A Lonely Double Life
In some ways, I’ve been open about my sex industry work for over 20 years, but I’ve also lived a double life. I’ve kept two Facebook profiles: one for family and friends from my square life, and another one where I can truly be my inappropriate, exhibitionist self. Similarly, I have two Instagram accounts. One is my public “Business Annie” account and the other is my private “Lingerie Annie” account.
To protect my children, I’ve lied about my work to their teachers and friend’s parents. I didn’t want my children to be discriminated against because of other people’s stereotypical beliefs. Now they are getting older. They are strong and defiant. I am less in fear about how my decisions might impact their lives.
Similarly, to protect myself and family, I’ve always been vague about my self-employment work; on rental agreements, bank accounts, tax returns, and anywhere else that I feel subordinated, at someone’s mercy. Throughout my many years of health challenges and the countless health professionals I saw, I never disclosed my sex work experience. If it was ever asked on a form, I denied it. I couldn’t risk being regarded with contempt by the people I was depending on for survival.
It's a lonely life, when those you see daily know nothing about you. I resisted joining clubs and other organizations because I didn’t feel I could be myself. I was accustomed to strip club culture. The real world was scary. I didn’t fit in, which was obvious to me. At college I was reprimanded for telling a fellow student she had nice boobs when she wore a low-cut shirt. It was sexual harassment according to them. To me, it was a kind compliment to someone with amazing breasts. I didn’t know the polite rules of society anymore, which made me feel even more like an outcast. I didn’t trust myself not to say the wrong thing.
The only place I ever felt like I truly belonged was in the strip club. Making friends outside of the industry was difficult. The disgust and contempt that would form on new friend’s faces when I talked about my work made me shut them out. The only people who understood me and accepted me were people from the adult entertainment community. I was an outcast from normal society.
Sex work wasn’t the only reason. I was an outcast for having unpopular opinions too. Countless friends and family shut me out and criticized me harshly after I suffered a life-threatening pharmaceutical injury. I felt incredibly traumatized by the medical establishment; first, because I was told the medication was safe. Then, when I became chronically ill and disabled, I was told it was all in my head. In my despair and anger, I lashed out at medical professionals and pharmaceutical companies on social media. I told anyone who would listen about how corrupt the “medical mafia” was. I couldn’t stop myself. I was like a broken record. This offended a lot of people and I became an outcast, even among sex workers.
I later learned that PTSD is often characterized by a desire to repeatedly tell our trauma stories until we become desensitized to them. That was definitely the case for me. Over time, I didn’t feel like someone punched me in the gut anymore when they criticized or ridiculed my views about the medical establishment. Then, a time came when I didn’t feel the need to share my story constantly anymore.
By the time COVID happened, I felt quite healed from my medical trauma and immune to the comments of others. I had become accustomed to being publicly criticized and shamed on social media for my sex industry work and for my views about healthcare. But, I was not prepared for the amount of hatred and discrimination myself and my children experienced because of our decision not to get jabbed.
The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve lived much of my life as an outcast. I never felt like I belonged anywhere except the strip clubs. When the last club I worked in shut down, I was bereft. I had no friends outside of work. For a short time, I joined a recovery society where I volunteered and was able to socialize with people. But I still didn’t feel safe to be honest about my work. I knew I would be judged and treated differently if people knew I was a sex industry worker. I couldn’t be myself as long as I was living a double life.
The recovery community inspired me though. I imagined a community of outcasts, like myself, using a similar framework, to level up our lives. Instead of 12-Steps and SMART Recovery, we would have Mindset Training and Motivational Fellowship. Instead of volunteers heading up each group, facilitators would be trained and paid for their expertise. This dream swirled in my mind for a few years until, recently, the perfect framework occurred to me.
The idea for the Fearless Living Academy was inspired by the recovery community, but without what I saw as its flaws. Broken people mentoring broken people can only get us so far. Leveling up requires constant personal development, of which the 12-Step program falls short of. From my own personal perspective, the recovery community sees sex work as a symptom of addiction, not as a viable business for entrepreneurs. It denigrates my profession.
Sex work is work.
I also noticed that people in recovery who find it impossible to tolerate 9-5 jobs get no training or support to build their own businesses. I saw it over and over again, recovering addicts selling drugs because they didn’t know how else to financially support themselves. They have transferable skills that should be nurtured. But Alcoholics Anonymous, for instance, which is an organization based on anarchist philosophies that I love, such as equality and voluntaryism – doesn’t provide the kind of support that goes beyond helping someone get sober. It is effective because its mission is so focused. But there is more needed beyond AA for some.
I believed that a personal development program was the missing link. I imagined a community of nonjudgmental outcasts who are on a self-development journey, striving for our goals together. But how could I make it happen?
I recognized that I would have to start small and let the community and structure evolve naturally, like the recovery movement did. I would need strong, self-driven individuals to start the journey with me. Some of them would hopefully become future facilitators of the Academy. I could train them and then pay them for their expertise. This was and is my dream.
My goal is to build a community where we can shamelessly be ourselves as we strive to become better than we were yesterday, together.
Love Annie
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You can also listen to my recent interview with Bruce from Adult Site Broker HERE for a glimpse into what the adult entertainment world is like and the incredible community of activists who fight for the rights of sex industry workers.