Staring at My Face on Zoom Fucked With My Confidence
When most of the country was ordered to stay at home in March, one of the biggest adjustments was accepting that every social interaction needed to happen behind a screen. Luckily, my friends got creative. The amount of virtual games we played, workouts we endured “together”, and happy hours we coordinated truly made me thankful for them. What I wasn’t thankful for, however, was staring at my face on Zoom.
Months before the pandemic started, I had an ongoing issue with facial acne. Everyone had a different opinion on what triggered it. Maybe it was going off of birth control and the hormones associated with it. Perhaps it was the stress of moving to New York City…or more likely, the pollution. I felt like I tried everything from face masks to facials before I eventually gave in and went to see a dermatologist. She didn’t seem to have the answers either, but what she did have was the ability to prescribe medication. Just when I thought things were improving, the acne flared up again. I remember it so clearly because it was the same weekend businesses were mandated to close and offices were told to work from home. Part of me thinks that wasn’t a coincidence, but maybe I’m just superstitious.
Though the original assumption was that staying home would improve my acne — I had no need to wear makeup and could allow my face to “breathe” — in some ways I think it worsened it. My worst habit has always been my inability to leave things the fuck alone. If I have a bug bite, I’m scratching it. If I have a scab, I’m picking at it. If my cuticles are bleeding, I’m still pulling at them. And same goes for blemishes and blackheads. No matter how many times I’m told not to, by a professional or my parents, I keep doing it. The more time I have on my hands, the more I use them to touch my face.
My worst habit has always been my inability to leave things the fuck alone.
Touching my face doesn’t feel like a choice. The same way picking my cuticles doesn’t. I suppose it’s a weird addiction that I never fully worked through. When I did eventually bring it up in therapy, I didn’t really have the type of breakthrough that I thought I would. We talked about ways I could prevent myself from doing it, but couldn’t get to the root of why I do it! (Honestly that feels like a majority of what I discuss in therapy.)
Whether I was on Zoom for happy hours with my friends or weekly team meetings for work, it didn’t matter how good the lighting was in my room or if I increased the brightness on my laptop. My face looked pale and washed out and red on every screen. I shared the same frustrations pre-pandemic, but normally, I wasn’t staring back at myself every second. I definitely felt the defeat in the morning when I put makeup on in the mirror, but I could walk out the door and eventually forget what I looked like and how people saw me.
When I looked at myself on the screen, I grew frustrated and ashamed. Like even my closest friends would judge me for not getting my skincare routine in order. Sometimes it made me want to opt out of the Zoom calls altogether. Acne is acceptable in middle school, but at 25-years-old it feels like more of a you problem. Especially if you’re privileged enough to have the money and the means to care for it. At this point, I try to be thankful that after three virtual dermatologist appointments and prescribed antibiotics, my face was clearing up. Just in time for the majority of our virtual hangouts to come to an end.
Obviously, we’re all still spending an unhealthy amount of time on Zoom and my skin is nowhere near perfect. There are a few scars and a little bit of redness, but overall I feel like a healthier version of myself. One that glows in the Zoom light, rather than hides. And you won’t find me complaining about wearing a mask to work — mostly because #healthandsafety — but also because when I do have those bad skin days, I don’t have to worry about the consequences.
The level of defeat and shame that comes with bad skin days, weeks, or months is something that I honestly hope to never experience again. And being blamed for that feeling is even worse. COVID-19 may have given me the opportunity to heal my skin without the pressure of seeing other people, but it unfortunately gave me the added pressure of having to see myself.
