What The Adult Industry Taught Me About Shame

Shame. It’s an emotion born of the self-perception that you are broken or flawed. It’s a painful but futile emotion that’s deeply isolating and doesn’t benefit anyone except parasitic businesses that capitalise on your insecurities like much of the beauty and wellness industry. 

I, like most people, have experienced a lot of internalised shame over the course of my life. I’ve felt shame for being too “white-washed” around my Asian peers and too Asian around my white peers, shame for being an athlete who never seemed to be able to get through a competition without a panic attack, shame for being a slow learner of new motor skills, shame for having skin on my belly I can pinch and thighs that touch. 

But oddly, there were things the world expected me to be ashamed of that I never developed shame for. I’ve never felt ashamed of how much sex, kink and porn enthralled me. From loving bawdier Shakespearean comedies and fixating on implied sex scenes in movies in high school to reading smut, erotica and eventually watching porn, I always knew I was into sex. I love masturbation, sensory exploration and intimacy and score more greens on the BDSM test every time I take it. 

I’ve always been a sexual being and I’ve never felt ashamed of it. I believe the credit for that goes to my deeply analytical autistic brain which rejects social norms that it deems illogical. If sex feels good, why should we need to pretend we don’t crave, enjoy or want to talk about it?

I was also fascinated by strippers from a young age. While my peers in high school joked about dropping out to become a stripper if their grades weren’t good enough, I was genuinely googling the local clubs and their reviews and requirements. I was captivated by stripper energy, a dancer’s ability to dazzle, shine and light up a room in an almost ethereal way. Flirting my way through selling dances sounded a whole lot more fun and in line with my naturally promiscuous personality than being told to upsell extra items at my McDonalds in exchange for a free cheeseburger if I made enough sales.

Sex work has always intrigued me because it’s an industry that is talked about in hushed tones that imply it’s a “bad” job but none of the arguments against it particularly made sense to me. In a world where many of us have intimate relationships and take intimate photos that partners or exes could leak, why is it so different to have photos you sell get leaked? If I can be respected for a career in massage, why should it change my social perception when that massage involves nudity or massaging them internally? Why do people care so much about me “selling my body for money” when it’s actually my desk jobs I’ve developed back pain from?

While I’ve never felt shameful about my sexual experiences, that's not to say I’ve never had a negative emotion around sex. The times I did feel negative about my sexual experiences were when I didn’t respect my own boundaries. But I would call these regrets rather than shame. Shame hinges on the self-belief that you’re unworthy or flawed whereas my regrets came from a healthy place of sadness that I’d endured certain experiences and a desire to ensure I didn’t let those circumstances repeat. I have regretted that I endured romantic partners who treated sex as penetration and didn’t give any thought to my pleasure. I have regretted that I tolerated the boyfriends of women I sought out for lesbian experiences on dating apps when they popped up for 3ways. And these regrets are something that I’ve overcome through sex work anyway as conducting a professional business grounded me in having sex on my terms even when the focus is on the other person’s enjoyment.

Since joining the industry, I’ve only grown more comfortable in my perspective of the adult industry as just another job. I enjoy a lot of what’s involved, there are some tasks I hate, there are plenty of days I love my life and others where I’m burnt out from business being slow despite my best efforts. I actively deconstruct shame and am very secure in my personal perception of what I do.

If a future employer were to reject me on the grounds of services I have provided when they don’t impact my ability to be a good employee it’s just a sign that they aren’t the right fit for me. If potential partners reject me because of what I do, once again it’s not a loss, just a sign of incompatibility. There are plenty of people in the world and I won’t be accepted by many of them, so why would I bother to live my life in a way that conforms to anyone’s opinion other than my own?

I love this job as it puts me in a position where my confidence in my sexuality and promiscuity lends those around me with quiet permission to also be horny freaks, t o have taboo kinks and to crave sex. As an industry professional, I know I’ve quietly allowed so many to dismantle their sexual shame by holding a safe space for them to open up about their interests, their curiosities, their worries. And this holds more meaning to me than passing off as a more mainstream professional and respectable person in society ever could. So no, I’m not ashamed of what I do, I don’t believe there’s any reason to be and even on my worst work days I just perceive sex work as another job with its ups and downs.