The Expert’s Dilemma: When Standing Up for Your Expertise Feels Like Too Much

On imposter syndrome, social media, and being a woman in medicine

A comment showed up on my TikTok last week. I had posted an educational video about hand expression techniques for pregnant patients over 37 weeks—something I literally teach for a living as a breastfeeding medicine specialist. The comment suggested I shouldn’t be giving medical advice that contradicted what “her doctor” had told her.

I felt my chest tighten as I read it. Here I was, sharing evidence-based information in my area of expertise, and once again, I was being questioned by someone who knew nothing about my credentials or experience.

So I responded. I listed my qualifications. I mentioned that I’m part of the ACOG breastfeeding expert work group that writes guidelines for 60,000 obstetricians. I noted that I teach this exact topic to maternal-fetal medicine fellows. I offered to speak with her physician directly.

The response video became one of my best-performing posts. The original commenter apologized and then deleted her account entirely.

And somehow, I felt terrible about it.

The Weight of Being “Too Much”

This is the impossible position so many of us find ourselves in, particularly as women in medicine. We’re expected to be experts, but not too expert. Confident, but not intimidating. Knowledgeable, but humble enough to accept being questioned by anyone with an internet connection.

I spent two days after that interaction wondering if I had been too harsh. Me—a fellowship-trained physician who dedicates her life to this work—feeling guilty for defending expertise I’ve spent over a decade building.

The timing made it worse. I had just finished two shifts where I held space for mothers who lost previable pregnancies due to PPROM—impossible situations requiring impossible decisions. I was processing the trauma of the recent CDC shooting, where colleagues and friends I worked with at Emory were terrorized simply for doing their jobs in public health. I was already raw from watching misinformation and conspiracy theories target the very people working hardest to help others.

And still, my first instinct when someone questioned my expertise was to wonder if I was the problem.

The Gendered Nature of Expertise

Let me ask you this: Would that commenter have dreamed of leaving the same message on a male doctor's social media? Would she have told a male physician not to contradict "her doctor" with his medical advice?

Research tells us the answer is almost certainly no. Studies consistently show that women, particularly women of color, face more interruptions, more questioning of their authority, and more demands to prove their credibility than their male counterparts. Research documents that patients hold implicit biases associating men with medical authority, which explains why they routinely ask "When will I see the doctor?" after speaking with a female physician. We're more likely to be called by our first names while male colleagues get "Doctor." We're more likely to have our recommendations questioned, our expertise doubted, our knowledge challenged.

Research shows that women of color in healthcare face additional barriers including discrimination, disparities in advancement, and lack of expectation to achieve leadership positions. Even among physicians, studies show that women face different interruption patterns than their male colleagues.

Social media amplifies this exponentially. Behind the safety of a screen, people feel emboldened to challenge women in ways they never would face-to-face or with male experts. We become fair game for anyone with an opinion and a keyboard.

The Imposter’s Paradox

Here’s what makes this particularly insidious: the more we accomplish, the heavier the imposter syndrome can become. Every achievement feels like evidence that we’ve somehow fooled people into thinking we’re competent. Every challenge to our authority feels like proof that we don’t deserve the positions we hold.

I teach maternal-fetal medicine fellows. I write guidelines for tens of thousands of physicians. I’ve dedicated my career to keeping mothers and babies healthy. And yet, one random comment on social media sent me spiraling into self-doubt about whether I had the right to defend my own expertise.

This is the imposter’s paradox: the people who question themselves the most are often the ones who should question themselves the least. Meanwhile, those with the least knowledge often speak with the most confidence.

The Cost of Constant Vigilance

When we’re constantly having to prove ourselves, we’re not just fighting individual battles—we’re fighting a system that demands we justify our existence in spaces we’ve earned the right to occupy. This is exhausting work on top of the already exhausting work of being a physician.

Every time we have to defend our credentials, we’re not just educating one person. We’re performing our worthiness for an audience that may never be satisfied with our qualifications. We’re spending energy that could go toward patient care, research, teaching, or simply existing as human beings.

And when we do stand up for ourselves—as I did—we’re made to feel like we’re being “too much.” Too aggressive. Too defensive. Too proud.

Reclaiming Our Expertise

But here’s what I’m learning: standing up for our expertise isn’t arrogance—it’s accuracy. When I listed my qualifications in that response video, I wasn’t bragging. I was providing context for why my information should be trusted over random internet speculation.

We serve no one when we shrink ourselves to make others comfortable with our knowledge. Our patients deserve advocates who are confident in their expertise. Our students deserve teachers who model how to stand firm in evidence-based practice. Our profession deserves practitioners who won’t be bullied into silence by people who mistake opinion for expertise.

The commenter who challenged me deleted her account, and yes, I felt bad about that. But I’ve realized that my discomfort with her discomfort is part of the problem. I was socialized to prioritize others’ comfort over my own right to occupy space as an expert in my field.

Moving Forward

I’m working on carrying my credentials with confidence rather than apology. I’m practicing saying “I’m an expert in this area” without following it with justifications or qualifications. I’m trying to remember that when people challenge my expertise inappropriately, their discomfort with my response is not my responsibility to manage.

To my fellow women in medicine navigating similar spaces: your expertise is real. Your knowledge is valuable. Your right to share evidence-based information in your area of specialty is not up for debate by random internet commenters.

Stand firm. Take up space. Trust what you know.

The world needs your expertise more than it needs your apologies for having it.

What experiences have you had with imposter syndrome in your professional life? How do you handle challenges to your expertise? I’d love to hear your thoughts.