By OLYA DADRESSAN
photos by: YASMIN LEONARD PHOTOGRAPHY
The day I was diagnosed with cancer, my first reaction was grief. My mind immediately leapt to the moments I feared I might miss – my children’s graduations, future weddings, grandchildren I may never meet and the ordinary family moments that suddenly felt unbearably precious. In an instant, life split into “before” and “after,” and fear threatened to consume everything else.
But, somewhere beneath that fear, another voice remained. It reminded me that long before this diagnosis, I had spent years building a life grounded in faith, gratitude, discipline and hope. I had practiced turning to prayer during difficult seasons, choosing trust over panic and believing that even life’s hardest chapters still contain meaning and beauty.
Looking back now, I believe healing begins long before illness enters our lives. It begins in the way we care for our emotional and spiritual well being every day – through the thoughts we nurture, the books we read, the habits we build and our willingness to keep choosing hope over fear. A serious diagnosis can be terrifying, but it can also reveal unexpected strength, clarity, connection and gratitude. I slowly began to understand that healing is not only about surviving, but also about learning how to live fully even in uncertainty.
Over the past two decades, I coached entrepreneurs building businesses in financial services. I often noticed that the same qualities that helped people succeed professionally were also the qualities that sustained them during personal hardship: discipline, accountability, faith, service to others and a connection to something greater than themselves. Those principles became essential in my own healing journey.
One of the most important realizations for me was understanding how much fear affects the body and spirit. My husband and I initially went from planning family vacations to researching survival statistics and mortality rates. The more we immersed ourselves in frightening information, the more anxious and emotionally exhausted we became.
Eventually, we made a conscious decision to focus on health rather than disease.
I am a Baha’i, and in the Baha’i Faith, there is a teaching that evil is the lack of good, and more goodness diminishes or eliminates evil just like darkness is simply the absence of light. That idea inspired a powerful shift in perspective for me – perhaps illness could also be viewed as the absence of health. Instead of centering all of my energy on “fighting disease,” I began focusing on creating more health within my body, mind and spirit.
That mindset naturally led me toward practices that reinforced healing and peace rather than fear. I stepped away from many cancer-focused online communities and instead immersed myself in podcasts on holistic wellness, prayer, guided meditation, breathwork, yoga, Tai Chi, intentional nutrition and spiritual writings that reminded me of hope and resilience.
One surprisingly transformative practice emerged almost accidentally. My husband and I decided we would never discuss cancer while sitting still. If we needed to talk about difficult test results or treatment decisions, we would do so while walking.
Movement changed the emotional energy of those conversations. Walking brought perspective, calm and even hope.
Living in Winston-Salem, we are fortunate to have access to beautiful trails and green spaces. We committed to walking outdoors every day, regardless of weather – through snow, icy sidewalks and spring rain. Inspired by the Japanese practice of “forest bathing,” we learned to walk mindfully and without distractions, fully present in nature. What began as a wellness practice gradually became something much deeper. Those walks strengthened not only our physical health, but also our connection as a family.
During heavy snowstorms, when roads became nearly impassable, we would walk to the grocery store bundled in layers, laughing as we carried supplies home in backpacks. Those moments felt unexpectedly joyful and grounding – reminders that even in difficult seasons, there are still glimpses of beauty everywhere. Joy itself became a form of resilience.
I also became intentional about reducing stress wherever possible. I stopped watching the news, limited social media, reduced screen time and filled my afternoons with restorative activities like walking, gardening, baking sourdough bread and crocheting.
Crocheting, in particular, became deeply therapeutic. The repetitive movement created an almost meditative calm and helped improve my concentration, memory and emotional balance. It also gave me something equally important during treatment – creativity and a sense of accomplishment.
Throughout this journey, I consistently returned to prayer, meditation, music, breathwork and spiritual reflection. These practices were not secondary to healing – they became part of healing itself.
If there is one lesson this experience has taught me, it is that emotional and spiritual well being should never be treated as an afterthought. The thoughts we nurture, the energy we surround ourselves with and the daily practices we commit to all shape how we move through life’s most difficult chapters.
Healing is never only physical. It is emotional, spiritual, intellectual and deeply human. And sometimes, the most powerful part of healing is learning that, even in uncertainty, hope still has the ability to light the way forward.
