The Economics of Survival: When Sex Work Becomes a Financial Solution
What would you do if your world was falling apart? If the ground beneath you crumbled, leaving only a single, impossible choice? Would you take it? Would you step into the unknown? Or would you cling to the familiar, even as it dragged you down?
I never thought I’d find myself asking these questions. But life has a way of cornering you, of forcing you to face realities you’d rather avoid. And when it does, the answers aren’t always clean. Sometimes, they’re messy, uncomfortable, and completely unexpected.
I want to tell you a story. My story. Not because I’m looking for sympathy or approval, but because I think you’ll understand. You’re my friend, after all. And friends don’t judge; they listen. So, listen closely—because this isn’t something you’ll hear anywhere else.
The Calm Before the Storm
On the surface, my life was perfect. The house was big enough for the kids to run around. The fridge was always full. There was a piano in the living room, even if no one played it. We had it all, or so it seemed.
But behind the doors, things were different. Every month, the bills piled higher. I stopped opening them. Every knock on the door made my stomach flip. I’d pray it wasn’t the bailiffs. Not yet. Not today.
And then they came. Their visit wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was quiet. Polite, even. They left a warning and a deadline: two weeks to pay, or they’d start taking things.
I remember sitting at the kitchen table that night, staring at the numbers on those bills. They didn’t even feel real. It was like trying to count the stars. No matter how hard I tried, the totals didn’t add up to anything I could fix. Not with what I was earning. Not with what we owed.
The options were bleak. Sell the house. Pull the kids out of school. Move into some tiny flat where we’d all be miserable. But even that wouldn’t be enough. I needed money. A lot of it. Fast.
The Ad That Changed Everything
I didn’t set out to find the ad. It found me. It was tucked between listings for dog walkers and babysitters. “Attractive women needed. Earn up to £300 a night.” Two lines of text that made my heart race.
I laughed at first. How could I not? It was absurd. But the more I thought about it, the less funny it seemed. The bills didn’t care where the money came from. The bailiffs wouldn’t either. And if I didn’t do something, my kids would pay the price.
So, I stared at that ad. I read it over and over, my sandwich untouched on the desk. And then I made the call.
The First Step
The woman on the other end of the line sounded so normal it threw me off. She asked my name, my age, my dress size. It felt like applying for a retail job, not… this. She told me where to go, what to wear, and what to expect. Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. It made it all feel almost… ordinary.
The first time I walked into a hotel room, my hands were shaking. I wore a dress that didn’t feel like me and heels I could barely walk in. But I kept telling myself, This is for them. This is for the kids.
He was older. Polite. He made a joke about the weather, and I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do. The conversation felt almost normal. But then it wasn’t.
Afterward, I went into the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror, and waited for the shame to hit. It didn’t. What I felt was… relief. There was money in my hand and a plan in my head. For the first time in months, I could breathe.
Two Lives, One Person
By day, I was the mum who made cupcakes for school fundraisers and cheered from the sidelines at football matches. But beneath the surface, the strain of juggling two worlds was relentless. I’d find myself smiling at other parents, all the while feeling the weight of the secrets I carried. The duality wasn’t just exhausting—it was isolating, a constant reminder that I had to wear a mask to keep everything from falling apart. By night, I was someone else. Someone who wore red lipstick and answered to a name that wasn’t mine.
Keeping the two lives separate was exhausting. I’d get home at 2 a.m., scrub off the makeup, and be up again by 6 to pack lunches. There were moments I wanted to break down, but there wasn’t time for that. The kids needed me to be strong. And if I wasn’t? Well, that wasn’t an option.
Sometimes, I’d catch myself laughing at a PTA meeting, and I’d wonder: If they knew, would they still talk to me? Would they still smile like this? But I didn’t let myself dwell on it. Their opinions didn’t pay the bills.
A New Perspective
You know what surprised me the most? The other women. They weren’t what I expected. There was a single mum saving for her son’s university fees. A student paying her way through med school. A woman in her 50s who said she liked the freedom.
They weren’t broken or desperate. They were strong. Practical. They saw the world for what it was, not what people pretended it to be. And for the first time, I realized I wasn’t alone.
I learned to see the work differently. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of. It was a job. One that gave me the power to keep my family together. One that reminded me I wasn’t helpless. And for that, I was grateful.
The Cost of Secrets
But the secrets weighed heavy. Every lie I told, every half-truth, felt like a crack in the foundation of my life. I’d tell the kids I had a night job, and they’d ask, “Doing what?” I’d smile and say, “Just work, sweetheart.” And they’d nod, trusting me completely.
That trust was the hardest part. They believed in me. And some nights, when I looked at them sleeping, I’d wonder if I deserved it.
The World Beyond
It wasn’t just my own story that stayed with me. I thought of the escorts in places like Colombia, where escorting is woven into the fabric of culture and economy. For some, it’s a profession borne out of necessity, but for others, it’s a calculated decision to take control of their financial futures. These women are more than their circumstances. They are resilient, turning societal stigmas into stepping stones toward independence and empowerment. Their stories reminded me that survival can take many forms, each shaped by the unyielding drive to provide a better life for those we love. There, it’s not just survival; it’s opportunity. A chance to build something better for themselves and their families.
There’s a resilience in those women that I recognize. They’re not victims. They’re not criminals. They’re mothers, daughters, friends. They’re just like you and me.
Reflection
Looking back, I don’t regret what I did. How could I? It kept us afloat. It gave my kids the life they deserved. And it taught me that survival isn’t always about winning. Sometimes, it’s just about not losing.
But the experience left me with questions I still can’t answer. How did we get here, to a world where people have to make choices like this? Why do we judge those who do what they must to survive?
The Unseen Strength
We all want to be heroes in our own stories. But being a hero doesn’t always look like a fairy tale. Sometimes, it looks like doing the thing you swore you never would. Sometimes, it’s stepping into the shadows, knowing it’s the only way to keep the light alive for the people you love.
So, my friend, let me ask you: What would you do? Because I’ve lived my answer. And now, it’s your turn to think about yours.