Over time, talking about the cancer got easier — or maybe I just got used to it. And over time, my need for absolute control relaxed. I got through the double mastectomy, started chemo and widened my circle of “insiders.” I was still pretty stealth, wearing a wig and doing everything I could to pass as a normal healthy person: I didn’t want to deal with pitying looks from strangers on top of being sick and bald and boobless. But I also became more pragmatic. I was single and lived alone and needed as much support as I could get.

It wasn’t until I was nearly done with radiation, eight months after my initial diagnosis, that I felt strong enough to have what I call “Facebook cancer,” to write — and post — about my breast cancer in a public forum. For me, coming out with cancer was an evolving process, a flower slowly unfolding, even though the bloom was more skunk cabbage than chrysanthemum.

But not everybody handles their diagnosis this same way.

Some slap their cancer out there immediately, like Jimmy Carter, Joan Lunden or “Good Morning America” host Amy Robach, who was practically diagnosed on live TV. Others keep it almost entirely to themselves, like David Bowie, actor Alan Rickman or Jackie Collins who died without telling even her sister Joan about her stage 4 breast cancer.

Sharing news about your cancer is complicated and, for some (think parents who have to tell their young children), it can create almost as much stress as the cancer diagnosis itself. What issues are at play and what kind of reactions can you expect? I tapped a handful of experts and patients for their insights and advice.

There’s no easy or right way to do it

Sharing a cancer diagnosis is messy — and there’s really no easy or right way to go about it, said Dr. Bonnie McGregor, a public health researcher and psychologist with Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. She also noted there’s also no need to tell anyone if you’d rather not share.

“It’s important to pay attention to what you need,” said McGregor. “Think about what you need and who you’re talking to and what kind of support they’ll be able to give you. Some people can provide practical and tangible support. Others are good with emotional support — these are the people you can talk to about your fears. Others are good with companionship. They don’t want to go too deep emotionally but boy, they’ll go shopping or take you to a movie.”

After stumbling through those first few phone calls, I began writing down key points I needed to get across, almost like a script, so I could quickly and efficiently share the news without blurting out too much or forgetting something altogether.

While some swear by only telling people face-to-face (crucial with small kids), I came out all kinds of ways: in person, on the phone and via email, text and social media. In retrospect, I might have done this differently: one friend I told via phone collapsed in the middle of the street (her father had died of cancer a few years earlier), but it’s hard to think of everything when you’re shell-shocked.

I did soon learn that if I remained calm and upbeat, others would usually do the same. So I tried not to share my news on the days when I felt too overwhelmed.

Delegate, delegate, delegate

You don’t have to do all the dirty work of spreading the news yourself.

I tapped people to help me spread the word from day one (hour one, to be exact), then moved on to group emails and eventually, started a blog. Other patients I know designated a spouse, significant other or parent as their “information officer” so they could focus all their energy on treatment and recovery rather than running Cancer News Central.