It hit me the other day how strange society is about secrecy. Politicians, lawyers, priests—we hand them our most intimate details, and no one blinks. But when a woman gets paid to offer not just discretion but presence, we call her immoral.
Isn’t it more honest to name the exchange? To say: “Yes, you’re safe here. What happens between us stays here. No judgment. No leaks. Just silence and memory.”
I’ve had men share things with me I’m sure they’ve never told their wives, their therapists, or themselves. I don’t take it lightly. But it makes me wonder: Why do people feel safer telling their truth in rooms that cost them nothing emotionally—but so afraid of women who might charge for the same kind of sanctuary?
Curious if anyone here has felt this paradox too. Or if you’ve ever had a conversation with someone you weren’t “supposed” to open up to, but did.
Isn’t it more honest to name the exchange? To say: “Yes, you’re safe here. What happens between us stays here. No judgment. No leaks. Just silence and memory.”
I’ve had men share things with me I’m sure they’ve never told their wives, their therapists, or themselves. I don’t take it lightly. But it makes me wonder: Why do people feel safer telling their truth in rooms that cost them nothing emotionally—but so afraid of women who might charge for the same kind of sanctuary?
Curious if anyone here has felt this paradox too. Or if you’ve ever had a conversation with someone you weren’t “supposed” to open up to, but did.