The men we call ‘walang kwenta’
Every Filipino family has a man people talk about in lowered voices or scoff about over Sunday lunch. He is the uncle who never finished school, the husband who drinks until morning, the cousin relatives dismiss as “sayang,” or the father who silently stopped going to his doctor years ago. In the vocabulary of the household, the labels come quickly: tamad, may bisyo, mahina ang diskarte, batugan.
But sometimes what looks like irresponsibility or a refusal to step up is actually something far more complicated.
Our culture routinely celebrates Filipino men at their absolute best—the haligi ng tahanan, the tireless breadwinners, the dependable lolos, and the kuyas who stepped up early without complaint. But this idealization highlights a glaring cultural blind spot: We praise the men who successfully bear the heavy weight of expectations, but we deeply shame and isolate the ones who break under it.
Filipino men carry pressures they were rarely taught to process. Stress eventually appears somewhere else: hypertension, insomnia, exhaustion, gambling, drinking, irritability, or emotional withdrawal. Long before a man admits he is struggling, his body and routines may already be showing it.
The face of male vulnerability is getting younger
According to psychologist Karl Anthony S. Rufo, RPsy, of the Department of Health Drug Treatment and Rehabilitation Center in Dagupan, the face of male vulnerability is getting younger. “We’re seeing younger clients now,” says Rufo, who has also served as a consulting psychologist with Mindcare Club since its launch in 2020. “Before, most were older. Now we see more young adults entering treatment.”
Some clients enter rehabilitation through court-ordered plea bargaining for drug cases, while others are brought in by families after substance use, hallucinations, or behavioral changes begin affecting daily life.
But one of the hardest parts, Rufo explains, is that many men entering treatment do not initially believe they need help. “In the beginning, many are still in denial,” Rufo says. “Some believe substances help them work better or cope with problems.”
The first weeks inside rehabilitation are often marked by cravings, homesickness, anger, and resistance. Acceptance takes time because admitting defeat goes against everything a Filipino boy is raised to be.
Suck it up or else
While younger Filipinos have become more open about therapy, burnout, and mental health, that openness often clashes with older generations raised on “pagtitiis” and emotional restraint. In many traditional households, there is still a pecking order around suffering. Older relatives who endured hardship without speaking about it may see younger men expressing anxiety or emotional exhaustion as weakness, immaturity, or pagiging madrama.
The disconnect is often sharper in low-income and rural communities where survival itself is a daily concern. Therapy is expensive. Emotional struggles are often overshadowed by immediate needs such as food, tuition, rent, and bills.
In these settings, families may resort to “tough love,” public shaming, or ostracization in the hope of forcing change. The hierarchy demands compliance—the man who cannot provide is quickly stripped of his dignity and branded “walang kwenta.”
And families, intentionally or not, can deepen the shame.
Family support is important
That said, Rufo urges relatives to avoid immediately labeling struggling men as lazy or hopeless. Constant criticism often pushes people further into isolation instead of helping them recover. “Family support is very important,” he says.
For physicians working closely with mental health patients, the stigma surrounding male vulnerability remains one of the biggest barriers to early intervention.
“I think culturally, we see struggle as something almost opposite to masculinity—as a sign of weakness,” says Dr. Sean Sy, a general practitioner working within the mental health space. “Gender roles and expectations are such strong determinants of mental health and mental healthcare.”
From childhood, Filipino boys are conditioned to swallow discomfort, dry their tears, and handle things alone. Lacking the emotional vocabulary to say “I am overwhelmed,” many adult men translate their pain into socially acceptable, masculine-coded outlets: overwork, anger, drinking, gambling, or complete emotional shutdown. They often seek medical help only when physical symptoms—such as cardiovascular problems or severe insomnia—become impossible to ignore.
But there are men carrying years of shame, disappointment, defeat, and pressure without the language to explain what is happening to them.
Understanding that does not excuse destructive behavior. Addiction can devastate families emotionally and financially. Accountability still matters. But changing the way families respond to struggling men may prevent situations from becoming irreversible.
Checking in
Recovery is rarely straightforward. Many men leave treatment only to return to the same financial pressures, environments, and family dynamics that contributed to the problem in the first place. Relapse does not automatically mean treatment failed. In many cases, the environment itself still needs healing.
