One of the first things people fall back on when they’re pissed off at me is the fact that I’ve been an escort. When I first told people I knew about it, there was a flood of varying reactions. Some people flat out told me it sickens them and they think I’m disgusting, that they’ve lost all respect for me. Some people begged me to find alternatives. Others stood by me and said they respect me for doing what it takes to pay my bills.
Truth be told, I almost prefer the people who were very in my face with their feelings about what I’ve had to do. I knew how they felt and that’s fine. What gets to me is when people say they support it, and then the moment they get pissed off at me, they turn around and say, “at least she had to suck dick for money” or “no matter how shitty I feel, at least I didn’t sink that low.” It’s pretty sad when the only thing that makes you feel better about your life is the fact that someone else is doing, in your eyes, much worse.
Last night I got an email from someone who has had a similar experience, except that she is emotionally much worse for wear, and that gets to me.
It gets to me that people have no problem taking her money to pay their bills, yet turn around and call her a whore, filthy, dirty, and disgusting. It happens all too often. She’s not the only one.
You want to call us a whore? Fine. I have absolutely no problem with someone who calls me a whore to my face, because I’m not going to sugarcoat what I’ve done, nor am I going to stop someone else who doesn’t want to sugarcoat it either. At the end of the day I have more respect for someone who can stand there and tell me how they feel about me to my face than I do for someone who hides their feelings until they’re too angry to hold it back.
People look at my life and a lot about me disgusts them. I’ve had people say I have no class, that I’m not a lady, that I have no right to have an opinion towards anyone or anything as I am on the bottom rung of society.
You know what? I’m not a lady, no. I look at people like Audrey Hepburn and I have to agree, I am not a lady, and I have no class. But if you have no problem sitting there and judging me like that, then you’re not a lady either, because a lady who has nothing nice to say about someone, keeps her mouth shut.
I stand by who I am. I look back on my life and see those moments where I had five hundred dollars to my name, was living in a hotel room, and had no idea what my next step was. I had options, most definitely. At any given point there are a dozen family members I could have called, and they would have taken me in, given me a place to stay, and helped me get back on my feet.
But that’s not who I am. What I did was not a last resort, but a solution that enabled me to do things my way. I am stubborn as hell, I’m not a quitter, and I do what I feel I have to in order to make things that I want happen.
I’m too calloused to be a lady. I’ve been through too much to worry about class. I’ve come too far to start caring about what other people think of me, or whether they respect me. They feel that a person should be a role model, and someone that people can look up to.
I’m not a role model. I don’t visit my baby sister often because I don’t want her to imitate me. I would never recommend anyone else follow the path I’ve chosen, because while it is fast money, it is not easy money. It comes with an incredible emotional price tag.
I could have chosen a different route. I could have tried to be a lady. But at the end of the day, I remained true to who I am and made it work for me. People think that respect is all that matters. And in a way, it’s true. But you shouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the respect of others. You’re the one who has to respect yourself.
All those people passing judgment on you and the path you’ve chosen, they’re not the ones who have to lie in your bed, pay your bills, or wear your clothes. So why are you letting their voices live there?
People may feel better by saying “at least she’s a whore”, but I feel better by acknowledging that I never call myself a lady and am not about to start, with some whiskey on the rocks, and a “god damn things turned out great.”