What Cancer Taught Me About Control, Fear, and Forward Motion
There are moments in life that quietly divide everything into before and after. You don’t hear them coming. You don’t get a warning. You don’t get time to prepare your heart. One sentence, spoken gently in a sterile room, can rearrange your entire understanding of the future.
Stage 3 cancer was that moment for me.
Before that day, I believed I was in control of my life. Not perfectly, not arrogantly, but in the way most of us do. If I worked hard, stayed disciplined and focused, took care of my body, loved my people well, and planned responsibly, things would generally make sense. Then cancer entered the conversation and reminded me how fragile that illusion really is.
Neuroscience explains what happened next better than I could in words. When the brain encounters a threat it cannot solve, the amygdala activates instantly. Heart rate increases. Vision narrows. Time distorts. The body prepares to SURVIVE. It quite literally says "It's go time!" Research shows that in moments of diagnosis or trauma, the brain stores memories differently, often fragmenting details while intensifying emotion. I remember the weight in my chest (and the foils in my hair as I was at the salon when I got the call) more than the doctor’s words. I remember the room feeling smaller. I remember thinking, this cannot be my story. This cannot be happening.
Fear is not abstract when it lives in your body. It is physical. It tightens your stomach. It steals your sleep. It makes your mind race through futures you did not consent to imagine. Studies from the National Cancer Institute show that a cancer diagnosis dramatically increases anxiety, depression, and symptoms of post-traumatic stress, especially in the first year. I didn’t need research to tell me that, but it helped me understand that I was not weak. I was human. And I was going to need to KFG (Keep Freaking Going) like never before to ensure I remain in control of what is beyond my control.
The truth is... though I was equipped with KFG and understanding that I did not have control of many pieces of this new journey, I wanted control back immediately. Over the schedule. The treatment plan. The outcomes. The timeline. My body. My life. But illness does not negotiate. It strips control down to almost nothing, leaving you with only one true choice. How you respond to what you did not choose.
Psychologists call this locus of control. And it is exactly what KFG is about. When everything external feels unstable, the mind searches for something internal to hold onto. I knew that I could not control the cancer, but I could control whether it would take my spirit along with my certainty.
That was the moment KFG stopped being a message I shared and became a way I choose to live this "C" journey.
Keeping Freaking Going did not mean pretending I was brave every day. It did not mean toxic positivity or forcing gratitude into moments that were terrifying. It meant getting out of bed when I wanted to disappear into it. It meant asking for help when independence had always been my identity (and sometimes biggest crutch). It meant sitting in fear without letting fear make my decisions. It meant choosing forward motion even when the path was blurry, bumpy and detoured.
This is what us geeky research peeps in the world of science backed info call "behavioral activation". When life feels overwhelming, movement, even a very small movement, interrupts the brain’s fear loop. Studies show that taking intentional action during crisis helps regulate the nervous system in real time. Some days, forward motion was making it to an appointment. Some days, it was showering. Some days, it was laughing with my kids about how insane it is that we are on this journey. None of it was glamorous. All of it mattered. It was how we chose to LOL (Live Out Loud) the journey TOGETHER.
Cancer also taught me many things. And still is.
How deeply the body and mind are connected. Chronic fear keeps cortisol elevated. Elevated cortisol weakens immune response and disrupts healing. I had to learn that calming my nervous system was not indulgent. It was medical. Breathing slowly. Letting myself cry. Talking honestly. Resting without guilt. These were not signs of weakness. They were part of my treatment plan.
I quickly started noticing how grief and gratitude began to coexist. Post-traumatic growth shows that many people experience deeper relationships, greater clarity of purpose, and a stronger sense of meaning after life-threatening illness. Not because trauma is good, but because perspective changes you. Cancer did not make me stronger. It made me more honest. It forced me to focus on the present moment.
I stopped postponing joy. I stopped assuming time was guaranteed. I stopped believing I had to earn rest or prove my worth through productivity. I started paying attention to ordinary moments that suddenly felt sacred. A conversation. A laugh. A quiet morning with my pup and a cup of tea or coffee.
Cancer taught me that courage is not loud. It is quiet consistency. It is choosing again and again to participate in your life even when it gets uncomfortable and disruptive. It is letting yourself be seen (by LOL "Living Out Loud") in the middle of the story, not just at the end of it.
I would never choose this path. But I choose who I am on it. And I am forever grateful for the lessons learned.
I choose honesty over avoidance.
I choose connection over isolation.
I choose to keep freaking going.
And if you are facing something you did not choose, something that has shaken your sense of safety or control, know this: you do not have to be fearless to be brave. You do not have to be steady to move forward. You do not have to have the whole path mapped out.
You only need the courage to take the next step.
That is KFG.
xxoo,
Krista
I’m Krista Ryan
My job is to help you learn a little, laugh a lot, and get clear on action steps for your success.
It may have taken a life changing event to shake me awake and decide I no longer wanted to live a comfortable life… I wanted to embrace the discomfort and live a life of courage and intention.
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