Caring too much about the wrong thing.
I give too many fucks.
I’ve known that I give too many fucks for some time, but a conversation with my partner at 2 am this morning really highlighted that fact when every worry I had was met with ‘that’s because you care too much’.
Caring is great, in fact, the world would be a better place if people cared even a smidgen more, but caring too much can leave you paralysed with fear. It can give you endless anxiety, decision fatigue, and insecurity. It can make you reconsider your identity, your work, and ambitions.
This last year I’ve been so caught up in trying to figure out my brands, my business, everything to do with sex work, blogging, writing enough reviews, trying to interact with people, and not allowing my sex work and blogging personas to cross over. I’ve spent endless hours worrying, and fretting when I could have spent those hours being productive. I could have written more, produced more content, earned more, or even just relax. Instead, I got caught up in worrying what people would think – specifically, what companies would think if they were aligned with a sex worker. Or what if sex work becomes totally illegal and now my face is plastered all over sex work and sex blogging – would people still want to work with me? Granted, as soon as I have that thought I shrug it off because if a company has a problem with my sex work past or present then I do not want to work with them. The new anti-sex work bills have me a little on edge, but I am a proud sex worker, and will always be.
However, I know there’s ingrained prejudice within me still. There’s that gut reaction of always thinking no-one is going to think my work is valuable because not only am I a sex worker, I’m a queer, disabled sex worker. I’ve spent most of my life, if not all, being told that I don’t matter, and society is really darn good at reinforcing that message time and time again.
When I scrape away all the insecurity, prejudice, self-doubt, it’s only then that I start to realise just how badass I am. I made myself. There was a point in my life when I could rely on no-one, so I worked my ass off, got my own apartment, and shaped my life for the better.
Whatever happens, I know how to work for myself, I know how to hustle, and I know how to make a stable living.
A large part of 2018 was spent worrying about clients finding out that I’m disabled, and whether or not it would ruin the fantasy … and my income.
Would it? For some, yes, but I’ve realised that don’t want those people as clients. Granted, I’m not going to start yelling about it and linking my blog posts from here everywhere, but I am going to relax more. No matter the name, I am still Dominatrix, and my disability doesn’t change that. For those short 10-minute cam sessions it won’t even matter (it just means there are some things I can’t do), and for those that want to serve me long term, if they wish to find out the information will be there.
I’ve been a little hypocritical, and I’ve been too worried about being this set image of a ‘perfect’ Domme, but I know why. I spent 2017/2018 barely earning money, in fact, many months I earned nothing, and back then I really couldn’t afford my income disappearing. Now, I’m a bit more stable, so I can afford to relax the reigns, and I’m aware that’s a luxury. I can afford to be a queer visibly disabled sex worker, and I’m sure I’ll talk about this more at a later date as it deserves a whole post, but the fantasy of a near-perfect Domme is what sells to most, and when you need to earn, you do what sells.
So this year, it is my aim to care a lot less about things that I shouldn’t care about for more than a moment or two, and care more about things worthy of my attention.