We watched the news today and felt that familiar heaviness in our chest. Another wonderful soul, gone too soon. She was young, full of dreams, but quietly consumed by depression.

We didn’t know her personally, but it felt personal. Maybe because we’re parents. Maybe because we know how fragile a person’s heart can be, especially when it carries childhood pain. The story said her depression came from trauma. A yaya who hurt her. A first crush who betrayed her. A world that mocked her when she tried to heal.

It’s easy to point fingers when we hear stories like that. To say, “Kasalanan ng magulang.” But life is never that simple. We all have our own circumstances, our blind spots, our limits. None of us are perfect parents. None of us get a manual that tells us exactly how to protect our kids from every heartbreak.

Still, we try.

That’s why we chose to be hands-on. We gave up the corporate grind, the fancy titles, the steady paychecks. We started working from home as freelancers and virtual assistants just so we could be there, really there, for our children.

No yayas, no kasambahay. Not because we look down on people who have them, but because we’re scared that one day our kids would see us as strangers. I take them to school myself. I wait until I see them safely inside. Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe it’s love. Or maybe, in a world that keeps breaking hearts in silence, it’s the only way I know to make sure ours don’t get broken too.

Mental health is not a buzzword. It’s real. It’s that quiet cry behind a smile, that exhaustion you can’t explain, that voice that whispers “you’re not enough.” And while we can’t shield our children from every pain, we can at least make sure home feels like a safe place to land.

So we talk. We listen. We make time. Because if trauma can be born in silence, then healing must start in conversation.

Let’s not wait until the news breaks our hearts again before we remind our families how much they matter.

“The world may wound, but home should always heal.”