In a world obsessed with productivity and "moving forward," we have turned the human heart into a machine that is expected to reboot on command. When a tragedy strikes, society offers a brief, intense window of support—flowers, food, and whispered condolences. But as soon as the black attire is tucked away, an invisible stopwatch begins to tick. Suddenly, the same voices that offered comfort start to hum a different tune: “Are you still dwelling on that?” or “It’s been months; shouldn’t you be back to normal?” This is the silent mandate of modern society: grief is permissible only as long as it isn’t inconvenient.
We are raised on the "five stages of grief" as if they were a linear map, a checklist to be completed by a deadline. If you aren't at "Acceptance" by the one-year anniversary, you are viewed as failing. But the human soul does not follow a corporate clock. The reality is that grief is not a race to a finish line; it permanently changes how a person feels inside. To demand that someone "move on" while the wound is still raw is not an act of encouragement—it is an act of emotional erasure.
In the Philippine context, this pressure often hides behind “resilience” and religious duty. While our traditions like pasiyam and babang luksa encourage communal mourning, grief is expected to quiet quickly. Phrases like “Tahan na, baka hindi siya matahimik” urge the grieving individuals to suppress their pain, reinforcing the image of the “smiling Filipino.” This pakikisama forces many to mask their pangungulila with “okay lang,” as if grief should end on schedule—forgetting that the empty chair at noche buena still hurts years later.
Society rushes people to move on because pain makes us uncomfortable. When someone is still grieving, it reminds others that they could break too, so they push healing just to feel at ease themselves. In a world that values productivity, grief is seen as a problem—something that slows things down. We want neat endings because they’re easier to accept, pretending pain disappears instead of staying quietly in the background.
When we pressure people to "get over it," we don't actually cure the grief; we simply force it underground. We teach those who are grieving to perform a mask of "wellness" to make others comfortable. This forced masked emotion is dangerous, as an unaddressed wound doesn't disappear; it lingers into isolation, resentment, and chronic mental health struggles. As the saying goes, "Grief is just love with no place to go." To tell someone to stop grieving is, in essence, telling them to stop loving.
Grief is not a hurdle to be cleared; it is a companion to be integrated. If we continue to treat mourning as a timed trial, we lose our collective empathy. We must allow the wounded the dignity of their own pace, for a society that demands healing on a schedule is a society that has forgotten what it means to be human. Healing has no deadline, and love has no expiration date.
Written by Natalie Angela, Insight PH
Natalie Angela, Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
