Today I Learned: Masculinity Is a Predictor of Help-Seeking Behavior

Men’s mental wellness in the Philippines (and around the world) is in a state of crisis. According to the Philippine Statistics Authority, suicide rates among Filipino men are quadruple those of women. In 2019, 2,813 people died by suicide in the country—2,213 (nearly 80%) of them were male. This disproportionate toll isn’t limited to fatal outcomes. Men also report rising levels of untreated depression and anxiety, yet are significantly less likely to seek professional help.

There are many reasons for this silence, but one key factor stands out: stigma. Mental illness remains heavily stigmatized in the country, wrapped up in a culture of hiya (shame) and pakikisama (harmony). For many, disclosing personal distress feels like disturbing the social peace. For men especially, the pressure is compounded by gendered expectations of toughness, stoicism, and emotional control. Simply put, the cultural script tells them to “man up” rather than speak up.

And so, millions of Filipino men suffer quietly, conditioned from an early age to equate vulnerability with weakness. Crying is unmanly. Emotional openness is feminine. Seeking help is not just difficult, embarrassing, and burdensome for one’s loved ones—it’s often unthinkable.

ALSO READ:

It’s Time We Talked About Men’s Mental Health

Woody Allen's 'Nice Guy' Masculinity Is Still Toxic Masculinity

How Masculinity Shapes Behavior

A recent study published in Advances in Mental Health confronts this cultural silence head-on. Titled “Lalaki ka, hindi ka dapat umiiyak!”: barriers of help-seeking behaviour in Filipino men, the research investigates how self-perceived masculinity influences whether men seek help when they’re struggling emotionally or psychologically.

The researchers surveyed 348 Filipino men aged 21 to 45. Their findings were clear: the more a man identifies with traditional masculine norms—like emotional restraint and self-reliance—the less likely he is to seek formal psychological help.

This finding isn’t entirely surprising, but it’s significant. It quantifies what many have long suspected: that masculinity, as culturally defined, is not just an attitude but a predictor of behavior. And in this case, it predicts avoidance.

What makes the study particularly insightful is its nuanced look at “Filipino masculinity.” Rather than relying solely on Western models, the authors contextualize local concepts such as kinalalaki (manliness through endurance) and hiya. In many Filipino families, boys are still raised with the belief that crying is for girls, that strong men solve their problems alone, and that expressing emotion is a sign of failure, weakness, or inconsiderateness. These values are reinforced by religion, traditional family roles, and even economic expectations. Being a breadwinner is conflated with an expectation of being unbreakable.

The study also shows how Filipino men are far more likely to seek informal help—from friends, family, or religious leaders—than to approach professionals like psychologists or counselors. But even these informal interactions are often limited by shame and emotional reticence. One’s inner circle is trusted, but disclosure still comes with risk—namely, loss of control and self-reliance.

In other words, the belief that one must solve problems alone, combined with a mistrust of formal mental health services (or even ignorance of their existence), creates a perfect storm of avoidance.

Redefining Strength

There is a tendency to label these behaviors as “toxic masculinity.” But that framing, while useful in some contexts, risks oversimplifying the nuanced reality of Filipino men’s emotional lives in conjunction with cultural and historical inheritances. Filipino masculinity didn’t arise in a vacuum—it was shaped by centuries of colonial rule, Catholicism, patriarchal expectations, and socioeconomic survival, on top of being unique to the experiences of each individual.

Take kinalalaki, the idea that a man proves himself through silent suffering. Or the notion that expressing emotions risks family dishonor. These are powerful cultural expectations with deeply personal repercussions. To dismantle them, we need more than awareness of the issues and access to resources. We, as a culture, need new definitions of strength.

Because, at the risk of sounding twee, it takes courage to ask for help. Vulnerability, which inherently requires integrity and honesty, is not a moral weakness. Therefore, our understanding of masculinity should include the ability to feel, to share, and to care for others as well as for oneself.

Changing this culture won’t happen overnight. But change is possible. Peer support groups tailored for men, for instance, could provide safe spaces for emotional expression. Schools can integrate mental health education that teaches boys it’s okay to cry, to talk, to feel emotions other than the binary of joy and anger. Employers can promote mental health services without shame. And perhaps most importantly, role models—fathers, titos, kuyas—can lead by example.

As suicide, anxiety, and depression rates rise, it’s urgently imperative that we teach boys and men that while our notions of masculinity may mean having the strength to face pain—it must now also include having the courage to ask for help.