Mental health has finally entered the conversation in Philippine showbiz—but the question remains: are we truly destigmatizing, or just romanticizing?
In recent years, a growing number of Filipino celebrities have bravely disclosed their struggles with depression, anxiety, and trauma. JM de Guzman has spoken openly about his panic disorder and bipolar diagnosis, even sharing raw footage of his attacks to help others feel less alone. Heart Evangelista revealed her battle with depression following a miscarriage, describing how anxiety manifested physically and how social media pressure compounded her pain.
Kylie Verzosa, Nadine Lustre, and Maureen Wroblewitz have also shared their experiences, emphasizing the importance of therapy, support systems, and self-awareness.
These disclosures are powerful. They humanize mental illness, challenge stigma, and offer solidarity. But they also raise a deeper question: how does the industry itself treat mental health?
Scripted portrayals of mental illness in Philippine media have historically been problematic. Studies show that mental illness is often depicted as violent, erratic, or comical—reinforcing harmful stereotypes. Characters with depression are either tragic martyrs or dangerous outcasts. Rarely do we see nuanced, compassionate portrayals that reflect the lived realities of mental health conditions.
Even when mental health is addressed, it’s often framed as a plot device rather than a journey. A character “gets better” after a single breakthrough, or their illness is used to justify erratic behavior without deeper exploration. There’s little attention to therapy, medication, or long-term coping strategies. And when celebrities speak out, their stories are sometimes reduced to inspirational soundbites—stripped of complexity and context.
Public reactions are mixed. Many fans express empathy and admiration, but others still respond with disbelief, dismissal, or toxic positivity. The idea that “artista life” is glamorous and immune to suffering persists. Some even accuse celebrities of using mental health disclosures for publicity—highlighting the tension between authentic vulnerability and performative branding.
Recent portrayals in local media offer both promise and caution.
Anne Curtis’ It’s Okay to Not Be Okay (2025), the Filipino adaptation of the acclaimed Korean drama, marks a significant step forward. Curtis plays Mia Hernandez, a children’s book author living with antisocial personality disorder. The show doesn’t shy away from her emotional volatility, trauma, or healing process—and it avoids the trap of glamorizing her pain. Instead, it explores her growth through therapy, relationships, and self-reflection, with Curtis herself advocating for authenticity in every scene. Her personal involvement in shaping the character—from psychological research to wardrobe choices—signals a shift toward more emotionally attuned storytelling.
Films like Iska (2019) and Lucid (2019) have also been praised for their grounded depictions. Iska follows a grandmother navigating poverty and the challenges of caring for a child with special needs, subtly touching on emotional exhaustion and systemic neglect. Lucid, starring Alessandra de Rossi, explores dissociation and escapism through a woman who lucid dreams to cope with her reality—offering a poetic yet unsettling look at avoidance and healing.
My Letter to Happy (2019) attempts to personify depression through a romantic lens, with mixed results. While it opens a conversation, critics note that it risks oversimplifying the condition into a love-conquers-all narrative. Meanwhile, Mga Anino ng Kahapon (2013) stands out for its portrayal of schizophrenia, rooted in trauma and political violence. It’s one of the few Filipino films that consulted mental health professionals during production.
Even Ulan (2019), starring Nadine Lustre, though not explicitly about mental illness, touches on themes of self-worth, grief, and emotional resilience—wrapped in magical realism. It’s a gentle nudge toward introspection, though not a clinical depiction.
These works show that progress is possible. But they also reveal the gaps: few productions offer sustained, multi-dimensional portrayals of therapy, medication, or community care. Mental health is still often aestheticized—used to evoke mood rather than model recovery.
So where does this leave us?
There’s undeniable progress. Mental health is no longer taboo. Celebrities are using their platforms to advocate for awareness, and organizations like Mind You and Mental Health Matters are gaining traction. But the industry itself must evolve. That means:
- Responsible storytelling: Writers and producers must consult mental health professionals and portray conditions with accuracy and empathy. Shows like It’s Okay to Not Be Okay prove that it’s possible to balance narrative tension with psychological truth.
- Institutional support: Networks should offer mental health resources to artists, especially those under intense public scrutiny.
- Audience education: Campaigns should go beyond hashtags and include workshops, helplines, and community engagement.
Ultimately, destigmatization requires more than visibility. It demands structural change, emotional honesty, and a commitment to healing—not just headlines.
