Sex after the sex industry
Beyond selling sex, what the sex industry sells is fantasy.
In this fantasy world, for the most part, consumers are made to feel desirable, powerful, liked, accepted, and wanted. They are offered a temporary escape from the reality of their daily lives. All of this without the risk of relational pain.
When I think back to my 19-year old self, in many ways, I was very naïve, yet I exhibited a pattern of behavior that I learned in the strip club that would have made most people think otherwise. I watched the older women and learned to move like them—to walk like them, laugh like them, dance like them—without giving much thought to why. All I knew was it worked, because I went home with a wallet full of money (that I gave to my pimp).
The entire persona I created was based on fantasy. In the midst of all of this, sex became a transaction, detached from reality and anchored in fantasy. Sex became compartmentalized from intimacy and relationship, from knowing and being known. Sex was about power and control. Most of all, it was about survival.
I often thought of the men I engaged with, “Outside of this context, I would never, in a million years, give you the time of day.” But in a world where people become products, consent is for sale, and survival depended on stifling my right to say “no,” they had the upper hand.
For many of us, an extreme level of disconnection is required in order for us to participate in this. We learn to disconnect ourselves from ourselves. Some of us use dissociation and denial and hide behind the masks we made. Others use drugs and alcohol. Anything to not be present. As we build an identity that is based on the wants, needs and desires of others, many of us detach from our own wants, needs, and desires.
I left the industry feeling fragmented and compartmentalized. I wish I could tell you that the act of leaving was enough to fix all of this. The truth is, it has taken time to stop seeing men as walking wallets, to stop thinking that everyone wanted to have sex with me, to stop questioning the motives of anyone who was nice to me, and to not feel compelled to present myself as a “fantasy girl” to make people like me.
There has been a process of undoing. If I am honest, sometimes it felt like unraveling. It has been a hard road to learn to connect to my own sexuality in healthy ways. To stay present in my own body.
While I was in the industry, I believed that I could reduce sex to a physical act, devoid of relationship and connection. I have come to believe that sex was designed for more than satiating a desire. I believe it is meant to facilitate intimacy and connection to another human in a deeply spiritual way. That is what I believe. I personally believe in a God who restores. A God who made every part of me, including my sexuality. A God whose plan for my life and my body are good. A God who makes what is fragmented whole again.
I also believe that we deserve to live lives where it is safe to be present in our own bodies. I believe that we deserve more than transactional relationships designed to cater to the demands of others. We deserve reciprocal relationships with safe people who honor our wants, needs, and feelings. We deserve to be seen and known… and most of all, loved for who we truly are.
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