Is "zoom fatigue" just digital social anxiety in disguise?

I just closed my fourth video call of the day and caught my reflection in the black square that popped up after everyone bailed. Eyes like a raccoon, shoulders up near my ears, jaw locked. The calendar calls it “catch-up with the team.” My body calls it nope.

what “zoom fatigue” feels like in real life

Zoom fatigue isn’t a medical term; it’s the collective groan of anyone who’s sat through back-to-back Brady-Bunch grids. Common hits:

- the weird ache behind your eyes from staring at thumbnails

- a sense that you’re always “on,” even when nobody’s talking to you

- brain-foggy evenings where Netflix feels like calculus

Notice that none of those things require bad Wi-Fi or a toxic boss. They happen even in relaxed, friendly meetings. That’s the clue that something deeper - possibly anxiety - is playing DJ with your nervous system.

why social anxiety sneaks into the chat window

If in-person gatherings make you sweat, video chats can look like a low-stakes workaround. You’re at home, petting the dog, wearing pajama bottoms. Should be chill, right? Except:

1. Mirror mode. You’re forced to stare at your own face for an hour. That’s basically holding a handheld mirror up during a coffee date. Super unnatural.

2. Lack of micro-cues. In a café you see nods, foot taps, slow inhales - signals that guide conversation. Zoom crops them out, so your brain keeps guessing. Guessing = vigilance = fatigue.

3. Silent audience effect. When cameras are off or mics muted, you end up talking to a row of blank rectangles. Stage fright vibes, minus the polite applause at the end.

Add those up and you’ve got a recipe that tastes a lot like classic social anxiety, just with more screen glare.

how to untangle the two without a PhD

Quick self-check after a call:

- Did you feel tense mainly because of tech mishaps? Probably plain old screen fatigue.

- Did you rehearse lines in your head, over-analyze how you came across, or replay the convo in the shower later? That leans into social anxiety territory.

Spoiler: you can have both. But if anxiety is the louder roommate, tackling that head-on reduces Zoom drain automatically.

tiny tweaks that make a huge dent

You don’t have to start a grand self-improvement quest. Try one or two of these this week:

• Hide self-view. Most platforms let you right-click your square and make it vanish for you (others still see you). Out of sight, out of self-critique.

• Switch to “speaker view.” One face at a time is way less overwhelming than a 25-square mosaic.

• Set a pre-call ritual. Two minutes of box breathing, stretching, or even blasting a hype song tells your nervous system “we’re safe.” Sounds corny, works.

• Use the chat box strategically. If speaking up live makes your pulse spike, drop your thought in chat first. Often the act of typing loosens your voice, and you can unmute after.

• Plan a micro-reward. End each meeting with something pleasant: walk to the mailbox, sip iced coffee, annoy the cat. Your brain starts associating calls with relief instead of dread.

• Negotiate camera-optional norms. Suggest to the team that for internal check-ins, cameras come on only during intros and wrap-ups. People usually cheer.

building longer-term resilience

Short hacks help, but lasting change comes from gently training your social muscle:

- Attend low-stakes online events - trivia night, open mic, Twitch stream - and lurk or speak as you feel able. Graded exposure works digitally too.

- Practice self-compassion phrases: “I showed up; that’s enough for today.” Yes, it feels crunchy at first. Say it anyway.

- Consider CBT worksheets or a therapist if the anxiety spills into other areas. Early help beats white-knuckling it for years.

None of this is about becoming the loudest person on the call. It’s about reclaiming energy that belongs to you, not the screen.

closing the laptop, not the conversation

Zoom fatigue isn’t a moral failing or proof you’re “bad at remote work.” For many of us, it’s digital social anxiety wearing a blue light filter. Spot the overlap, try a tweak, see how your body responds. Each small win - camera off for half a meeting, one sentence spoken without panic - tells your nervous system a new story: “we can handle this.”

Next time the calendar pings, maybe you’ll still sigh, but it’ll be a normal-life sigh, not a full-body dread. That extra slice of calm? Yours to keep after you hit “Leave Meeting.”