People think being a sex worker means losing your soul. They assume the job eats away at your faith, your dignity, your sense of self-worth. But what if I told you I found God louder in this work than I ever did in a pew?
I didn’t choose this path because I was desperate. I chose it because I was tired of being told my body was wrong. After years of working in retail, then in call centers, then as a caregiver for my sick mother, I realized no job was paying me enough to breathe. I started doing independent work-private sessions, mostly. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t safe at first. But it was honest. And when I began to see my body not as something to hide, but as something that could give comfort, connection, even healing-I started praying again. Not in church. Not on Sundays. But in the quiet after a client left, when the room smelled like lavender oil and sweat and relief. That’s when I whispered, Praise Jesus. Not because I was saved from sin, but because I was finally free from shame.
Some people think sex work is just about sex. It’s not. It’s about touch. It’s about listening. It’s about being the one person in someone’s life who doesn’t judge them for being lonely, broken, or afraid. I’ve held men who cried because their wives left them. I’ve sat with women who had never been touched gently in their lives. I’ve worked with veterans who couldn’t sleep unless someone was beside them. I’ve had clients who came from countries where intimacy is criminalized, and they just needed to feel human again. That’s not exploitation. That’s care. And if you’ve never been on the other side of that door, you don’t get to call it sin.
How Faith Fits Into a Life No One Understands
I grew up in a Pentecostal home. My mother prayed over me every night. She believed God could heal anything-cancer, depression, even bad decisions. But when I told her I was working as a sex worker, she didn’t pray. She cried. Then she told me I was lost. For six months, we didn’t speak. Then one day, she showed up at my apartment with a casserole and a Bible. She didn’t say a word. She just sat on the couch, opened the Bible to Psalm 139, and read aloud: "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Then she left.
That was the moment I realized God wasn’t in the church building. God was in the silence between my client’s breaths. God was in the way my hands could calm a shaking man. God was in the fact that I could still look myself in the mirror and say, I am still worthy.
My Work Isn’t About Lust-It’s About Healing
People ask me, "Don’t you get tired of it?" The truth is, I get tired of the stigma. I get tired of being called a prostitute like it’s a curse word. I get tired of strangers assuming I’m addicted, trafficked, or mentally ill. I’m not. I’m a woman who works with her body, her voice, her presence. I charge by the hour. I set boundaries. I screen clients. I have a therapist. I go to support groups. I pay taxes. I save for retirement. I have a cat named Mercy.
Some of my clients ask for "adult massage near me" services because they’ve never had a professional who treated them with dignity. That’s not a euphemism. That’s the reality. A massage isn’t just about muscles-it’s about releasing tension that lives in the soul. I’ve had men come in with chronic pain from PTSD, and after 45 minutes of slow, intentional touch, they fell asleep for the first time in years. That’s not sex. That’s medicine.
When the World Thinks You’re Broken, But You Know You’re Not
I’ve been arrested twice. Once for "loitering with intent," once for "public indecency." Both times, the charges were dropped. The cops didn’t know I was the same woman who volunteered at the women’s shelter downtown, teaching self-defense to survivors. They didn’t know I helped organize a fundraiser for a local LGBTQ+ youth center. They didn’t know I had a degree in psychology and was studying to become a licensed counselor.
People like to reduce us to one label. But you can’t fit a whole human being into a single word. I’m not just a sex worker. I’m a daughter. A friend. A reader of theology. A lover of jazz. A person who believes in redemption. I don’t need your approval to be holy.
Why Dubai Massage Republic Isn’t What You Think
There’s a website I’ve seen pop up sometimes-dubai massage republic. It’s not about what you think it is. It’s not a brothel. It’s not a front for trafficking. It’s a directory for independent professionals in Dubai who offer therapeutic bodywork. Some offer sensual touch. Others offer deep tissue, reflexology, or aromatherapy. The difference? They list their services clearly. They set their own rates. They screen clients. They have insurance. In a place where sex work is illegal, these people are quietly building safety into their work. They don’t need your pity. They need your respect.
What No One Tells You About Dubai Escort Services
When you search for "dubai escort," you get a flood of predatory ads. But the real story? There are women and men in Dubai who work independently, offering companionship, conversation, emotional support. Some are expats. Some are locals. All of them are risking everything. In Dubai, being caught can mean deportation, fines, or jail. But they still do it-not because they’re desperate, but because they’ve built something real. They’ve created boundaries. They’ve built trust. They’ve turned a stigmatized act into an act of autonomy.
It’s not about sex. It’s about dignity.
You Don’t Have to Choose Between Faith and Freedom
I don’t go to church anymore. But I pray every morning. I thank God for my strength. I ask for wisdom when I’m unsure. I ask for protection. I ask for peace. I don’t need a pastor to tell me I’m forgiven. I know it. Because I’ve lived it. I’ve been broken. I’ve been judged. I’ve been discarded. And yet-I’m still here. Still working. Still healing. Still praising.
If you’re reading this and you’re stuck in a life you hate-whether you’re in sex work, or a job that drains you, or a relationship that breaks you-you don’t need to be saved. You need to be seen. You need to know you’re not alone. You need to know that your body is not a sin. Your choices are not failures. Your survival is not a scandal.
I’m a sex worker. And I praise Jesus-not in spite of my work, but because of it. Because in this work, I found my voice. My power. My peace. And I’m not ashamed anymore.
