I didn’t start out thinking I’d become someone who people paid to be with. I started because I was broke, tired of being invisible, and tired of pretending I was fine when I wasn’t. I was 32, divorced, with no family nearby, and working two part-time jobs just to keep the lights on. One night, after another shift at a call center where no one said thank you, I Googled ‘how to make money fast in Dubai.’ That’s how I found myself on a website listing thai escort dubai services-not because I wanted to be one, but because I needed to survive.
It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t empowering at first. It was lonely, scary, and often degrading. I didn’t wear designer clothes or drive luxury cars. I wore whatever I could afford from the market, and I slept in a studio apartment that smelled like incense and regret. But I showed up. Every time. Even when I didn’t want to. Even when I felt like I was losing pieces of myself.
They Paid for My Presence, Not Just My Body
Most of the men I met weren’t looking for sex. They were looking for someone who wouldn’t judge them. One man, a retired engineer from Sweden, came every Thursday. He brought tea, asked about my day, and never touched me unless I said yes. He told me once, "You’re the only person who listens without trying to fix me." That hit harder than any compliment I’d ever received. It made me realize: I wasn’t just a service provider. I was a mirror. And some people needed to see themselves reflected in someone who didn’t flinch.
Then there was the woman who called me late one night. She was 68, widowed, and had been alone for five years. She didn’t want romance. She just wanted to hold someone’s hand while she cried. I sat with her for two hours. We talked about her husband, her grandchildren, the way the light fell on her kitchen table in the morning. She paid me $300. I didn’t take it. I left her a note: "You’re not alone. I’m here if you need me again." She called the next week. I went.
The Myth of the "Dubai Hooker"
People assume if you’re doing this work, you’re broken. Or desperate. Or immoral. But I met women who were doctors, lawyers, single mothers, students. Some were here on visas, others were locals who’d been pushed out of traditional jobs after divorce or loss. The label "dubai hooker" doesn’t capture any of that. It reduces complex human beings to a stereotype-and worse, it makes us feel like we don’t deserve compassion.
I used to hate that word. I’d cringe every time someone said it. But over time, I stopped caring what they called me. What mattered was what I called myself. I stopped saying "I’m just an escort." I started saying "I’m a woman who chose to survive on my own terms." That shift didn’t come from a book or a therapist. It came from realizing I had more power than I thought.
How a Mature Escort Finds Strength in Silence
Being a mature escort dubai meant I didn’t have to perform youth. I didn’t have to laugh on cue or pretend to be excited about things I wasn’t. I could be tired. I could be quiet. I could say no. And people respected that. Older clients didn’t want a fantasy. They wanted honesty. And I gave it to them-not because I owed them, but because I finally learned I owed myself the truth.
I started keeping a journal. Not about clients. Not about money. About how I felt after each meeting. Some days I felt empty. Others, I felt seen. One entry read: "Today, I didn’t cry. I didn’t apologize. I just sat there, and I was enough." That was the day I stopped seeing my work as something I was forced into. I started seeing it as something I was learning from.
The Moment I Stopped Hating Myself
I didn’t quit because I made enough money. I quit because I finally believed I deserved better-not because I had money, but because I had self-respect.
It happened on a rainy Tuesday. I was waiting for a client who canceled at the last minute. I sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror in months. Not really. Not to see *me*. Just to check if my makeup was smudged or if my hair looked "professional." I walked to the bathroom. Turned on the light. Looked into the mirror. And I said out loud: "You’re not broken. You’re brave." I didn’t cry. I didn’t smile. I just stood there, and for the first time in years, I didn’t look away.
What I Learned About Love-From People Who Paid Me
Love isn’t always about romance. Sometimes, it’s about showing up when no one else will. Sometimes, it’s about listening without fixing. Sometimes, it’s about letting someone sit with you in silence and knowing you’re not alone.
I learned that love doesn’t require permission. It doesn’t need a title. It doesn’t need to be legal or socially approved. It just needs to be real. And I gave that to people-even when I didn’t believe I deserved it myself.
Now, I work as a counselor for women leaving sex work. I don’t tell them to quit. I tell them to decide. To ask themselves: "Do I do this because I have to, or because I still believe I’m worth more?" Most of them cry. Some leave. Others stay, but they change how they see themselves.
You Don’t Need to Be Perfect to Be Worthy
I still get asked: "How can you look at yourself in the mirror after doing that?" The truth? I didn’t start loving myself because I stopped being an escort. I started loving myself because I finally stopped running from the truth.
You don’t have to be clean-cut. You don’t have to have a degree or a perfect record or a saintly past. You just have to be willing to sit with your own pain-and not turn away.
I used to think my past made me unlovable. Now I know it made me human. And being human? That’s the most valuable thing you can offer anyone-even yourself.
Today, I don’t work as an escort. But I carry those lessons everywhere. I say no when I need to. I ask for help when I’m tired. I don’t apologize for taking up space. And I don’t let anyone tell me I’m not enough-because I’ve already proven to myself that I am.
