The Zoom Theory

I have this theory that relationships are kind of like Zoom backgrounds.

The first time you get on a video call with someone, you create a pleasant setting, make sure everything is clean and organized, maybe do something fancy with the lighting.

You move that one picture that doesn’t match the aesthetic, or you tuck a strange-looking vase under the desk before turning on your camera. Your posture is immaculate. You’re maybe even wearing pants.

And the next time, you scramble around, trying to remember what it was you hid. You grab the vase at the last second and heave a sigh of relief.

But fast forward a few weeks, a few months—how many times have you had to remember to take down that picture, to shove that vase out of sight, to hide away a stack of unsightly paperwork from the week?

It gets tedious.

Relationships can be like that. It may start small, “Oh, I don’t want them to know I used to bite my nails.” And then we realize we don’t want them to know a lot of unideal things about us that, in reality, no matter how unsavory or odd, end up making us who we are.

Think about it before tucking part of yourself out of sight when building a relationship: do you want to hide that side of you forever?

We think we can control perception. We think we can keep things just so and maintain the image we most desire to project. Sometimes we can, and sometimes it’s necessary. But honestly, are those relationships—the ones that really matter—better off from that type of censoring?

I’d take a wild guess and say no.

They say honest people don’t need a good memory, and I find that to be true. If you’re honest about who you are, your expectations, and your surroundings—you don’t have to struggle to recall where you left things or how far to one side that candle was.

You’re not a stagnate photo.

You grow, change, and adapt. You are everything that happened to you and everything that’s happening now. To cut away any section of that out of self-defense is understandable but unfortunate.

I don’t want to have to remember to hide the same chipped mug every time I interact with the person who has never seen it. If I leave the mug there, it becomes a part of the landscape of who I am. It becomes accepted—or not—along with everything else, and who stays, stays. If someone has a problem with the chipped mug, that’s all the better to know as soon as possible that it won’t work out.

There are many things I could shove out of frame, but I don’t. Or, more and more, I try not to. This goes for any relationship you hope to nurture—to invest time, energy, and love towards.

Why tear yourself into pieces for someone? If they don’t like the entire picture, then that’s not where you should invest. And that’s okay.

Relationships exist on a scale for a reason. Acquaintances, friends, partners, and a dozen little stops in between that require different attention.

So, if it’s a valuable connection, don’t hide parts of yourself to appease and please. If you hide too well, you may end up hiding forever.

Everyone deserves to be loved for their true selves, at least once.

Thank you for reading my half-formed thoughts around self-presentation!