They Called Me Fat. I Didn't Flinch. Then They Questioned My Values.

The psychology of why body shaming bounces off but values-based criticism spirals, and what it reveals about imposter syndrome in white allyship.

The comments came fast. After a short clip about white entitlement hit 15,000 views on TikTok, my mentions filled with people telling me I was too fat to have an opinion. That no one should listen to “a biggie.” That white entitlement was me “eating everything in sight.”

I read every one. I felt nothing.

Not because I’m superhuman or because body shaming doesn’t hurt. It does. But somewhere along the way, I stopped letting my body be the measure of my credibility. Those comments told me everything about the commenter and nothing about me.

Then someone wrote: “You’re just performing allyship for clout. You don’t actually care about these communities. You’re centering yourself.”

That one sent me into a spiral that lasted days.

Why Does Body Shaming Fail as a Silencing Tool?

Body shaming fails as a silencing tool when the target has already decoupled their self-worth from their appearance, a process that research shows is more common among women who have lived in marginalized bodies for extended periods. Danielle Keats Citron’s research on online harassment documents that women who speak publicly on political or social issues are disproportionately targeted with appearance-based attacks, and that these attacks are strategic: they aim to discredit the speaker’s authority by reducing her to her body (1). The message is not “your argument is wrong.” The message is “you don’t deserve to be heard.”

For me, that particular weapon had been dulled by years of living in a body that the world has opinions about. Growing up neurodiverse and plus-size taught me early that people will use your appearance as shorthand for your intelligence, your discipline, your worth. At some point, you either internalize that or you don’t. I chose not to.

But values? That’s a different part of the nervous system entirely.

What Is the Validation Trap in White Anti-Racism Work?

The validation trap is a stage in white racial identity development where white people doing anti-racism work begin to need external confirmation that they are doing it correctly, effectively outsourcing their moral compass to the approval of others. Psychologists Derald Wing Sue and David Sue mapped this pattern in their model of white racial identity development, which tracks the stages white people move through as they become aware of racism and their role in it (2). At the validation stage, the person starts to need proof that they’re one of the “good ones.”

This is where imposter syndrome in anti-racism work gets complicated. The impostor phenomenon is a pattern of persistent self-doubt despite evidence of competence, first described by clinical psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes in 1978 (3). But recent scholarship, particularly from Ruchika Tulshyan and Jodi-Ann Burey in Harvard Business Review, argues that what we call imposter syndrome is often a rational response to environments that were never designed for us (4).

For white women doing anti-racism work, the dynamic flips. We are not in a space that excludes us. We are in a space where our presence is itself under scrutiny, and rightly so. The question “are you doing this for the right reasons?” is not harassment. It is accountability. And yet it can trigger the same neurological spiral as any imposter experience because it threatens the story we tell ourselves about who we are.

Is the Spiral a Sign You’re a Fraud, or a Sign You Care?

The spiral itself is evidence of investment, not evidence of fraud. When values-based criticism destabilizes you, it means your identity is anchored to your purpose rather than to superficial markers, and that is exactly where it should be.

Robin DiAngelo’s framework on white fragility describes how many white people respond to racial stress with defensiveness, tears, or withdrawal (5). I didn’t do any of those things. What I did was go inward. I asked myself: am I doing this for clout? Am I centering myself?

Am I performing allyship?

The answer, after honest reflection, was no. I’m doing this because I believe growth requires discomfort and that my family, my community, and my generation of white women can do better. But the fact that the question destabilized me for days tells me something important: my sense of self is more anchored to my values than to my body. Body shaming tries to reduce you to flesh. Values-based criticism tries to separate you from your purpose. The second one is more dangerous because it’s closer to the truth of who you are.

Why Can’t Short-Form Content Hold Nuanced Conversations?

Short-form content structurally rewards polarization over nuance, which is why 60-second clips generate the cruelest responses. Research by William Brady and colleagues at NYU found that moralized emotional content spreads 20% faster per moral-emotional word on social media, creating an algorithm that actively selects for outrage over understanding (6). Comments sections reward certainty, speed, and aggression. They punish nuance, vulnerability, and complexity.

The work my mom and I are doing on this podcast cannot survive in that environment, and it was never meant to. This is why community matters. The conversations that change us happen in book clubs, in long phone calls, in episodes where we stumble over our words and correct each other in real time. Not in a comment section where someone has 3 seconds to decide if you deserve to speak.

How Can White Women Sit With Values-Based Criticism Instead of Spiraling?

You can sit with values-based criticism by distinguishing between two types of self-doubt: the kind that calls you to reflect and grow, and the kind that asks you to shrink and stop. The first is accountability. The second is avoidance. Resmaa Menakem, author of My Grandmother’s Hands, writes that real racial healing requires us to stay in our bodies during discomfort rather than retreat into intellectualization or withdrawal (7).

If you’re a white woman doing anti-racism work and you’ve felt this spiral, here’s what I want you to know: the question “am I doing this for the right reasons?” is one you should ask yourself regularly. Not because the answer might be no, but because the willingness to ask it is the difference between growth and performance.

Check your validation sources. Are you doing this work for external approval or from internal purpose? And stay in community. Real accountability doesn’t come from strangers on TikTok. It comes from people who know your name and are willing to sit with you in the discomfort.

The trolls wanted me to stop talking. The imposter syndrome wanted me to question whether I should. Neither one won. Because the work is not about being beyond criticism. It’s about being willing to hear it, sit with it, and keep going.

Stay curious, be open and keep waking up,

Jonelle

💬 Where does your self-doubt come from: fear, or accountability? Drop it in the comments.

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This article draws from conversations featured in the White Women Wake Up podcast, Season 2, Episode 12: “Imposter Syndrome & White Allyship: When Self-Doubt Wins,” aired on March 19, 2026. In this episode, Jonelle shares the full story of going semi-viral on TikTok, the body-shaming comments that didn’t land, the values-based criticism that did, and what the Sue and Sue model reveals about the validation trap in white anti-racism work.

Listen to the full Conversation Here

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Frequently Asked Questions

What is imposter syndrome in anti-racism work?

Imposter syndrome in anti-racism work is the persistent self-doubt that white people experience when doing racial justice work, specifically the fear that they are performing allyship rather than practicing it authentically. Unlike traditional imposter syndrome, described by Clance and Imes in 1978 as self-doubt despite competence (3), this variant is complicated by the fact that the scrutiny is often legitimate accountability rather than unfounded anxiety.

What is the validation trap for white allies?

The validation trap is a stage in white racial identity development, identified by psychologists Derald Wing Sue and David Sue, where white people doing anti-racism work begin to need external confirmation that they are “one of the good ones” (2). This creates a dependency on approval from people of color that can center white feelings over structural change.

Why does values-based criticism hurt more than body shaming?

Values-based criticism cuts deeper because it threatens your sense of purpose and identity, while body shaming targets something external. When your self-worth is anchored to your values and intentions rather than your appearance, criticism that questions those

values destabilizes your core identity in a way that appearance-based attacks cannot.

How can white women tell the difference between imposter syndrome and a real call to reflect?

The key distinction is whether the self-doubt calls you to reflect and grow, or asks you to shrink and stop. Imposter syndrome as avoidance says “you don’t belong here, quit.” Accountability as growth says “examine your motives, adjust, and keep going.” Resmaa Menakem’s somatic framework suggests staying in your body during the discomfort rather than intellectualizing or withdrawing (7).

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References

1. Citron, D. K. (2014). Hate Crimes in Cyberspace. Harvard University Press.

2. Sue, D. W., & Sue, D. (2019). Counseling the Culturally Diverse: Theory and Practice (8th ed.). Wiley.

3. Clance, P. R., & Imes, S. A. (1978). The Impostor Phenomenon in High Achieving Women: Dynamics and

Therapeutic Intervention. Psychotherapy: Theory, Research & Practice, 15(3), 241-247.

4. Tulshyan, R., & Burey, J. (2021). Stop Telling Women They Have Imposter Syndrome. Harvard Business Review.

5. DiAngelo, R. (2018). White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism. Beacon Press.

6. Brady, W. J., Wills, J. A., Jost, J. T., Tucker, J. A., & Van Bavel, J. J. (2017). Emotion shapes the diffusion of

moralized content in social networks. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 114(28), 7313-7318.

7. Menakem, R. (2017). My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and

Bodies. Central Recovery Press.