Sorry for the long delay in posting. Delving into my journals was sickening. They were hard to read.
Coming across this naive journal entry from 1992 is a good example of how clueless I was as I got into that work. I have no recollection of this, but realized while reading my journal that I very often threw up after working a shift in the strip club. (I didn’t start drinking until a few years later, so I was not sick from alcohol.) I was so disconnected that it never occurred to me that this new job was actually making me physically ill.

What had happened that year was that I was trying to get back into school, but my parents had reneged on a promise to match the $4,000 I’d saved. Realizing I wasn’t going to get the tuition or dorm money from them, I was trying to figure out how to make a lot of money as fast as possible.
When I first starting stripping, it felt extremely empowering to me. For the first time in my life, I was able to be financial independent. That sense of independence was intoxicating.
I stayed pretty functional and in school from 1992 until 1995. I didn’t drink, made almost straight As, and used my stripping money to pay for my tuition and living expenses. Towards the middle of 1995, it started to take its toll. I began having extreme panic attacks and couldn’t leave my house. I ended up with 18 Fs on my transcript as I repeatedly enrolled and stopped attending classes.
It was rough to read my journal entries from those years.
So, after going through and processing all of that (and having a few more appointments with my analyst), I felt ready to talk openly about my experiences with the group of women at the non-profit. I was pretty nervous and asked the program director if we could change it up to more of a discussion, but, alas, at the last minute, the talk was canceled.
I didn’t have to tell anyone my story.
But I did get my ass kicked in having to process it.
I believe that was the whole point for me. Nothing else could have forced me into that material. I think I needed to come to terms with the reality of my own story before I could be helpful to others.
I’ve been working one on one with women over the last couple of months. I can get pretty overtired with being pregnant and trying to keep up with this graduate program, but every day I volunteer I feel an infusion of energy and deep joy. It feels like this is the right path for me.
Another thing I’ve learned is that discerning the right path isn’t about maniacally organizing my future plans into some perfectly scripted spreadsheet that I then need to execute. (My historical pattern.) I am trying hard to ‘let go’, to stay a bit more connected to my feelings, and to follow what feels right with regard to pursuing this work.
So, right now, I’m 35 weeks pregnant, still taking classes, and continuing to work with the non profit.
Other than that, I don’t know…

It's a boy!