The Friends We Lose. The Friends We Gain.

Public service has a quiet way of rearranging our friendships and relationships.

When I entered the civil service in 1993, I believed the hardest battles would be about policy, systems, or performance targets. I did not anticipate that one of the most personal costs of growth would be relational.

Over the years, I have lost friends.

Not always because of betrayal.
Not always because of conflict.
Sometimes simply because of direction.

I was once asked, “Who are your friends?” I answered without hesitation: quality over quantity. This may have sounded like a preference.  Only in hindsight did I recognize it as a discipline quietly cultivated over the years.

Some friendships change for reasons that are easy to see. Others shift for reasons that are harder to name.

As I rose along the career ladder, something subtle changed. People began to look at me differently. It may be cultural. It may be institutional. It may simply be human.

Familiarity slowly turned into distance. Casual conversations became more measured. Some who once spoke freely began to weigh their words. Others assumed I had changed — when in truth, it was the role that had changed.

For a season, I questioned myself.
Did I say something wrong?
Did I unintentionally offend?
Did responsibility make me unapproachable?

There were moments I was harder on myself than necessary.

But time brings perspective.

Leadership alters relational equilibrium. Authority introduces perception. And perception — fair or not — quietly reshapes closeness.

There is also a quieter dynamic that unfolds in institutions: comparison.

In environments where opportunities are limited and responsibilities are visible, movement — even when earned — can create unintended tension. Promotions, expanded roles, or key assignments may prompt reflection in others about their own journeys.

Not all distance is rooted in disagreement. Sometimes it is rooted in comparison. Sometimes it is simply the natural human response to change.

Understanding this did not make the shifts painless. But it helped me carry them with less self-blame.

Minsan iniisip ko, “Ako ba ang nagbago?” Pero sa pagdaan ng panahon, naunawaan ko — hindi lang ito personal. May mga puwersang gumagalaw sa loob ng sistema. At kung mananatili kang totoo sa prinsipyo, may mga taong kusang lalayo — at may mga taong kusang lalapit.

There were also moments when words traveled faster than intentions. In any bureaucracy, narratives can take shape quietly. Interpretations are shared. Motives are assigned. And sometimes, before you even realize it, distance has already settled in.

It is rarely dramatic. More often, it is gradual.

There were colleagues I thought would understand more easily — people who had seen the long nights, the difficult calls, the intention behind decisions. And yet even they, at times, navigated their own pressures, alliances, and survival instincts.

That realization can sting. But it also matures you because public service has also given me friendships I would never have encountered otherwise.

Friendships forged in 10 p.m. crisis meetings.
Friendships strengthened during audit season — and in moments when scrutiny came without clear grounding.
Colleagues who sensed when support was needed — even when I hesitated to ask.
Professionals who chose integrity over convenience.
People who did not flatter — but fortified.

These relationships are built not merely on shared offices, but on shared values.

I have learned that in the civil service, friendships evolve alongside responsibility. The friendships we lose teach us clarity. The friendships we gain teach us courage.

Not everyone is meant to walk every season with us. Some are companions of proximity. Some are companions of purpose. A rare few are companions of principle — and those are the ones to treasure.

Public service is long. Reforms take years. Systems evolve. Leadership transitions come and go.

But character remains.

I no longer measure friendship by access or familiarity. I measure it by steadiness under pressure, by silence when gossip circulates, by presence when decisions are difficult.

Quality over quantity.

And perhaps this is the quiet truth behind it all: In public service, the work refines our policies — but it also refines our circle.

— Director Noreen

When “This Place Is Full of It” Is Not Just a Joke

In leadership circles, we often speak about culture, alignment, and transformation. But there is a quieter undercurrent in many organizations—rarely named in official memos, frequently whispered in hallways.

“This place is full of it.”

A 2022 study published in Psychological Reports introduced something strikingly direct: the Organizational Bullshit Perception Scale (OBPS). The researchers defined workplace “bullshit” not as mere lying, but as communication made with no regard for the truth. That distinction matters. A liar knows the truth and hides it. A bullshitter does not care whether what is said is true at all. That difference is subtle—but corrosive.

Three Faces of Organizational Bullshit

The study identified three dimensions that shape how employees perceive bullshit inside organizations:

1. Regard for Truth
   Do decisions require evidence?
   Or can assertions, opinions, and slogans substitute for data?

2. The Boss
   Do leaders say what needs to be said to advance their agenda?
   Or do they model disciplined, evidence-based communication?

3. Bullshit Language
   Is the organization drowning in jargon, buzzwords, and acronyms?
   Or does it value clarity over performance?

These three dimensions are not theoretical abstractions. They are deeply felt experiences. Employees know when evidence is sidelined. They know when leaders posture. They know when language obscures rather than clarifies. And most importantly, they remember.

Why This Matters in Public Service

In the public sector—where policies affect lives, budgets carry public trust, and decisions have generational consequences—the cost of disregarding truth is higher.

When regard for truth weakens:

• Evidence-based management becomes selective.
• Data becomes ornamental.
• Reporting becomes compliance theater.

When leadership tolerates or models disregard for truth:

• Cynicism spreads.
• Silence increases.
• Capable people disengage quietly.

And when language becomes inflated—strategic, transformative, synergistic, world-class, leader—without corresponding substance, the distance between talk and action widens.

In my decades in government, I have seen reforms succeed not because of charisma, but because of disciplined respect for facts. And I have seen initiatives collapse under the weight of their own rhetoric.

The Subtle Erosion

Bullshit rarely arrives dramatically. It does not announce itself as deception. It often comes packaged as urgency, optimism, or visionary thinking.

But over time:

• Evidence becomes optional.
• Questions become unwelcome.
• Critical voices are labeled “negative.”
• Loyalty replaces intellectual rigor.

The study warns that unchecked organizational bullshit can corrode decision-making and reduce trust. That erosion is slow—but real.

A Leadership Mirror

The most uncomfortable finding in the research is the second factor: the boss.

Employees pay close attention to how leaders speak. They notice when statements are made without grounding. They detect when language is used to impress rather than inform. They observe whether leaders change positions without acknowledging facts.

Leadership is not only about direction—it is about epistemology. It signals what counts as truth inside the institution.

When leaders demonstrate regard for evidence:

• Others follow.
• Debate becomes constructive.
• Credibility strengthens.

When leaders tolerate or practice casual disregard for truth:

• Standards shift downward.
• Performance conversations lose integrity.
• The organization becomes allergic to accountability.

A Hard Question for All of Us

The OBPS was developed as a diagnostic tool. But perhaps its greater value is reflective.

Before we ask whether our institutions are “full of it,” we might ask:

• Do we insist on evidence before endorsing a decision?
• Do we challenge jargon when clarity would suffice?
• Do we allow ourselves to speak beyond what we truly know?

In reform work—especially in modernization, digital transformation, analytics, and policy design—precision is not optional. Data integrity is not decorative. Evidence is not a bureaucratic burden; it is the spine of institutional legitimacy.

Toward Intellectual Integrity

There is space for vision. There is room for aspiration. Not every statement must be footnoted like an academic journal. But leadership requires a disciplined respect for truth.

When employees can say, without irony, “This place values evidence,” trust deepens. When they do not have to whisper, “This place is full of it,” performance improves.

Institutions do not collapse because of one lie. They weaken when indifference to truth becomes normal. And that—more than incompetence, more than scarcity, more than politics—is what ultimately drains purpose from public service.

Director’s Cut :

Clarity is more than good communication—it is how leaders honor the truth. Clarity is not about sounding polished. It is about being honest. It means saying what you mean—and meaning what you say. It means sending a consistent message, not mixed signals. It means not shifting direction without reason, and not changing language to suit convenience.

Clarity builds stability. People can align when they understand. They can trust when the message does not move with the wind.

In leadership, clarity is not cosmetic. It is consistency anchored in truth. In the end, clarity is accountability in words. And leadership begins there. 

- Director Noreen

Reference: Ferreira, C., Hannah, D. R., McCarthy, I. P., Pitt, L., & Ferguson, S. L. (2022). This place is full of it: Towards an organizational bullshit perception scale. Psychological Reports, 125(1), 448–463.

https://doi.org/10.1177/0033294120978162 

Mental Health in the Public Sector: The Silent Struggle No One Talks About

In government,  we measure performance in outputs, timeliness, and compliance. What we rarely measure is what it costs a person to keep delivering them.

Public service runs on endurance. Deadlines do not adjust for personal strain. Reforms do not pause for private grief. Leadership demands composure — even when, inside, things feel unsettled.

We talk about productivity. We talk about efficiency. We talk about integrity. We rarely talk about mental health.

Wellness Is More Than Physical

When we talk about wellness, we usually mean the physical: blood pressure, exercise, annual checkups.

But I have learned that a human being is not a machine with replaceable parts.

Wellness has several dimensions:

• Physical
• Mental
• Emotional
• Social
• Spiritual

Mental wellness is only one dimension — but very often, it carries more weight than the physical. Sometimes it is the decisive one.

A person can look healthy and still be depleted. A leader can appear steady and still be overwhelmed. An employee can hit every KPI and still be barely holding on.

Public service carries a particular weight. We serve citizens. We manage scarce resources. We absorb criticism. We work within systems that move slowly but expect results quickly.

The struggle stays silent because professionalism teaches us to endure.

The Reality We Avoid

The data confirms what many of us quietly feel.

As cited in Civil Service Commission (CSC) Resolution No. 2501292 adopting the Wellness Leave Policy (13 November 2025), Filipino workers report among the highest levels of work-related stress in Southeast Asia.

That should concern us — not only as managers, but as people.

Mental health is not weakness. It is capacity. And when it erodes, institutions eventually feel it.

Burnout shows up as delay. Exhaustion shows up as errors. Unprocessed stress shows up as conflict. We call these “performance issues.” Often, they are wellness issues.

The CSC Wellness Leave Policy: A Structural Step

In 2025, the CSC formally adopted the Wellness Leave Policy through Resolution No. 2501292, which took effect on 1 January 2026. It recognizes something simple but important: workplace strategies must address both psychological and physical health.

Under the policy:

• Up to five (5) days of Wellness Leave per year may be granted, separate from Vacation, Sick, and Special Privilege Leave.
• It may be used for mental health care, physical wellness activities, or simply a restorative break.
• It may be taken consecutively (up to three days) or on separate days.
• Mental health–related information must be treated confidentially.
• It is non-cumulative and non-commutable — meant to be used, not monetized.

To me, this is not about adding another benefit.

It is about permission. Permission to pause. Permission to reset. Permission to admit that sustaining public service requires sustaining the public servant.

Policy Is One Thing. Culture Is Another.

A resolution can authorize five days. But culture determines whether anyone feels safe to take one.

Will supervisors interpret it generously — or suspiciously?
Will leaders model it — or quietly discourage it?
Will employees use it responsibly — or fear judgment?

Mental health reform is not just regulatory. It is relational. We need workplaces where saying “I need a break” does not diminish credibility. Prevention is almost always less costly than repair. Institutions are carried by people — not the other way around.

Balance Is Part of Wellness

Let me also say this clearly.

Wellness Leave is not an escape from responsibility. It is not a loophole. It is not an entitlement detached from accountability.

Balance must go both ways. If institutions create safe spaces, employees must use them responsibly.

Wellness Leave restores capacity — it does not excuse neglect.
It prevents burnout — it does not shift burden unfairly to colleagues.
It strengthens commitment — it does not weaken it.

Public service is collective work. When one person pauses, others adjust. That adjustment deserves respect.

Taking Wellness Leave requires maturity:

• Planning when possible.
• Communicating clearly.
• Managing transitions properly.
• Returning ready to contribute.

Wellness without discipline becomes indulgence. Discipline without wellness becomes exploitation.

The goal is sustainable service.

A Personal Reflection

Over decades in public service, I have seen high performers collapse — not because they lacked competence, but because they lacked recovery.

I have also had moments when I needed to pause quietly, recalibrate, and remind myself why I serve.

I have seen resilience grow when leaders practiced compassion without lowering standards.

Wellness is not indulgence. It is stewardship.

If we want integrity in the civil service, we must protect those who practice it. If we want excellence, we must care for the minds that produce it.

Mental health may be invisible. Its absence never is.

There are days when even the strongest public servant feels tired in ways no accomplishment report can capture. May mga laban na tahimik — hindi nakikita sa memo, pero mabigat sa isip at puso. And sometimes, courage is not pushing through — but knowing when to pause.

The Silent Struggle Does Not Have to Stay Silent

The Wellness Leave Policy is a meaningful step. But the deeper reform is this: Recognizing that the public servant is human before being institutional.

We often say, Bawat Kawani, Lingkod Bayani. Perhaps we should also remember: Bawat Kawani, Tao muna.

Mental health in the public sector will remain a silent struggle if we treat wellness as weakness. It will also falter if we treat wellness as exemption. The reform we need is balance — an institution humane enough to care, and public servants disciplined enough to honor that care.

Public service is not sustained by rules alone. It is sustained by people who remain whole enough to serve. And sometimes, the most responsible act in government is not to endure endlessly — but to pause, restore, and return stronger. That, too, is service.

— Director Noreen

The Discipline of Love in Leadership: A reflection on 1 Corinthians 13:4–13

 

In 1 Corinthians 13, love is not described as emotion. It is described as discipline.

And that matters for leadership. Because leadership is tested not in moments of applause—but in moments of pressure.

The text begins simply: "Love is patient. Love is kind."

In leadership terms, patience is restraint under pressure. Kindness is strength under control.

Anyone can be decisive.
Not everyone can be patient.

Anyone can assert authority.
Not everyone can exercise it with kindness.

Patience prevents impulsive decisions.
Kindness preserves dignity.

Both are forms of power—governed wisely.

Love Does Not Envy

"Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud."

Envy destabilizes leaders. It shifts focus from mission to comparison. When leaders measure themselves against others, clarity erodes. They become reactive instead of purposeful.

Love steadies leadership by removing insecurity from the equation.

It allows leaders to:

• Celebrate others’ strengths
• Develop successors
• Share credit without fear

Secure leadership is sustainable leadership.

Love Is Not Self-Seeking

“It is not self-seeking.”

This may be the most uncomfortable leadership standard.

Leadership can quietly become self-protective:

• Protecting reputation
• Protecting control
• Protecting legacy

But love redirects the focus outward. It asks:

• What strengthens the institution?
• What protects the people?
• What serves the long-term good?

Love shifts leadership from ego-preservation to stewardship.

Love Keeps No Record of Wrongs

“It keeps no record of wrongs.”

In organizations, memory can become a weapon. Old mistakes get recycled. Past missteps get revisited at convenient moments. Labels stick.

But mature leadership distinguishes between accountability and grudges. Accountability builds standards. Grudges build walls.

Love in leadership means:

• Correcting firmly
• Documenting appropriately
• But not weaponizing history

It allows growth without permanent branding.

Love Rejoices With the Truth

“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.”

Truth is not always comfortable in institutions. It may expose inefficiency. It may reveal blind spots. It may challenge long-standing habits.

But love is aligned with truth because love seeks long-term health—not short-term comfort.

Leaders who love well:

• Invite honest feedback
• Face data, even when inconvenient
• Choose integrity over image

Truth strengthens institutions. Avoidance weakens them.

Love Always Perseveres

“It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

Leadership is a long game. Projects stall. People disappoint. Reforms take longer than planned.

Persevering love sustains leaders when outcomes are incomplete and progress is partial.

The passage reminds us: “We know in part.”

No leader sees the full picture. No reform is perfect in its first iteration. No strategy captures every variable. Humility—knowing we see “in part”—keeps leaders teachable.

From Childhood to Maturity

“When I was a child… I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.”

There is a childish form of leadership:

• Easily threatened
• Easily angered
• Easily flattered

Mature leadership is steadier:

• Slower to react
• Quicker to listen
• Less dependent on approval

Love is what moves leadership from insecurity to maturity.

What Remains

The passage ends with:

“Faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

Faith sustains vision. Hope sustains momentum. Love sustains people. And without people, there is no institution.

Titles will eventually pass. Positions will change hands. Systems will be upgraded again. But the culture a leader leaves behind—that remains.

Leadership anchored in love is not soft. It is disciplined. It is principled. It is courageous enough to be patient. Strong enough to be kind. Secure enough not to compete. And mature enough to persevere.

In the end, leadership is not measured only by results achieved— but by people strengthened along the way. And that is why, even in leadership, love is the greatest.

— Director Noreen