What's Your Stripper Name
“What’s your stripper name?”
The color of your underwear plus the last thing you ate? Or your first pet plus the street you grew up on. You’ve seen the memes and maybe even taken the buzzfeed quiz.
But for those of us who have actually worked as strippers, our stripper name was a matter of survival. A way of maintaining anonymity and creating distance between ourselves and what that life requires.
In the strip clubs, my name was Monique. She was a compilation of the fantasies and demands of the men at the club. I wore her like a mask. Moniuqe did things Harmony would never do.
Monique was nothing like me. She was a little ditsy, unless, of course, a customer wanted her to be smart. She smiled and told the customers she liked working in the strip club. Sometimes, she even convinced Harmony of this.
Having an exploiter further exacerbated the issue. Even more than becoming who the men in the strip club wanted me to be, my job was to become who he wanted me to be. The real me is boisterous and silly. Strong and willing to stand up for justice. The woman he molded me into through intimidation, threats, and sometimes violence, was quiet and serious. Meek and obedient. Because, according to him, women are to be viewed and lusted after, but not heard. Also, they are to do whatever their man wants them to, perfectly and expediently.
Eventually, when I wiped off my make-up at the end of the night and tried to shower off the smell of cigarettes and body spray, I couldn’t quite get Monique off of me. The longer I was in the industry, the more the line between who she was and who I am began to blur. I lost myself in her.
By the time I quit stripping, I barely knew how to respond when someone called me by my real name. In fact, I had to stop myself from introducing myself as Monique as I inched my way back into the square world.
Even hearing my real name, “Harmony,” set a wave of vulnerability through me. My ears were raw and tender to the sound of that name—as though the one speaking it knew too much about me. Yes, Monique was my hiding place.
Monique is gone. I don’t need her anymore. My life no longer requires me to create aliases and compartmentalize experiences. I have been on a journey of discovering my true identity—becoming the woman I was created to be—and I quite like it.
Figuring out who I am outside of this fantasy persona has been an important part of my healing journey.
3 Life-Changing Questions
What do I want?
What do I need?
What do I feel?
These three questions have been absolutely vital to my recovery journey. Discovering what I want, need, and feel and setting boundaries around those things has helped me become my authentic self.
If you have lost touch with yourself for any reason, I hope you will find them just as powerful and liberating to ask yourself.
And as you do, may you bravely, courageously become your truest self. May you let go of the parts of you that were built to cater to the demands of others. May you be safe and secure enough to step out of your own hiding places, confident in the truth that you are seen, known, and loved.
Love, Harmony
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