People sometimes express surprise when I tell them that I used to be painfully shy, so shy that I spent my school years virtually mute, rarely speaking to anyone beyond my small circle of friends. With time I learned to like myself a little bit more and care a little bit less about what other people think of me. By my thirties I had spent enough time mingling at parties and cold-calling strangers for work that I had learned that the rewards by far outweigh my initial anxiety, and I had been rejected enough times to understand that the world doesn’t implode each time someone doesn’t like you. I had spent so many years pushing myself to be outgoing that it feels natural, enjoyable even.
And then I had my first Zoom conference call, and I was a tongue-tied, sweaty-palmed teenager again. I have waited for months for video-conferencing to become second nature, but even the thought of one – of being asked a question unexpectedly and flailing for the unmute button while I look at a grid of expectant faces and worse still, my own panicked face, unflatteringly foreshortened – makes me anxious. When I tweeted about my Zoom anxiety a few friends and colleagues messaged me in private to say they felt similar, though it’s understandable that in public people are more likely to say they don’t like Zoom than to talk about how it freaks them out.
Content from our partners
