Strands of Steel

Someone wrote this about me, and although it may seem egotistical, I wish to write it down. If she still reading the blog, this post is dedicated who said this about me.

“She is a true warrior amongst women, and writes with the same rawness that makes Dworkin’s words like blood on snow.  And she gets a terrible time from pro-sex feminists, who seem to think her life some kind of aberration in the whole Prostitution = Liberation haze of our decade.

She is a light to the world, shining her torch into  the dankest and most hopeless holes”

Thanks so much for that very overwhelming compliment.

This is also dedicated to a very good email friend, who this when I  was very low –

“You opened a door for me, and I’m sure, many others – you made it easier for me to believe in myself as well. You have been brave enough to speak the truth  and you speak for many others dead and alive. Remember there is a lot of women behind you, even if they remain silent.”

These words and all the other kindnesses big and small has help keep my courage and inner power, when I have wanted to collapse so much.

It is the kindness of others that form my strands of steel, that make my struggle worthwhile.

I can never thank my friends and supporters enough – whether you are silent or loud, whether I still in touch on a regular basis or just know you are in my hear.

Your support, encouragement, love, patience, questioning of my views on an equal level, your interest in my life outside the violence and trauma – all that means the world to me.

I never had friends in the past, I never wanted long-term relationships when I knew I would die.

I could let myself be a person to be liked, to be trusted.

I was never stay still enough for anyone to get close to me.

I was in too much pain, I was too disgusting, I was full of hate so how could anyone even like me.

I was like a highly damaged tiger cub, I looked pretty, but come near me and I ripped into you.

I thought I should be shot – I never that love would bring back into life.

For love is the root to wanting to live.

I never know what love was.

I thought love meant I had to fuck whatever way the man or woman wanted without caring about myself.

I thought love was sex. I thought sex was violence and degradation.

I had no idea what love was.

I did not know that a very profound love is when forming friendships that are strong and long-term.

In a culture of porn, friendship is pushed aside if there no sex involved.

But as someone who thought I nothing more than a sex object, who did not understand that touch can be non-sexual, who did not know that talking was not bring down my defenses  – friendship is a wonderful discovery for me.

Friendship is as strong as steel.

Friendship is the foundation to the healing of my heart and essence.

I have found I am no longer alone.

I am surrounded by women known and unknown who are holding, refusing to let me fall.

Yes, I do have in my heart so many women who had to live in the sex trade. I known I hold many women and girls who are now dead because the sex trade.

I refuse to have it said their lives were of no importance. I refuse to have it said it was their “weakness” that killed – no, it the institutionalised violence and degradation that is the sex trade that killed them.

I stand by every one of them, even though I have no faces and very few names, they are the blood of my writing and the ache of my words.

To speak my truth and for my truth to shine some light on the hell that is the sex trade, I reach deep into my warrior spirit.

A warrior see her terror, she stare it straight in the eye. She see and knows where she has comes from, with all it pain, fear and sense that there is no exit.

She see that past with clarity. A warrior is able to feel the depths of her grief.

It is a grief that begins inside her own reality, then sees and remembers of women she had known however briefly – and slowly, with pain her grief sees, feels and knows her and their pain was part of a massive industry.

Her grief becomes an anger,  a fury as she see the the sex trade is killing and destroying a whole mass of women and girls. And the world walks on by like nothing is happening.

If it was just women and girls – it would called genocide. But as it is women and girls, it is framed as free choice. As free as lambs walking into a slaughterhouse.

A warrior’s  is still and silent, it turns to words and writing, rather than pointless physical warfare.

Words and writing have a power, but it is a slow power and can seemed futile.

This is where a warrior needs friends.

I hate the myth that strong people can always do it by themselves, they are never that strong – and also for real change there has to a mass of people forcing the change, not just strong individuals who will more than likely collapse in exhaustion.

The sex trade is far too powerful for individuals to tackle.

My strength comes from knowing I am never alone, that many people are fighting to bring on the destruction of the sex trade.

Some want change through reform, some dream of revolution, some speak to friends, lovers and relatives about what is wrong with the sex trade, some help women in the sex trade have long-term exiting schemes and alternative lifestyles, some give money to help others with their anti-sex trade work, some do research, some write or speak, and question their own prejudices about the reality of the sex trade.

All this is wonderful, and fuel me to write and speak out.

I always seems to get wonderful messages from women when I am at my lowest, especially from other survivors.

That is true friendship.

That is my strands of steel.

2 responses to “Strands of Steel

  1. I always cry reading your posts, Rmott. Please do not apologize, you don’t need to and I don’t want you to.

    I become more upset and enraged at each post I read, when I hear from “feminists” how they SUPPORT and endorse sexually degrading and enslaving acts. When they write about liking porn, prostitution, bdsm and they call it feminism it enrages me. Why? because the truths that you speak, and other survivors of the sex industry speak are ALWAYS silenced by these porn cheerleaders who support and endorse the mass commodification of women for, to, and by men! It ENRAGES ME to know that it is THEIR VOICE and not YOURS that will speak the loudest and receive the greatest attention, because they support sick twisted men who have done these horrific things to you and to other women. It absolutely upsets me because I don’t feel I can adequately interact with such a person, due to my limited knowledge. I hate that there are a group of people out there making a mockery of the real lived experiences of women who have been pornified, commodified, prostituted for and by men.

    Please keep telling your truth, rmott! I appreciate the HELL out of it.


  2. I second the above! It’s awful that their voices are so loud, and the voices of those that have been there are often uncertain, full of shame, or full of powerful emotions that don’t sound as “logical” as those other more “intellectual” voices. But personally I think that people with any experience in this life recognise the truth when they hear it – and I mean truth, not book-learned theories!
    You are not alone, Rebecca, with your struggles. You have a gift for finding the words where most can’t and every gift is a double-edged sword in a way, so you brave the storms that others shy away from!
    You really are a warrior, and I’m sure every time you speak there is at least one person in the room who knows what you’re talkin’ about, and is grateful, as am I. Many hugs to you xxxx


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