Mental Health Blog

Growing up through adulthood, did your Filipino/a/x family, friends, or communities make heteronormative and cisgendered assumptions about you? If so, could you share some examples and your experiences with this?

​

Gregory: I think most people knew I was gay, but their questions often seemed to assume I was straight. For instance, they would ask if I had a girlfriend. But those moments were always fraught with caution – I was unsure if they were genuinely curious, trying to confirm something, or testing to see if I was gay. To avoid making things complicated or awkward for either of us, I’d usually respond with something neutral, like, 'I like girls, but I’m not dating anyone right now.” Those moments never felt safe because I felt like telling the truth would risk more hurt and rejection, than acceptance and protection.​

​
 

L: One of the earliest memories I have is when I got a glow-in-the-dark Ballroom Dancing Ken doll for Christmas. My cousin got the matching Barbie one, and we used to play with them all the time. One day, I remember my father coming into the room while we were playing, taking the Ken doll out of my hands, and giving me a box of Micro Machines. He told me: “Play with these instead.” This set my understanding of how I should be and who I should be. I remember getting mistaken for a girl by others in public because of my long hair and nails, and my parents would make sure to correct them. I think I was ashamed of that as a child, not feeling like I could live up to their expectations.

Whether or not my parents believed I was cis and straight, I know that growing up they wanted me to be. I felt pressured to be like everyone else and to plan a life that included buying a house, getting married to a cis woman, and having kids. I loved to dance and sing, and Tina Turner was one of my idols. I used to wear my mom’s heels when people weren’t around and pretend I was her - but I told everyone I wanted to marry her instead. I kept hiding like that for years, and eventually, I was hiding from myself - burying myself. When I was in sixth grade, I happened upon a book about queer youth called Am I Blue. I was frightened, but I read it. That part of myself kept trying to unbury itself, and my fear and internalized homophobia fought back so hard that I tried to kill myself. Thankfully, I didn’t go through with it. This is how the transphobia and homophobia that can be ingrained in Filipino culture can be dangerous.
 

​

Based on your experiences and observations, how does Filipino culture respond to LGBTQ+ people, particularly those who identify or may be similar to you? What are your personal perspectives on this?

​

Gregory: I feel like times are changing, and people are becoming more accepting, especially here in the U.S. and in California. However, growing up—and even now in some ways—I’ve seen how deeply rooted certain beliefs about LGBTQ+ identities remain. For many, these identities are still seen as sinful, a temporary phase, or something shaped by Western ideals and American liberation.
 

As a child, I internalized the idea that this part of me was something to be ashamed of, as though it were a choice I made. Some family members seemed to view it as a sign of weakness or as abandoning masculinity. I remember being told at times that I should hide this part of myself because it might bring shame to the family or our community.

 

L: When I was 16 y.o., my mother responded to me coming out to her as queer by:
 

• First, laughing and saying, “No” like it was a choice. 

• Then saying, “Do you want to get AIDS and die?”

• And finally asking me if I wanted to wear dresses.
   

I think her last assumption about me wearing dresses (which ironically is true now as a transfemme person) is very much tied to the conflation that can happen in Filipino culture of sexuality and gender. The only word I knew for gay growing up was bakla, and I was told that it’s a bad word. To my mother, bakla meant “ladyboy” and was frightened that’s who I would become. Growing up, any Filipino movies I saw that happened to have a gay person in it was usually a drag queen, and it was usually played off as a joke. Being queer and trans in media was often seen as a joke instead of something someone can be. I’ve since connected with many Filipino queer and trans people who have carved out niches for themselves and their siblings within Filipino culture, like Kevin Nadal, one of the first queer Filipino academics I met in college who I saw speaking about our people’s revolutionary history and spirit. Being part of the Center for Babaylan Studies, I also learned more about “third gender” ways of being and how people like me served as leaders and healers in their communities.​​​

​​​​

​

Considering that many Filipinos are raised in Catholicism, a heteronormative and cisnormative religion and culture, are there any experiences or thoughts related to Catholicism that you find important to share? What are your current personal thoughts on religion and spirituality?

​

Gregory: Reconciling my gay identity with my Catholic faith was incredibly challenging. I was a devout Catholic, but as I learned more about how Catholicism rejected the gay community and condemned us to hell, I experienced a traumatic identity crisis that plunged me into a deep depression. I couldn’t understand why a religion I held so dear seemed to harbor such hatred and rejection for people like me—especially for something I felt I had no choice in.

 

During my teenage years, I started researching different religious beliefs and spiritualities, but I was disheartened to discover that many were similarly unaccepting. This exploration marked the beginning of my journey away from religion, particularly Catholicism. Over time, I stepped away from my faith altogether. While I still practice culturally, fulfilling family and community obligations, I can’t say that I truly believe in it anymore. Ultimately, the inability to reconcile my sexual orientation with Catholicism was what led me to break away from the faith.

​​​

​

L: I went to a Catholic school from kindergarten to eighth grade, and the only time we talked about queerness was a section in our religion handbook in eighth grade that talked about homosexuality being a sin. I knew it was something I was meant to hide. I deeply believed in the bible and all the tenets of Catholic faith. I was part of my church choir and even wanted to be a priest growing up. Any same-gender desire I had I did my best to pretend didn’t exist. I used to pray constantly to be straight and “normal.” In this way, Catholicism made me push down my authentic self.

 

With all the self-hatred that Catholicism brought, there are still some aspects of religion that I felt saved me. I was severely bullied growing up. The only saving grace I felt was from Jesus who I was taught would always be there for me and would love me even as a sinner. As a child, I often spoke to god, and I felt like they were listening. At least there was one part of my life where I didn’t feel alone. This is the part of religion that I’ve missed in my adult life since leaving the church - this feeling that there was something much greater than me that was holding me. Since leaving Catholic school, I’ve met queer Catholic priests, and I’ve read about sects that seem to be more affirming of queer and trans people. However, the hierarchical nature of Catholicism makes it impossible for any arm to be fully accepting.

 

In my adulthood, I’ve been on a roller coaster of a spiritual journey from identifying with atheism to agnosticism, to paganism and polytheism. Now, I am trying to connect with the pre-colonial spiritual beliefs of my people. I take part in a Babaylan reading group to learn more about where our kapwa spirit came from. I see the strength and love that I felt in the benevolent authoritarian figure of the Christian god in my ancestors and the spirits of nature around and within us. I am tapping into my magickal side and the force of life that is part of everything. And I’m doing less to understand with my mind and do more to trust with my heart.

​​​​​​

​

​​

Many Filipino/a/x LGBTQ+ people have found support through mental health care, especially when their Filipino families and communities have not been supportive. What are your experiences of this, whether professional or personal?  

​

Gregory: Throughout my adulthood, I’ve worked with several Asian therapists, some of whom also identified as gay. These experiences were healing and helped me find my voice and better understand my experiences. My therapists saw and understood the painful realities I couldn’t share with my family or colleagues.

 

I credit therapy for much of my growth and confidence. It has helped me step out of my thoughts, be more present with others, and let go of worrying about how I’m judged or perceived. Because of this, I’ve been able to enjoy more moments of joy and connection. It taught me to let go and stop worrying about whether people accepted me for being gay or not.​
 

​

L: When I finally started to come out to myself and see myself as queer, I sought others who were like me. I was able to find support from support groups like GALY (Gay and Lesbian Youth) in NJ. I joined supportive virtual spaces for queer and trans teens. I also utilized the LGBT Helpline in NJ, and became a volunteer when I graduated high school. In professional spheres, these spaces may be considered providers of “mental health first aid” or psychoeducational support programs. These first line spaces where community and the institution of mental health are vital.

 

However, there is a dearth of these mezzo mental health spaces for queer and trans Filipinos. Many of the community organizations I joined in my adolescence were primarily white. At first, most of the Filipino queer spaces we had to build ourselves. I remember the first time I went to a RUGBI (Rutgers Gay and Bisexual) men’s group in college. I felt so out of place, looking into the room of mostly white people. During an icebreaker activity, I was drawn to a Filipino person who was sitting alone. We bonded on the awkwardness of the situation. Through him, we formed a small clique of Filipino queer people and hung out every weekend. I finally felt like I was accepted. This is an important and necessary part of queer Filipino mental health.

 

Being with this group of queer Filipinos led me to find APICHA Community Health Center in NYC and EquAsian - their queer and trans Asian youth group. This is where I met queer Filipino social workers for the first time, which started my own journey to become a social worker. I didn’t want any queer or trans young person of color to feel as isolated as I did growing up. As a Michigan social worker now, I work mainly with queer and trans clients, mostly people of color. Some of my clients came to me because I was the only trans therapist of color they could find. There are so few of us in this state. Therapy can be a protective and saving factor in the lives of queer and trans adolescents of color. We need more representation of our people within these mental health fields.

​​

​

​​

Does being Filipino/a/x and/or LGBTQ+ influence your work as a mental health professional and the support and/or therapy you provide? If so, in what ways?
 

Gregory: Yes, absolutely! I think it allows me to connect deeply and resonate with patients who face challenges such as being ostracized by their family or community, difficulties in relationships and dating, difficulties with body image and uncomfortable conversations about sex and sexuality, and the ways in which the gay community's belittling behavior can harm our self-esteem and sense of self-worth.

​​

​

L: My own personal experiences deeply influence how I show up as a therapist. Being a queer and trans Filipina second generation immigrant from the northeast and being open about that has drawn many of my clients to me. From high school on, I’ve worked to fight systemic and societal racism. As a social worker, I am first and foremost an anti-racist therapist, recognizing that racism is the central oppression in this country supporting all other oppressions. I saw how my parents couldn’t find work after a while in this country, even with their advanced degrees in chemical engineering and math from University of Santo Tomas. I remember them not being able to afford a $15 co-pay at the doctor’s office. The U.S. often does not recognize the skills that immigrants, especially immigrants of color, bring to this country leading many to struggle. I remember as a child being ashamed to tell people that I ate rice for breakfast. Growing up, I didn’t feel American enough for my white friends or Filipino enough for my Filipino friends.

 

The intergenerational trauma of systemic racism is important to identify and call out in therapy. With my clients, I point out how political and social dynamics influence our day to day lives and impact our mental health. Many of my clients seek me out because they have had to constantly explain the racist microaggressions they experience daily to their therapists, some telling me that they’ve even had to justify or prove what they were feeling. My goal as a social worker is to make my clients feel seen, heard, and respected, defying the communities that constantly dehumanize them for their race, gender, sexuality, ability, or immigration history.  My own experience has brought me empathy and sensitivity in recognizing the mental, physical, and spiritual harm of living in a colonial, white supremacist country. I also do my best to challenge myself to not act as a coach for my clients and project my own particular history onto them. Being a social worker means centering the client in the context of their environment and the history of their people. I call on the revolutionary spirit of my people to help me do this in a way that promotes liberation.

​​​

​

​

From your lived and clinical experiences, do you have any considerations that may provide guidance for LGBTQ+ Filipino/a/x mental health professionals and clients, particularly those who identify or may be similar to you?

​

Gregory: I’ll focus specifically on Filipinx clients for this question. As queer and gay Filipinx individuals, I believe it’s crucial for us to embrace and love ourselves unapologetically and unconditionally. We also need to learn how to be compassionate with ourselves and forgive ourselves. Alongside that, we need to extend that same compassion to others within our queer community. This means being honest with one another and having the courage to say things like, “Hey, I love you and I’m proud of you,” or, “I’m sorry I hurt you.” It also means being able to call each other out when necessary: “What you did isn’t okay—get your shit together.” These kinds of conversations help us hold each other accountable and grow as individuals and as a community. At the same time, we need to recognize and accept that not every space will welcome or accept us—and that’s okay. What truly matters is that we have the power to choose healthy relationships and connections that celebrate and accept us for who we are. Ultimately, I’m not sure if we can rely on the straight community to do all this for us. It’s something we need to foster and nurture within our own spaces.

​​

​

L: For my fellow Filipino mental health professionals, I believe that we have to bring decolonization and liberation to our practices and approaches. An important task is to recognize the internalized anti-Blackness within many Filipino and Asian communities. As an Asian person, I feel like I was implicitly taught to not trust Black people. This is something that I’ve had to challenge within myself and in my own actions. I am still constantly unlearning and striving to be a better promoter of Black liberation in my work, activism, and communities. Indigenous Australian scholar, activist, and artist Lilla Watson said that our liberation is bound together. We cannot be free until Black people, Indigenous people, Palestinians, and anyone suffering under imperial powers are free.

 

I feel that this is important for mental health practitioners because the disorders we diagnose our clients with have their roots in colonial dehumanization. Colonialism and white supremacy do not only constrain people based on their Black and Brown bodies. They also constrain trans, queer, and disabled bodies. Currently, we are seeing this enacted on a major scale with the alarming rise in anti-trans rhetoric that came up in this election as well as the subsequent increase in anti-trans legislation. For my fellow trans therapists, I know that many of us have a hard time holding our clients’ emotions right now while many of us are feeling despair, anger, and sadness. I remember breaking down during a work meeting when a colleague called our reaction to the Trump election “uncomfortable.” This is more than discomfort or being upset that Democrats lost to Republicans. I’m afraid that my existence will be erased, and I know many of my trans clients are scared, too. Folks who are medically or legally transitioning are scared of not being able to access the things that make us feel like who we are, like gender affirming hormone therapy and surgeries or legal name and gender marker changes. These existential crises just add more problems for many trans folks, a high percentage of whom are already dealing with violence, unemployment, and insecurity in access to food, housing, and finances. If you know any trans therapists, please don’t belittle their valid concerns. Try not to stoke panic - just show up in the ways people need you to show up. And for my fellow Filipino trans therapists, connect with other trans folks in your local communities. Organizations like the National Queer & Trans Therapists of Color Network may be able to help you find existing community spaces.

​​

​

​

If you are open to it, do you have any considerations that may provide guidance for heteronormative and cisgendered Filipino/a/x mental health professionals who work with or wish to work with LGBTQ+ Filipino/a/x clients and/or those who identify or may be similar to you?

​

Gregory: Learn and be curious. Therapy shouldn’t just focus on how we identify and our coming out stories. Ask and learn about the difficult things – self-worth, work life, personal life, relationship/sex life, safety in the community, internalized queer/gay hate. Also heteronormative and cisgendered professional’s acceptance of the LGBTQ+’s community is not the limitation of our own existence – we don’t need your acceptance, we need to be seen as equal. And outside of therapy, we need you to actively challenge toxic heteronormative and cisgendered privilege. Queer folx struggle with fighting and trying to change straight people’s minds. It’s rare to hear in the news about straight individuals confronting or challenging the perspectives of other straight people on gender and sexual orientation, leading to violence or even death. But gay and queer folx risk being a target of violence, or unfortunately sometimes death, when they confront straight people. 
 

​​

L: Answer is within the previous and following question

​​

​

​​​​

Any final thoughts and insights based on your personal and professional journey?

​

Gregory: None provided
​

​

L: The U.S. election has brought to light for many cisgender and transgender allies the real threat on queer and trans lives, especially when they’re undocumented immigrants. Make sure that you know:
 

• How to write letters of support for gender affirming care and surgery

• Mutual aid and local queer and trans service centers, particularly underground and grassroots

• How to write grants on behalf of your organization and others to ensure that trans people can get gender affirming physical and mental healthcare with or without governmental support

• Where clients can get support for name changes, gender marker changes, and any other changes on legal documents before the new year
   

If you’re not queer or trans, broaden your understanding of gender and sexuality outside of binaries. Affirm labels people may use to describe themselves and understand clients if they feel like certain labels no longer describe them or their experience. Dig into our pre-colonial pasts that often welcomed queer or trans Filipinos, and support Indigenous Filipinos today. Do not let our histories continue to be invisibilized or demonized by imperialism. Honor your queer and trans Filipino ancestors, like Tamblot, a babaylan who started uprisings against Spanish rule. Remember the sacrifices they made and the fighting they waged for our lives now.

​