Day By Day
Words: Anonymous
Images: Saskia Hughes
In 2016, I came out of an abusive relationship and moved to London to pursue a university degree. I had barely any money, confidence or friends in the area and didn’t know where to start. Although I was quite insecure, I desperately needed money fast and came across a popular brand of lap dancing club and thought it would be an easy way to get some quick cash. It wasn’t, but I slowly started to comprehend my own self-worth, my confidence grew and I had finances to survive and continue my degree. Four years later after travelling and working on other continents and building up strength and stamina to a level that, despite spending my youth as an international athlete, I’d never experienced before. I had confidence and belief in my worth and myself that I’d also never experienced before. Coming from a working-class family I knew I couldn’t afford university without getting a job at some point. Lap dancing was my first option due to flexibility and fast financial stability. But it also enabled me to work with some of the strongest and most brilliant women I’ve ever met, to travel and work on my own terms, and to have enough time to study well enough to get a degree too.
This financial security and sense of community protected me in profound ways I wouldn’t really understand until lockdown. It gave me the independence and time to figure out who I am, and enabled me to grow beyond the PTSD I had experienced. Before working at the club, I was a shell of a woman. It was the process of working as a lap dancer that helped me to find my sense of self- worth. Customers and regulars treated me like a goddess, and made me see how I was affecting their lives in positive ways. Being able to identify and share my experiences with the other women helped to reassure me during times when my mental health was breaking down. These women are a constant inspiration: they’re badasses. Not being in financial crisis is just a good platform for healing, you have the time and energy to reflect. It also provides the freedom for the creativity that being a sex worker inspires and requires. All these things force you to mentally review and accept all of yourself, outside and in, which can be exhausting, but for me I needed it because I didn’t know who I was anymore!
During lockdown, the sex worker branch of my union, United Voices of the World, continued to offer support with SWARM (Sex Worker Action and Resistance Movement) hardship fund, helping many sex workers in a position similar to me or even worse. I was self-employed, however being at university and working abroad meant I’d take regular breaks. It must be noted as well, the tax system is incredibly difficult to navigate for sex workers especially due to lack of open dialogue about all types of sex work. This leads many to not know what sources to go to, it can be a struggle finding pro-sex work accountants let alone affording them. In some clubs I have worked in, the club does your taxes while others don’t even speak of it. Decriminalisation of sex work generally would change the narrative around all sex workers ideally from derogative to an understanding that it is a valid and justified career choice, not only aiding in tax navigation but mortgages and investments.
Being registered as self-employed, dancers work in a club for a manager. They sign contracts and follow work rules like anybody else. When Covid-19 happened the work just stopped, technically being self-employed means the club had no responsibility to put us on furlough. The club I was working at closed. I’d spent all my saved money on a new place to live earlier in the year and now I had no source of income. I felt lucky to not be ill with this terrible disease and to be on a break from academia. I needed to take this time out for my mental health. But with my group therapy, dance club and dance studios closed, I realised, like many of us have in this pandemic, that my mental
health was quite precarious. Immediately, I felt scared and lost, and desperately scrambled for some support. My first stop was obviously the government but due to my time off for final year exams and working abroad, the self-employment grant didn’t reflect anything near a liveable income, let alone the money I’d usually hustle hard to make monthly. Applying for universal credit was the obvious choice but seven weeks later, I am still yet to even know how much I’m being given. SWARM hardship fund was the fastest and most brilliant support I received and I highly recommend all sex workers to apply and all allies to donate to help.
I decided to apply for disability benefits. Admitting I was disabled was a big step but it was becoming clear that my mental health was crippling me. The process of doing this, and deconstructing the daily battle I am going through now to cope with my mental health without professional support — although triggering — clarified to me how much things had changed. Prior to social isolation, I had some bad mental health days but had some levels of support available, such as group therapy. I was able to use work as structure to reground myself. Now these coping mechanisms are gone, it’s much harder to cope with bad days, and there are more bad days. Work empowered me. It enabled me to have a safe space to embrace who I am, socialise with like-minded people about any topic with no anxiety, and most importantly it was my only source of income. This separation has shown me I love performing and want to continue to thrive in the future dancing and travelling around the world. This motivation keeps me grounded and has helped me regain coping mechanisms alongside the support of my colleagues — some pacing things slowly like me, others excelling in the online field. Right now, as many are, I’m trying to take things day by day to get back to stability and making the most of time away from the rush of everyday life — hoping to grow and learn more before I return to education and the club.
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