Resilience without the blindfold

By Herman M. Lagon

There are moments when a word meant to uplift begins to sting. I felt that recently at the PGCA–Iloilo 2025 seminar at Iloilo Grand Hotel as Philippine Mental Health Association Executive Director Dr. Carolina Uno-Rayco walked us through the tender architecture of mental health—the stress we carry, the stories we hide, the cracks we pretend aren’t there. When she asked what makes communities resilient, the answers—faith, family, humor, hope—were beautiful. But each time “resilience” appeared on-screen, the room fell into that familiar quiet of people who have survived too much. Maybe it was the memory of flooded classrooms. Maybe it was the student told for the hundredth time to “be strong.” Maybe it was the teacher smiling through shortages and exhaustion. Right then, I knew I had to return to something I wrote in November 2024: we need to outgrow toxic resilience—not because resilience is wrong, but because we’ve allowed its misuse to excuse what should never be tolerated.

Authentic resilience is calm and steady. It’s the slow collective rebuilding after a hard chapter, the quiet return to dignity after a loss, the inner strength made possible by supportive families, kind communities, and responsive institutions. That’s why Dr. Rayco highlighted connection, purposeful activity, mindfulness, spirituality, and volunteerism. She wasn’t saying hardship is good; she was reminding us that people heal when they’re held, not when they’re left alone. Real resilience is what lets a bullied teen recover safely or a teacher ask for help without feeling weak. It grows from truth, compassion, and care—not pressure.

Toxic resilience is the opposite. It poses as bravery but thrives in denial. It tells people their exhaustion is a flaw, their silence is maturity, and their pain should be hidden. In our culture, it sounds like “matiisin ka naman,” “isog ka man,” or “ganyan talaga dito.” These phrases don’t comfort—they instruct people to stay quiet. Toxic resilience flourishes when suffering is normalized, when leaders prefer a compliant population, and when accountability disappears behind forced optimism.

Nowhere is this clearer than in our flood-control mess. Every rainy week, we see families wading through brown water, yet social media cheers, “Pinoy na Pinoy—nakangiti sa baha!” Officials call it “Filipino resilience.” But the real question is simple: after billions spent on flood projects, why are communities still underwater? Government checks found projects that were incomplete, duplicated, or made things worse. Some experts call the ₱545 billion program a “grand robbery.” Resilience becomes a shield. As long as people smile, no one needs to explain where the money went. When victims are praised for coping, the message is cruel: suffer beautifully so the guilty stay comfortable. That’s not resilience—it’s gaslighting.

Educators know this game well. Toxic resilience shows up in messages praising teachers for “going the extra mile” even when that mile includes overloaded classes, inadequate resources, and personal spending. It shows up in students apologizing for needing help. It shows up in parents telling children not to cry because “mas mahirap ang iba.” The hidden rule: manage everything yourself. Teachers lose hours daily to tasks that aren’t even teaching, yet the hero narrative persists. They are praised loudly but supported lightly—proof that their “resilience” has become an expectation, not a virtue.

Mental health work reveals the damage even more. Dr. Rayco shared how many Filipinos hide their struggles because of stigma. Many young people break down only when they can no longer carry the load alone. I remembered students whispering, “Ayoko makaabala… nakakahiya… baka sabihin nila mahina ako.” These aren’t personal weaknesses—they’re cultural scars. When resilience is equated with silence, people ask for help too late. Toxic resilience doesn’t just delay healing; it endangers lives.

In politics, the misuse becomes even sharper. We’ve heard officials say people are “used to typhoons” or “always bounce back.” The message: because people are resilient, leaders can afford to do less. Resilience without accountability becomes resignation. It silences outrage and lowers expectations. But real resilience is not about tolerating substandard flood control, decaying schools, or neglected mental health systems. A truly resilient community knows when virtue is being used against it and chooses to speak up.

Still, resilience itself is not the enemy. Authentic resilience remains a gift when supported. It looks like students safe enough to cry, teachers honest enough to admit fatigue, communities preparing instead of only recovering, and families encouraging emotional honesty. It is simple, grounded, and real. It demands dignity instead of performing it. And unlike the curated smiles of evacuees on TV, authentic resilience grows quietly—through safety, truth, and support.

So how do we tell authentic resilience from the toxic kind? Here’s the simplest test: Does the call to be resilient come with actual support? If resilience is paired with protection, resources, and response, it strengthens people. If it is demanded in place of systemic solutions, it becomes manipulation. A teacher managing seventy students shouldn’t be praised for coping; more teachers should be hired. A family smiling during a flood shouldn’t distract from the corruption that put them there. A student showing grace shouldn’t silence deeper questions about safety. Authentic resilience creates space for truth; toxic resilience covers it up.

Those of us in the helping professions must model the healthier path—not through lectures but through presence. We validate tears. We honor limits. We remind communities they deserve working flood systems. We tell friends that rest is also courage. As Dr. Rayco emphasized, empowerment, collaboration, good information, and participation create an environment where resilience grows naturally. Our spirituality teaches us to find meaning in adversity—but meaning is not martyrdom. We can grow through suffering without glorifying it.

A country can be brave and exhausted at once. Hopeful and frustrated at the same time. Resilient and still deserving of better. The real lesson is this: resilience must never be used as a shield for corruption, a mask for incompetence, or a substitute for support. It is not permission for leaders to slack off, nor a demand for citizens to endure quietly. Authentic resilience is honest rebuilding. It is strength with dignity. The courage to demand better. The right to rest and the freedom to feel. So the next time someone praises resilience, we must ask—at what cost, and for whose comfort? Only then do we reclaim resilience for what it truly is: a path to healing, not an excuse for suffering.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.