There’s a specific kind of exhaustion that comes from always being seen.
As an introvert, I’ve always found it difficult to be in front of people or feel like I have to perform.
But I’ve also held several leadership positions and now work as a marketing manager—so I know how important it is to show up, to be present, and yes, to be visible. There’s a version of me I send out into the world when needed. And most days, that version is genuine. But I’d be lying if I said it always feels like me.
That’s why watching the Netflix documentary about Piper Rockelle left such a deep impression. Here was a young girl, growing up online, performing for millions—and under the guidance of adults who didn’t seem to fully grasp the emotional toll.
Her story isn’t just about social media fame. It’s about identity, boundaries, and what happens when children are taught that their worth is tied to how well they can perform.
And while most of us didn’t grow up with a YouTube channel, many of us did grow up with subtle messages that shaped how we saw ourselves: Be good. Be impressive. Be useful. Be liked.
This article isn’t a critique of Piper or her choices. It’s a reflection on what her experience mirrors back to us—about the stories we learned, the beliefs we carry, and how we begin to return to ourselves.
The Seeds of Limiting Beliefs
In psychology, limiting beliefs are internalized ideas that hold us back from living fully. They usually form early in life—through repeated experiences, emotional wounds, or the way adults responded to us. Over time, they shape our behavior and relationships. We don’t always notice them, but they often sound like:
- “I have to work hard to be loved.”
- “If I’m not impressive, I’m invisible.”
- “It’s safer to be agreeable than to be honest.”
Children, especially, are wired to seek connection and approval.
In Piper Rockelle’s case, the attention she received from online fans likely became a reinforcing loop. The more she performed, the more she was rewarded—not just with likes, but with affirmation. That kind of feedback can cement early beliefs like “I am valuable because people watch me,” or worse, “If I don’t perform, I disappear.”
That said, these beliefs aren’t unique to child stars.
Many of us learned similar messages growing up. Maybe you were the fixer, the achiever, the funny one, the quiet one. Maybe you felt loved when you were useful or praised, but not simply for existing. That becomes the blueprint.
As Dr. Gabor Maté writes in The Myth of Normal, children often trade authenticity for attachment. When love is conditional—even subtly—we learn to bend ourselves into who we think we need to be.
Left unchecked, these beliefs can quietly guide our adult lives—limiting the risks we take, the joy we allow, and the relationships we feel safe in.
Like Piper, we might not even recognize them as beliefs because they’ve become background noise, part of our self-talk. But when we start paying attention—when we feel resistance, shame, or overexplain ourselves—we can gently ask: Is this a belief… or a bruise?
And the beautiful thing is, beliefs can be rewritten. Awareness is the beginning. Compassion is the next step. that hold us back from living fully. They usually form early in life—through repeated experiences, emotional wounds, or the way adults responded to us.
When Grown-Ups Forget to Grow Up
Children need attuned adults to help them regulate, reflect, and feel safe in being who they are. But when those adults are preoccupied—with success, image, or their own unmet needs—children adapt.
In family systems theory, this can lead to parentification: when a child takes on emotional or practical responsibilities beyond their developmental capacity. In Piper’s story, there are moments where you can sense a reversal of roles—where the child becomes the brand, the provider, the center of adult decisions.
Again, you don’t have to be famous to relate.
Maybe you grew up in a home where one parent confided in you too much. Maybe you had to earn affection by anticipating others’ moods. Maybe you were the emotional buffer in a tense household. All of this shapes your adult sense of responsibility, performance, and worth.
The danger isn’t just burnout. It’s disconnection from self. We become so good at reading the room that we forget to read ourselves.
Reclaiming Identity Beyond the Performance
So what does it look like to return to yourself—to reclaim the parts of you that aren’t performing?
Here are a few ways I’ve been practicing:
- Notice when you’re performing. This doesn’t mean you’re being fake. It just means noticing the moments when you shift away from your natural expression to match what’s expected. Ask: Who am I trying to be right now, and why?
- Revisit your limiting beliefs. One exercise I love: Write down a belief like “I have to be impressive to be loved.” Then write down where you first learned it. Then, ask: Is this still true? Who would I be without this belief?
- Create space where you don’t have to be “on.” Whether it’s a hobby, a friendship, or just time offline—we all need places where we can be unfiltered. That’s where healing happens.
- Give your inner child a seat at the table. Ask them: What did you need that you didn’t get? What did you have to become? Give them space to be messy, quiet, playful, unpolished.
What Piper’s Story Reflects Back to Us
Piper Rockelle’s story is complicated. But what it stirred in me was a question that felt very personal: What parts of myself did I learn to perform to be accepted?
Whether you grew up online or in a quiet house with loud expectations, there is often a younger part of you still seeking safety, still longing to be seen without having to prove anything.
You are not here to be consumed. You are not here to be palatable. You are not here to earn love.
You are here to be.
And that is more than enough.
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