[Tʜɪs ᴡᴀs ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴏғ 2013 and on a different blog. Read to the end to fɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜʏ ɪ'ᴍ ʀᴇ-ᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪs ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ fun ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ tool ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs.]*
I’ve been thinking of going back to work in my industry. Luckily I have quite a few choices. I’ve been considering working on camera again. It’s very hard work but the pay and flexibility make it a viable option. I asked my friends on Twitter what they thought. One question that came up was whether it was safer than working as an escort.
I thought it was interesting this was a factor in other people’s minds. I hadn’t considered it myself. I rarely do. I’ve been doing this for so long I don’t feel the sex trade is dangerous. But that might just be because I know how to keep myself safe so well, I do it without thinking. And it could be because I live in Canada, where prostitution is legal (though talking about it, doing it in any location other than your client’s home, and spending the money, are illegal), and attitudes are different.
I was bristled by the question of safety. It brought up a lot of feelings about my competency, my knowledge, and the attitudes of the people close to me. My ego was getting in the way of thinking about this objectively.
Yes, I may have asked the question, but I realize now, I didn’t really want to know the answer.
It made me remember a time when a good friend broke out in tears when he heard I’d stopped working. I thought he was sweet on me and cried tears of joy over the good news that my health was better, and I was happy. I understand now he was carrying a great burden. He had been frightened for me.
That epiphany angered me. And I was ashamed for putting him through this without even knowing.
I didn’t want to think about my family, my friends and my loved ones living with an undercurrent of fear. I couldn’t do anything about it. I thought it was unjustified. I thought it was based on too many stories of ‘poor whores’ and not enough stories of ‘The happy hooker’. I thought if I just kept writing, saying everything is okay, showing up on the page and on live social media platforms, that everyone would just relax and give me some credit for a change. I hoped that educating people on what I knew from the inside, that they would be comforted.
I didn’t want to feel guilty or ashamed when I got ready for work everyday. I didn’t want to think about the risk of disease, or rape, or worse, when I invited a stranger into my home. I didn’t want to think that I missed or overlooked some important step to hiding my identity that might come back to haunt me or my family. I didn’t want to think that my lover was in pain every time I answered the phone.
I started this blog as a vehicle for my frustration and to break some of the isolation that goes with the job. It became this place where I fight the prejudices of general society about the horrors and the stereotypes typically associated with prostitution. I created a platform to educate the masses about why they shouldn’t feel bad for me, so I could feel better about myself. And I’ve gone and painted myself into a corner.
I desperately want what I do to be considered valid, viable, and dignified employment. But I can’t. Because as I keep trying to help everyone feel better, I have to discount the times when I feel bad, or scared, or hurt. I can’t tell the stories about when I was in danger, when I was lonely, or anything negative about my job. Otherwise I risk scaring you, perpetuating your fears for my safety, and feeling so wrong for putting you through this.
I know I can’t control how anybody feels about me or what I do for a living. I know it’s not my fault that maybe a small portion of the worry and hurt is unfounded. I can’t help that women are in danger just for being female, and prostitutes even more so. I wish I could take it all away. I want to be able to say to everyone that I know what I’m doing, I haven’t been hurt since my first year in the trade. Really, I’m fine.
I don’t have the education I need to get a good job. And I’ve been working at one that gives me all the ‘god job’ qualities—like a flexible schedule with part time hours with great pay, and to be my own boss. But it’s risky. And my loved ones worry. And I feel guilty.
It seems the easy answer would be to go to college, or get a shitty job and work my way up. To keep myself safe and eliminate the burden of worry and fear. The funny thing is; I can no more imagine myself going to college or working as a waitress as you could doing my job. I just wouldn’t be happy. I would die inside. I know, I’ve tried.
I see so many posts on Wordpress about quitting work and living skinny to make dreams come true. I read almost everyday about how people hate their jobs and wish they could write a book. I have that luxury right here and now. I write for hours every day. I can spend all the time in the world with my child and give her all the things I believe she deserves. But there is always a shadow over my joy and accomplishments. There is risk. There is pain. And the choice I always have to confront is; Do I keep from parenting and risk not eating, or do I risk my safety and pay for that luxury with your worry and hurt? And why are these my choices? Why can’t I have the job I want, that makes me happy, provides for my needs and for those I love, be safe, and know my community is happy for me?
I’m sad today because I read this . I don’t read or watch the news because stories like this (and all other atrocities) make me lose hope. I don’t know what to do when I’m faced with these facts. I just cry and feel sorry.
Since this was published in June, 2013, I have been working, without incident, and unharmed. Safety is a priority in my life, for my loved ones as much as for myself. I am grateful to have people who care about me and so fortunate to be able to keep their worries at ease.
That’s not always the case.
This is reposted to observe this Thursday, Dec 17th; The International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers.
If you want to do something you can start a conversation, search for opportunities to learn more, express more compassion, and support your local organization that support sex workers. If there isn’t one you may have to expand your definition of ‘local’.
Start here; at the official site; December17.org
Pass this video around. It’ll lighten the mood AND make a point!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNVFPkmZTQ4&w=560&h=315
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