There’s a loneliness in sex work that I don’t think people talk about enough. Not the dramatic kind people imagine. Not “sad lonely woman” stereotypes. I mean the quieter kind. The kind that creeps in after years of giving.

Giving attention. Giving warmth. Giving softness. Giving reassurance. Giving people a place to land for an hour or two when the world feels cold to them.

I’ve become very good at caring for people.

And sometimes I wonder what it feels like to receive the same kind of care back without having to earn it first.

I know emotional labour is part of the job. I know nobody books me to emotionally take care of *me.* That’s not the arrangement. But after years of being “on,” years of making people feel wanted, desired, relaxed, seen, funny, sexy, safe, important… it starts to wear on you a little when you realize how rarely that energy circles back.

And comparison absolutely poisons me sometimes.

I try not to let it. I try to stay grounded. But I would be lying if I said I don’t notice the differences in treatment between myself and some of my peers.

I watch people pay higher rates elsewhere without question. I watch opportunities, generosity, patience, and enthusiasm appear effortlessly for others. Meanwhile my own rates are scrutinized, negotiated, questioned, or quietly dismissed as “too expensive” or “not worth it.”

Not even outrage. Just this subtle implication that I am asking for too much.

That part hurts more than I like admitting.

Because I work hard. Extremely hard. I care deeply about my clients. I care about my community. I show up for people constantly. I mentor. I share resources. I write. I organize. I give emotional energy away in handfuls even when I probably should keep more for myself.

And somehow I still end up feeling like I’m begging to be viewed with the same value naturally extended to others.

That kind of thing slowly gets into your head no matter how confident you are.

You start wondering if people only love what you provide, not who you are. You wonder if you are simply “accessible” in a way others are not. You wonder if your warmth accidentally makes people undervalue you. You wonder if being human, funny, open, community-oriented, and emotionally available somehow strips away the illusion of luxury people seem more willing to pay for elsewhere.

It’s hard not to become bitter sometimes.

Hard not to feel tired.

Hard not to feel lonely when you spend your life making other people feel important while quietly questioning whether anyone truly sees your own worth without debate attached to it.

And the worst part is, I don’t even want extravagance. I don’t need worship. I think I just want reciprocity. Respect that feels natural instead of negotiated. Care that arrives without me having to overextend myself first.

I want to stop feeling like I have to prove I deserve equal treatment. Every single day.