When racism gets into the way we see ourselves
Soraya Mohamedi Mohamed · Specialist in grief and adaptation processes · Ubuntu Canarias · 11 min read · Published 25 October 2026
W. E. B. Du Bois’s double consciousness and the psychological strain of living under other people’s gaze
Some people, before speaking up in a meeting, applying for a job or walking into a new place, are already thinking about how they will be perceived.
They wonder whether their accent will raise suspicion, whether their name will affect an opportunity, or whether they will have to prove more than others to receive the same recognition. Sometimes these questions come from past experiences. From situations that repeat themselves until a person begins to anticipate them before they even happen.
Racism has consequences that are not always visible. Some show up in the opportunities that close; others, in the daily effort of getting by in a society where prejudice about origin, skin colour or family background still exists.
There is a kind of strain that is hard to explain to someone who has never had to think about how they will be received because of their name, their appearance or their family history. It is the effort of taking part in a situation while, at the same time, keeping an eye on how you are being judged.
Double consciousness: living with a gaze that judges you
In 1903, the African American sociologist, historian and activist W. E. B. Du Bois developed the concept of double consciousness in his book The Souls of Black Folk.
Du Bois reflected on the experience of Black people in a society marked by segregation and racial inequality. He described the tension of knowing yourself while, at the same time, seeing yourself through the eyes of a society that treats your identity as inferior.
He was not simply talking about having two identities or feeling torn between two cultures. His idea went deeper: the consequences of building an image of yourself in a society that questions your worth.
His reflection came from a specific historical context, that of Black people in the United States. Not all experiences of racism are the same, and it would be a mistake to treat them as equal. Even so, his thinking offers a useful lens for understanding what happens when other people’s discriminatory gaze starts to shape the way a person sees themselves.
Think of a woman going to a job interview. She has the training, the experience and the skills for the job. While she answers the questions, she is also watching whether her accent affects the conversation, whether she will have to justify her career path, or whether a mistake will be read as confirmation of the prejudices that exist about where she comes from.
Her attention is divided. She has to face the interview and, at the same time, manage the possibility of being judged for reasons that have nothing to do with her ability.
When this happens again and again, a person can end up spending a large part of their energy anticipating reactions, controlling their behaviour and avoiding situations that might expose them to rejection once more.
When rejection starts to affect how we see ourselves
I have known this reality from two places: my own experience, and my professional work supporting migrants, local people and second- and third-generation members of migrant families on questions of identity, migratory grief and self-esteem.
In my own life there were situations of rejection because of my origin and my surnames. They were not just looks that I could interpret in different ways. There were times when the reason for the rejection was explicit. And those experiences affected me deeply.
At school, at university and in other places, when someone said my first name and surnames out loud, several people would turn to look at me. I came to anticipate that moment every time I started somewhere new.
I also often heard “you don’t look Moroccan”. I wondered what would have happened if I did, whether I would have been accepted in the same way, or whether that apparent exception was precisely what made my acceptance easier.
In my family I had learned to stay alert to racism. That alertness came from real experiences, but I ended up watching for too many signs. Sometimes, before I knew what was going to happen, I was already preparing myself for possible rejection.
The hardest part was recognising how much it was affecting me. I felt a deep sense of injustice, but I found it hard to accept that those experiences had come to shape the way I saw myself. My anger at how I had been treated lived alongside a feeling of inferiority that I did not want to admit.
For a while, I even preferred some people not to know my full name, to avoid comments about my origin. I felt I belonged here, but sometimes I was made to feel like a foreigner. In other settings, I also sensed that I was not seen as fully Moroccan.
Over the years I had to work on my own way of understanding identity and belonging. Learning to accept both parts of my story meant no longer living them as if one had to justify the existence of the other.
I share this experience because racism can come to affect the relationship we have with ourselves. Not because every racialised person will go through the same process, but because repeated rejection can leave a mark that deserves to be recognised.
In social and psychological support work, these experiences call for listening and attention. We cannot put all distress down to discrimination, but neither can we automatically separate individual suffering from the social conditions in which it happens.
The exhaustion of having to prove who you are
When rejection is repeated, some people begin to monitor their behaviour very closely. They think hard before speaking, try to avoid any gesture that could be misread, or feel they must constantly prove their qualifications.
In other cases, the strain comes after the encounter: going over a conversation, wondering whether you were too direct or too cautious, trying to work out why someone reacted the way they did.
These reactions can be ways of anticipating rejection or protecting yourself after past experiences. On their own, they are not a psychological disorder. To understand them, we need to know each person’s story and the circumstances they live in.
It is also worth distinguishing between being alert because you have lived through real discrimination and assuming that every negative interaction must have that cause. The difference is not always easy to see, especially when there is a history of rejection. That is why listening without dismissing and exploring each situation without imposing an explanation are essential parts of support.
One point deserves attention: when someone has to spend too much energy managing other people’s prejudice, they may have less mental space left to learn, connect with others, rest or work on their plans.
The problem is not that person’s identity. It also lies in the conditions that force them to stay on guard.
What can we do when therapy is out of reach?
Recommending psychological care can be the right step, but many people cannot afford it or find it hard to access the services available. While they look for support, there are practices that can help them understand what they feel and look after their wellbeing.
Separate your own view of yourself from other people’s gaze
After a difficult situation, we can ask ourselves: “What do I really think of myself? What am I afraid others think? How much of what I am feeling comes from what just happened, and how much comes from earlier experiences?”
These questions are not meant to cast doubt on our perception of racism. They help us notice when other people’s prejudices start to become the yardstick we use to judge ourselves.
Name what happened without blaming yourself
Writing down what happened, what we felt and what we need can help put an experience in order. If there was discrimination, we do not have to convince ourselves that it did not happen. If we do not know for sure what caused a reaction, we can acknowledge that uncertainty without denying what we feel.
Look for relationships where you do not have to keep justifying yourself
A friendship, an association or a community group can offer a space to share experiences with people who are willing to listen. Sometimes, seeing that others have been through similar situations helps reduce the feeling of isolation. It also helps to find relationships where you can talk about these experiences without your whole identity being defined by them.
Learn to set limits
We are not obliged to answer every racist comment, educate the people who discriminate against us or prove our worth in every encounter. Sometimes it will be necessary to point out what happened, ask for support or report it. In other circumstances, walking away may be the safest choice. There is no single right answer for every situation.
Recognise when you are exhausted
Rest, routines and activities that help us switch off do not solve racism. They can, however, help us regain strength. If the distress continues, affects your sleep or makes daily life difficult, it is a good idea to seek medical or psychological advice. Public services and social organisations can tell you about the resources available, including those that do not require paying for a private consultation.
Reclaim an identity that does not depend on proving anything
Our origin is part of our story, but it is not all we are. We are also our abilities, relationships, interests, decisions and plans. We do not need to become an exception to other people’s prejudices in order to deserve respect.
These suggestions can help us make sense of what we feel and regain some room to decide. They do not replace psychological care when it is needed, and they do not remove the social causes of suffering.
The responsibility cannot fall on the person who is harmed
It would be unfair to turn these tools into a recipe for people who face discrimination to learn to put up with racism better.
The responsibility for changing this reality also lies with companies that recruit staff, institutions that provide services, professionals who support people through social processes, and anyone who reproduces prejudice in everyday life.
In social work, we need to review how we treat people, what expectations we place on them and how far our practices support their autonomy and participation. Nobody should have to prove that they are competent, respectable or deserving of help before being treated with dignity.
Supporting someone means listening to their experience without reducing it to a label. It also means recognising that suffering may be linked to social conditions that person did not choose.
Du Bois left us a reflection on the human cost of living under a gaze that denies equality. Taking it up today means asking ourselves what we are doing to make that gaze lose its power, inside and outside our institutions.
The path to a freer relationship with yourself is not about no longer feeling the hurt or pretending that rejection does not matter. It begins when we can recognise what has happened to us without accepting prejudice as a truth about our worth.
Nobody should have to spend their energy proving that they deserve to be treated as an equal.
At Ubuntu Canarias we stand for social work that responds to people’s real needs, respects their autonomy and helps build spaces where origin does not decide recognition, opportunities or the way people are treated.