Before the silence breaks us 

“Wala lang, pagod lang ako.”

We’ve all said it. That quick, automatic reply when someone asks if we’re okay—even when we’re clearly not. Because it’s easier that way. No explanations, no awkward follow-ups. Just smile it off, laugh a little, and move on. Because here in the Philippines, that’s what we do—we move on.

It’s strange how we Filipinos can talk for hours about love teams, traffic, or politics, but when it comes to mental health, we fall silent. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s fear. Or maybe it’s because we were raised to believe that being strong means never falling apart.

But let’s be honest, how many times have we said “pagod lang” when what we really meant was “I’m falling apart?”

There’s this unspoken rule in our culture—don’t talk too much about what’s bothering you. Don’t cry in public. Don’t say you’re struggling because someone always has it worse. We grow up hearing “Tiis lang,” “Kaya mo ‘yan,” or “Magdasal ka lang.” They’re meant to comfort, sure, but they also silence. They teach us that pain is something to be endured, not expressed.

And that silence? It’s heavy.

Students walk into classrooms smiling while secretly battling anxiety. Employees clock in at work even when they haven’t slept properly in weeks. Families sit at dinner tables where everyone’s fine—but no one’s really okay.

We call it resilience, but sometimes, it’s just repression dressed up nicely.

The sad part is, we’re scared of being seen as dramatic or attention-seeking. That’s why so many people hide their struggles—until it’s too late. 

Mental health in the Philippines is still treated like a private issue, something to whisper about. When someone says they’re depressed, people assume it’s just a phase. When someone says they need help, we brush it off.

Recent data shows just how widespread the strain really is. In 2024, 68% of Filipinos were classified as high-risk for mental health challenges—the highest among seven Asian countries surveyed by Naluri. 

It is not merely data to be proud of—that is every Filipino who quietly struggles to stay afloat despite the weight of exhaustions, stress, and anxiety.

But the truth is, there’s nothing weak about asking for help. In fact, it takes guts to admit that you’re not okay. Talking about mental health shouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable—it should make us human.

So maybe it’s time we change the script.

Instead of saying “Wala lang, pagod lang ako,” let’s start saying, “Honestly, I’m tired—but I’m trying.” Let’s check in on our friends, not just with “Kumusta ka?” but with “Kumusta ka talaga?” Let’s stop shaming people for going to therapy or taking breaks. And let’s teach ourselves—and each other—that it’s okay to rest, to cry, to not have it together all the time.

Because the cost of silence is too high. It’s measured in sleepless nights, bottled-up emotions, and lives lost to battles fought alone. We can do better than that, we have to.

So here’s the call, talk more, listen more, and mean it. Create spaces—in school, at home, online—where people can speak without fear of being judged. Don’t wait for someone to break before you believe them.

Next time someone says, “Wala lang, pagod lang ako,” maybe that’s your cue to stay a little longer, to ask again. Because sometimes, that’s all it takes for someone to finally open up.

Let’s break the silence—before it breaks us.