Fake smiles are uniforms we wear daily. They always have been.
Can we talk?
We clothe ourselves with forced emotions to classrooms, to offices, to everyday life. We have learned to grin through exhaustion, to laugh through burnout, to say “I’m fine” even if the phrase lost its meaning. Because in schools and workplaces, silence is safer than sincerity.
This is the deafening silence surrounding mental health in our institutions: it exists, it hurts, and yet it is still taboo. Schools boast of “support systems” while students crumble under impossible deadlines they are expected to swiftly fulfill. Companies create reels of #WorldMentalHealthDay while employees fear being labeled lazy for resting even just a little bit.
The main problem is not a lack of awareness; in fact, it is quite the opposite. We are too aware—aware that institutions recognize the problem, yet remain uncertain and unprepared to truly address it. Aware that despite all the discussions done, mental health still remains taboo.
The most recent numbers available do not lie. In a July 2025 survey by Dy-Zulueta in PhilStar, 72 % of Filipino employees reported experiencing stress in 2024—up from 57 % in 2022—and half admitted to feeling a persistent sadness that shadows their daily lives. Filipino students are struggling under pressures that are too often invisible. A 2022 study by Robeniol and Ting on private senior high school students in Metro Manila found that nearly 73 % of adolescents were at moderate risk of burnout, with another 27 % at high risk.
Institutions claim that they are trying. They organize mental health weeks, offer counseling services, and post cheerful reminders to “take breaks.” And let us not deny it—these are steps in the right direction.
But the system fails because it does not practice what it preaches. It promotes self-care but glorifies sleeplessness. It tells students to relax but punishes them with lowered grades when they actually do. It encourages employees to take care of themselves yet raises eyebrows when they file for a mental health day.
Some argue that it is not the institution’s job to manage someone’s emotions—that mental health is a personal responsibility we all have to deal with. While it is true that we all have our own coping mechanisms and boundaries, that argument collapses when we remember that institutions shape the very environment people are trying to survive—supposedly “thrive”—in. How can we expect someone to manage their mental health in a space that constantly provokes it?
To fix this, courage—not just care—is needed. Institutions must create environments where “I’m not okay” is not responded with silence or stigma, but with understanding. This means training teachers, bosses, and leaders to recognize emotional distress and respond with compassion rather than discipline. It means re-evaluating academic and work structures that equate worth with productivity. It means ensuring that mental health programs are not once-a-year events, but daily practices woven into policy.
For students and employees, it is important to remember that vulnerability is not weakness; it is courage. Being real about exhaustion, stress, or anxiety is an act of bravery in a system that often rewards silence. In embracing vulnerability, we are challenging a culture that has long told us to suffer in silence.
It is time to stop wearing these uniforms of fake smiles. It is time to stop clothing ourselves with forced emotions to classrooms, to offices, to everyday life. Only then can we begin to transform the deafening silence into a place of understanding.
Can we talk?
Can we talk?
We clothe ourselves with forced emotions to classrooms, to offices, to everyday life. We have learned to grin through exhaustion, to laugh through burnout, to say “I’m fine” even if the phrase lost its meaning. Because in schools and workplaces, silence is safer than sincerity.
This is the deafening silence surrounding mental health in our institutions: it exists, it hurts, and yet it is still taboo. Schools boast of “support systems” while students crumble under impossible deadlines they are expected to swiftly fulfill. Companies create reels of #WorldMentalHealthDay while employees fear being labeled lazy for resting even just a little bit.
The main problem is not a lack of awareness; in fact, it is quite the opposite. We are too aware—aware that institutions recognize the problem, yet remain uncertain and unprepared to truly address it. Aware that despite all the discussions done, mental health still remains taboo.
The most recent numbers available do not lie. In a July 2025 survey by Dy-Zulueta in PhilStar, 72 % of Filipino employees reported experiencing stress in 2024—up from 57 % in 2022—and half admitted to feeling a persistent sadness that shadows their daily lives. Filipino students are struggling under pressures that are too often invisible. A 2022 study by Robeniol and Ting on private senior high school students in Metro Manila found that nearly 73 % of adolescents were at moderate risk of burnout, with another 27 % at high risk.
Institutions claim that they are trying. They organize mental health weeks, offer counseling services, and post cheerful reminders to “take breaks.” And let us not deny it—these are steps in the right direction.
But the system fails because it does not practice what it preaches. It promotes self-care but glorifies sleeplessness. It tells students to relax but punishes them with lowered grades when they actually do. It encourages employees to take care of themselves yet raises eyebrows when they file for a mental health day.
Some argue that it is not the institution’s job to manage someone’s emotions—that mental health is a personal responsibility we all have to deal with. While it is true that we all have our own coping mechanisms and boundaries, that argument collapses when we remember that institutions shape the very environment people are trying to survive—supposedly “thrive”—in. How can we expect someone to manage their mental health in a space that constantly provokes it?
To fix this, courage—not just care—is needed. Institutions must create environments where “I’m not okay” is not responded with silence or stigma, but with understanding. This means training teachers, bosses, and leaders to recognize emotional distress and respond with compassion rather than discipline. It means re-evaluating academic and work structures that equate worth with productivity. It means ensuring that mental health programs are not once-a-year events, but daily practices woven into policy.
For students and employees, it is important to remember that vulnerability is not weakness; it is courage. Being real about exhaustion, stress, or anxiety is an act of bravery in a system that often rewards silence. In embracing vulnerability, we are challenging a culture that has long told us to suffer in silence.
It is time to stop wearing these uniforms of fake smiles. It is time to stop clothing ourselves with forced emotions to classrooms, to offices, to everyday life. Only then can we begin to transform the deafening silence into a place of understanding.
Can we talk?
K
Written by Kyriel Yu (What Yu Thinks), Insight PH
Kyriel Yu (What Yu Thinks), Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
