You’re Not Alone: Why Video Calls Make You Anxious

Living With Video Call Anxiety Through the Lens of Self-Perception

The Mirror on the Screen

It has been a year into the pandemic and while many people talk about Zoom fatigue like it is a shared joke, there are others like me who feel something sharper beneath the surface. When the camera switches on, there is not just a meeting. There is a mirror. My face in real time. Every angle. Every movement. My attention splits between participating and watching myself participate, a loop that feeds quiet self-criticism and video call anxiety.

In meetings I catch myself critiquing more than listening, noticing details no one else likely sees. A strand of hair. The curve of my mouth. A shadow beneath my eyes. Coworkers look composed and effortless. I wonder if I appear the same, or if I am simply the only one who notices.

When Gallery View Feels Like Being Watched

There is something unsettling about being seen and watching myself simultaneously. The gallery fills with faces and suddenly it feels like a room of mirrors. I speak while monitoring my expression, unsure whether silence means uncertainty or nothing at all. A moment stretches longer than it should. Doubt fills the gap.

Even when alone, I still feel watched.

“Video calls are strange mirrors. We hear ourselves speak, but we also watch ourselves exist.”

Small Changes That Make Space to Breathe

I minimize self-view. Some days I use audio only. I schedule breaks so I remember I am more than posture and pixels. I shift attention away from how I look and toward the words being spoken.

Grace arrives slowly. Anxiety does not disappear, but it softens. I speak without rehearsing. I show up without shrinking. I exist without constantly watching myself exist.

Learning to Be Seen Without Flinching

Video calls reflect versions of ourselves we do not always recognize. They hold us still long enough to study our face, our pauses, our discomfort. But we are not alone in this feeling. Many of us are still learning how to look at ourselves without bracing for impact, to be seen without shrinking.

Some of us are still learning not to flinch when we meet our own gaze.