide you.

Lean on those who care. A friend, family member, or even a kind stranger can make all the difference.

Healing takes effort, and small steps each day led to significant change.

Your past doesn’t dictate your future. If you feel lost, take time to redefine who you want to be. Focus on what you can control—your mindset, actions, and responses—and let go of the rest.

Channel your pain into creating something meaningful. Whether it’s starting a business, pursuing a passion, or helping others, build something positive that benefits both you and those around you.

Celebrate even the smallest wins, as each victory moves you closer to a better future. No matter how many times you fall, never stop believing in your ability to rise again. With perseverance, you can achieve anything.

Your journey is a testament to resilience. By sharing your story, you inspire others to overcome their struggles, reminding them that they, too, can rise above.

Four: Lessons in Resilience

Transforming Pain Into Power

In my darkest moments, I learned the invaluable lesson of resilience. Facing unimaginable pain, like losing my mother and confronting the depths of my grief, I was pushed to the brink. It was in those times that I realized the power of endurance—the ability to keep moving forward, even when the path is shrouded in darkness. These moments taught me that every setback is an opportunity for growth, and every trial holds a lesson. I learned to embrace pain, not as a destroyer but as a teacher. I understood that it's not about avoiding the storms but learning how to dance in the rain, finding strength in vulnerability, and courage in moments of despair.

These lessons shaped me into the person I am today—a beacon of hope for those navigating their own battles. My experiences taught me empathy, humility, and the importance of reaching out to others in need. I learned that our darkest hours are not the end but a prelude to a new beginning, a rebirth. It is in our struggles that we find our true selves, and through our pain, we discover our purpose. Today, I channel my past into empowering others, helping them see that their scars are not a source of shame but symbols of their survival. My journey from darkness to purpose has shown me that even in our most broken moments, we hold the power to transform our pain into a legacy of resilience and hope.

Beyond The Mountain Top

Resilience isn't a destination; it's an ongoing journey of growth and healing. Even after climbing the steepest peaks, new challenges arise, and new paths unfold. I’ve learned that resilience is not just about surviving adversity but thriving despite it. My ongoing journey of healing has taught me the power of self-compassion and the importance of turning my scars into stories of strength. I strive to help others find their rightful places, especially in their careers, because I believe everyone deserves a chance to realize their full potential. Guiding others to discover their purpose and build a fulfilling life is how I turn my own pain into a source of empowerment.

My commitment to helping people align with their true calling stems from my belief that our greatest growth comes from lifting others. When we support each other in finding our unique paths, we create a ripple effect of positive change. This is why I dedicate myself to guiding those in their careers and lives,helping them rise beyond their struggles to reach new heights. The journey beyond the mountaintop is not just about personal success; it’s about empowering others to climb alongside us, ensuring no one is left behind in the pursuit of purpose and fulfillment.

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