When presence is the first kindness

By Herman M. Lagon

There is a particular silence that fills a room when people who have carried too much finally sit down to learn how to help others carry their own pain. That was the silence at the PGCA–Iloilo Convention in Iloilo Grand Hotel early this month when Dr. Ana Panganiban, one of the region’s most respected mental health advocates, began unpacking the heart of Mental Health and Psychosocial Support (MHPSS). Her session didn’t feel like another academic talk—it felt like someone turning on a light in a room we’d been stumbling through for years.

In a country where calamities arrive like uninvited relatives—storms, floods, fires, deaths, inflation, family problems, online harassment, political hostility—trauma is no longer an “exception.” It has become the background noise of Filipino life. Teachers see it in the eyes of exhausted students. Parents hear it in the sharp edges of their children’s voices. Guidance counselors feel it in the stories whispered in hallways or typed anonymously late at night. Too often, those who are hurting are told to simply “antus (tiis) lang” or “kaya mo na na (kaya mo na ‘yan),” as if endurance were our only national therapy.

Dr. Panganiban reminded us that trauma does not always arrive with sirens or public meltdowns. Sometimes, it enters a classroom as a student who suddenly stops participating. Sometimes crisis walks into a barangay office wearing a small smile, hands trembling just a little. Sometimes it’s a sleepless mother or a teen who no longer talks about tomorrow. It isn’t loud—but it’s always heavy. And in that heaviness, people don’t need advice. They just need someone steady.

Psychological First Aid (PFA), as she described, is not therapy disguised in a new name. At its core, PFA is just the art of pakikiramay (sympathy) done with care and humility. It starts with noticing—kung okay siya, kung kumain na, kung nanginginig, kung may tinatagong luha (whether they’re okay, whether they’ve eaten, whether their hands are shaking, or whether they’re holding back tears). Then we listen the Pinoy way: patient, calm, walang pilit. And finally, we guide them to the next safe step—a friend, an office, a quiet space, or a professional. Simple on paper, yes. But being present without fixing everything? That’s the real challenge.

In a society soaked in unsolicited advice, this was a needed rebuke. We all mean well, but we often respond to pain with lines that shut people down—“Okay lang na,” “At least buhi ka,” “Be strong,” “May mas grabe pa.” We forget that comparing suffering is a form of erasure. As Doc Ana emphasized, when someone is drowning, you don’t lecture them about gratitude. You steady them. You help them breathe. You stay close until they find their footing again.

What resonated deeply with many of us is how this fits right into who we are as Filipinos. Malasakit (compassion) is in our bones—we’re wired to show up for each other. We sit beside a grieving friend even if we’re struggling ourselves. We share whatever food we have. We offer jokes when the world feels too heavy or sit in silence when someone is too hurt to talk. But today’s challenges ask us to do more. We need to turn that instinct into trauma-informed practice, especially in schools where kids silently carry emotional baggage shaped by poverty, online pressure, and unstable environments. In moments like these, PFA becomes more than a skill—it becomes our quiet contribution to rebuilding this country.

When Doc Ana said, “helpers are human too,” something inside the room shifted. It was as if everyone finally exhaled. We sometimes forget that we are allowed to rest, to feel weary, to admit we cannot rescue everyone. Our strength lies in showing up—not in fixing everything but in ensuring no one walks through their pain alone. In a country exhausted by storms, scandals, and survival, her reminder felt like a quiet kindness—a mug of hot coffee placed into trembling hands.

As the day of the conference ended, the message lingered: mental health work is no longer optional. Resilience, when misused, becomes a dangerous excuse. What we need now is compassion backed by systems—not empty praise for suffering well, but concrete support that keeps people from breaking. And sometimes, we simply need to look someone in the eye and say the words that begin all healing: “You’re safe. I’m here. We’ll take this one moment at a time.”

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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.