Originally Published June 4, 2025.
As a sex worker, I walk a tightrope most people can’t imagine. My profession is a deeply personal part of my life, but it’s one I guard fiercely, sharing it only with a trusted few. The societal stigma attached to what I do looms large, like a shadow that never quite leaves. I’m always bracing for judgment, worried that people will see me through the lens of preconceived notions rather than the truth of who I am—a multifaceted human with dreams, fears, and a heart that beats just like theirs.
Recently, that carefully constructed wall I’ve built around my truth was breached. I was outed to someone I barely knew, and the moment I found out, my world tilted. A sickening wave of dread washed over me, my stomach twisting into knots. I felt exposed, vulnerable, like I was standing on a stage waiting for the guillotine to drop. My mind spiraled, conjuring every worst-case scenario: rejection, gossip, condemnation. I couldn’t sleep, haunted by intrusive thoughts that painted vivid, horrifying outcomes. I wanted to disappear, to never show my face again.
Then, one morning, I found a note on my door. My heart sank as I reached for it, certain that this was the beginning of the backlash I’d been dreading. I steeled myself, expecting harsh words or a cruel jab. But what I read stopped me in my tracks.
The note was kind. Not just kind—it was supportive, warm, and brimming with empathy. The person wrote that they respected me, that they saw me for who I am, and that I had an ally in them. They offered their support, however I might need it. I stood there, note in hand, utterly speechless. Me—someone who’s rarely at a loss for words, as you know from reading my blog—was floored. You could have knocked me over with a feather.
I’m never surprised. But this? This was the exact opposite of what I’d feared, and to my utter shock, it wasn’t the only note like this I received. In a world where I’m so often misunderstood, this small act of kindness felt like a lifeline. It wasn’t just a note—it was a reminder that I’m not alone, that there are people out there who see beyond the stigma, who choose compassion over judgment. That note snapped me back to my normal self and reminded me of who I am. 😂
But my story isn’t just about me—it’s part of a bigger shift. Society is changing, and the way we view sex work is evolving right alongside it. I remember when the military had its “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, forcing people to hide who they were. Homosexuality was a crime in many places, with arrests tearing lives apart. Women couldn’t even open a bank account without a man’s name until the Equal Credit Opportunity Act of 1974. These were battles for dignity, for the right to exist as equals. And sex work? It’s on that same path.
The very language we use tells the story. We’re no longer “prostitutes,” a word dripping with shame and judgment. We’re sex workers, professionals who provide care, connection, and joy. That shift in terminology isn’t just semantics—it’s a reclaiming of respect. From decriminalization efforts to platforms amplifying our voices, society is starting to see us not as outcasts but as contributors. Just like those who fought for equality before us, we’re rewriting the narrative. I’m proud to be part of this change, standing tall in a world that’s learning to embrace us.
❤️Charlotte
(who for a moment thought she was in the upside down!)