When I first began working as an intimacy provider, I thought I understood people fairly well. I’d done years of personal development work, trained in various therapeutic modalities and considered myself reasonably insightful about human behaviour and connection.
Looking back, I was adorably naive about just how much this work would teach me.
Escorting has become one of the most profound educations in human nature I could have received. The patterns I’ve witnessed, the vulnerabilities I’ve been trusted with and the metamorphoses I’ve had the privilege of witnessing have fundamentally changed how I understand what it means to be human. Today I want to share some of these insights, because I think they matter beyond the context of sex work.
Everyone is carrying something heavy
The most clear pattern I’ve observed is that every single person is carrying something heavy. Grief, shame, loneliness, fear, past trauma or simply the exhausting weight of showing up in their life rather than living it authentically.
I’ve worked with highly successful people who seem to have everything figured out from the outside, yet they’re struggling with profound loneliness or disconnection from themselves. I’ve held space for people navigating divorce, loss, career crises or health challenges who just need someone to witness their pain without trying to fix it or minimise it.
What is crystal clear is that suffering is universal. What varies is how people respond to it, whether they have support systems to help them carry it and whether they’re able to acknowledge it without shame.
This work has taught me to approach every person with the assumption that they could be dealing with something difficult, even if I can’t see it. Everyone deserves gentleness, including the people who seem like they have it all together.
The shame around sexuality runs so deep
Regardless of background, orientation, experience level, age or apparent confidence, almost everyone carries shame about their sexuality. This has been one of the most consistent patterns I’ve witnessed across thousands of hours of intimate work.
People feel guilty for having desires at all. They believe their specific fantasies are wrong or abnormal. They’ve internalised messages that their bodies are inadequate, that pleasure is selfish or that wanting sex makes them somehow dirty or broken. This shame shows up in countless ways, from apologising before sharing desires to difficulty making eye contact when discussing what they actually want.
Many people spend so much time fighting against their own perfectly normal sexuality. How many years they spend convinced there’s something fundamentally wrong with them for wanting things that are actually completely healthy expressions of human desire.
When someone realises they can share their actual desires without being rejected, judged or made to feel broken, it allows shame to be witnessed for what it actually is. Safety permits someone to explore themselves more genuinely.
The shame isn’t inherent to sexuality. It’s learned behaviour, which means it can be unlearned. Facilitating that process of unlearning has become some of the most meaningful work I do.
People don’t always know what they actually need
There’s often a gap between what people think they want when they first reach out and what they actually need once we’re together in person.
Someone might book a full service encounter because they think they need sex, but what they really need is to be held and told they matter before intimacy begins. Another person might request education about technique when what they’re actually seeking is permission to explore a part of themselves first. A couple might think they want to spice things up when what they actually need is to learn how to feel emotionally safe with each other again so they can explore sex with others more freely.
I’ve learnt to listen not just to what people are explicitly asking for, but to what’s underneath that request. The stated desire is often just the entry point, the thing that feels safe enough to admit. The deeper need usually reveals itself once trust is established and our communication evolves.
This has taught me that humans are not always fully conscious of our own needs, and that’s completely okay. Sometimes we need a safe container and patient, skilled guidance to discover what we’re actually seeking. Self-awareness is a journey, not a destination, and we all need help along the way.
Vulnerability requires courage
Every single person who reaches out to us is doing something genuinely brave. Exploring their sexuality for the first time, seeking intimacy after loss, working through trauma, admitting they’re lonely or simply acknowledging they need something they can’t access elsewhere, it takes real courage.
Society teaches us to be self-sufficient, to have everything figured out, to never admit we need help, especially when it comes to intimacy and sexuality. Reaching out to a provider means pushing past all of that conditioning to acknowledge a need and take action to address it.
I have profound respect for every client who walks through the door because I understand the internal obstacles they may have overcome to get there. The shame they’ve pushed through, the fear they’ve faced down, the vulnerability they’ve chosen despite every message telling them to hide their needs.
This has made me more compassionate towards myself when I struggle to ask for help in my own life because if I can witness the courage it takes for others, surely I can extend that same understanding to my own moments of vulnerability.
Touch is essential
Most human beings need physical touch. Not want, need. It’s fundamental to our wellbeing, our nervous system regulation and our capacity to feel safe and connected in the world.
I’ve witnessed people literally melt through being held with genuine care. The nervous system shift that happens when someone receives safe, consensual touch after years of deprivation is immediate and profound.
Many people come to me touch-starved after years of living without adequate physical affection. Divorce, grief, social anxiety, disability, demanding work schedules or simply living alone in a culture that’s terrified of touch and confused about how to connect. The reasons vary, but the impact is consistent: touch deprivation is problematic.
What I’ve learnt is that seeking professional touch services is a legitimate form of healthcare and self-care, not something to be ashamed of. Just as we accept that people might need physiotherapy for their bodies or therapy for their minds, we should accept that people might need professional support for their very real need for safe physical connection.
Care is integral
Knowledge about bodies, pleasure techniques and intimacy practices are important, but what is foundational is the quality of presence, care, consent and kindness.
People remember feeling genuinely cared for, seen without judgment and treated with respect and reverence.
Simple acts of kindness when someone is nervous, genuine enthusiasm for their desires, patience when they need time to feel safe and creating space for vulnerability without rushing or pressuring have a tremendous impact.
This has taught me that in all areas of life, the quality of my presence matters first and foremost.
Most wounds are relational
So much of what I encounter in this work traces back to relational wounds. Past rejection, betrayal, abandonment, criticism or simply the absence of the acceptance and care people needed during their formative years.
Someone’s difficulty experiencing pleasure might stem from a partner who made them feel their desires were wrong or gross. Another person’s performance anxiety might trace back to criticism about their body or abilities. Struggles with vulnerability often connect to past experiences where openness led to hurt and it’s scary to open up again.
What this has taught me is that healing is also relational. When people experience acceptance, care and genuine presence in an intimate context, it can actually rewire some of those old patterns. Not because I’m providing therapy (I’m not a therapist) but because safe, caring relational experiences create new neural pathways that challenge old beliefs.
This personally has made me far more mindful about how I show up in all my connections. The words I choose, the way I respond to vulnerability and how I treat people’s tender places all matter enormously because relational experiences shape us deeply.
Permission
So much of our conditioning teaches us to shrink, to put others first, to feel guilty for wanting things and to believe our desires don’t matter. What people often need most is someone giving them explicit permission to let go of all that and honour what they actually want and need.
Permission to want what they want. Permission to take up space. Permission to prioritise their pleasure. Permission to have boundaries. Permission to explore their desires without shame. Permission to be sexual beings who deserve satisfaction and joy.
Sexual diversity is beautiful
I’ve been privileged enough to witness the remarkable diversity of human sexuality and desire. What turns people on, how they experience pleasure, their fantasies and how they express their sexuality varies enormously in ways that really delight me.
What I’ve learnt is that there is no “normal” when it comes to desire and pleasure. There are just countless variations of human experience, all equally valid and deserving. This diversity isn’t something to categorise or pathologise. It’s simply the gorgeous reality of human sexuality.
This has made me far more accepting of my own desires and fantasies, and far less interested in comparing myself to any imaginary standard of what sexuality “should” look like.
Everyone is doing their best
Perhaps the most important lesson this work has taught me is that most people are genuinely doing the best they can with the resources, knowledge and circumstances they have available to them.
People aren’t defective when they struggle with intimacy, sexuality or connection. They’re navigating complex conditioning, past experiences, current circumstances and a culture that provides shockingly inadequate education and support around these fundamental human needs.
The man struggling with performance anxiety isn’t failing. He’s dealing with years of pressure and unrealistic expectations about what masculinity should look like.
The woman who can’t orgasm isn’t broken. She’s navigating inadequate sex education, possible past trauma and cultural messages about female pleasure being less important.
The couple whose intimate life has stalled are not a hopeless case. They’re exhausted from work, parenting and the million demands of modern life.
This perspective has cultivated deep compassion in me, not just for clients but for all people, including myself. We’re all carrying invisible struggles, doing our best to meet our needs and navigate a world that often makes authentic connection unnecessarily difficult.
What this means for me
Escorting has fundamentally changed how I move through the world. I’m more patient with people’s struggles, more accepting of human imperfection and more aware of the courage it takes to be vulnerable.
This work has made me a better partner, a more compassionate friend and more forgiving of my own limitations and needs. It’s taught me that shame thrives in secrecy and dissolves in acceptance, that everyone is carrying something heavy and that small acts of genuine kindness can make a massive difference.
Every person who trusts me with their vulnerability is a teacher showing me something essential about human nature and the privilege of witnessing people in their most vulnerable moments has been the greatest gift of this work. It’s shown me that beneath all our differences, we’re remarkably similar in our needs, our wounds and our capacity for healing when we’re finally met with acceptance and love.
This is work that has cracked me open in the best possible way, teaching me things about human nature that I could never have learnt any other way. And for that, I’m genuinely grateful.
Love Evie x