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In case you don’t know my story, I’ll sum it up briefly. I was a journalist for more than 15 years; first in London, before moving to Sydney, where I met the father of my children, who are now aged nine and six.
Yet I was fiercely ambitious and at 36, worked three days a week in magazines as beauty director and two as a freelance TV producer. The money wasn’t great — the payback was mental health and sanity.
Then my partner and I split, with 50/50 custody. I had no family, no support and had to juggle a pretty intense work schedule and two young children. Alone.
I became that guilt stricken mother who dropped her kids off to school just as they were opening the gates and was the last one to pick them up at 6pm. At work, I was the harassed employee who would run into work late, and sneak off early to beat the traffic.
I wasn’t doing either job very well. The kids needed me and so did my bosses. And I was letting both parties down.
As for a social life? Pah! The men I dated left me feeling either used or suffocated. One “forgot” to tell me he was married because he “didn’t think it mattered”. I didn’t realise another date was a high profile criminal until I googled his name while on the loo during our dinner date.
I was sick of being used and let down, never seeing my kids, and never having any money.
So, to cut a very long story short, I did what I used to secretly dream about — I became a high-class escort.
Yep, I decided if some man wanted to part with hundreds of dollars for an hour of my time, I jolly well was going to let him.
And they did.
At the peak of my new-found career, I was charging $1000 an hour. I was barely making that a fortnight in my “real” job working long days and taking work home with me.
So, for the first time in my life, I did something extremely unconventional. At the grand old age of 40, I jacked in the real job, and swapped my computer and commuting for high heels and Agent Provocateur. And Samantha X was born.
And suddenly, I was able to give my kids something I hadn’t ever given them much before — and that was my time.
My role as Samantha saw me working two, maybe three evenings a week — and mostly the weeks when the kids were at their dad’s.
It meant I could amble in the mornings, walk the kids to school for 9am, volunteer at the school canteen on Tuesdays, and be one of the first mums to pick the kids up at 3pm.
School holidays were no longer a blur of reluctantly asking other parents for play date favours and spending a small fortune on vacation care. Samantha took a break and Mummy was home all day every day.
My home was filled with the smell of cooking, new furniture and fresh flowers, not rushed takeaway, dogs that hadn’t been walked and damp clothes in the washing machine.
My kids were getting the best of me, I had more disposable income and gone were the days of me coming home ratty and exhausted.
Happy parent — happy kids.
Before you unleash your disgust at me, just pause for a second.
My kids have never been exposed to abuse, neglect, bullying, or danger. They are adored, popular and well adjusted kids I’m proud to be the mother of.
Just because I chose to work in an industry that is frowned upon by some and feared by many, why on earth do you assume it affects my ability to mother?
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Your profession does not determine what kind of parent you are.
Doctors do not necessarily make good parents and criminals do not necessarily make “bad” parents.
Kids need oodles of your love, time, patience, nurturing and safety. And that’s it.
What you do as an adult is really nothing to do with anyone apart from you.
In the year I have gone public, not one person has said anything remotely negative to my kids about my job to them.
In fact, since going public, I have been inundated with hundreds of emails from single mums around the world asking for help. These women are lawyers, bankers, teachers, counsellors. I even had a lady from the tax department wanting to know how to break into the industry.
I’ve also set up an elite agency now, Samantha X Angels, employing some of these women, and most of my Angels are mums. One is even a grandmother.
Recently, I mentored a mum of four young boys in London over the phone. Her husband died three years ago and she’s struggling. She wants me to mentor her to become an escort so she can support her kids.
Does that make her a bad mother?
The only people whose opinions I care about and will ever care about is that of my kids.
So I will end this article with the wise words of the most intelligent and rational person I know; my six-year-old daughter.
“Mummy, what you do for your work is your business and your business only.”
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
Samantha X is the author of Hooked (Random House).
