The Hidden Labor of Living a Double Life: One Woman’s Secret of Being in the Adult Industry

“The secrecy was exhausting. You’re always thinking ahead, always managing what you say and who you say it to.”

For Itzayana, secrecy wasn’t a single choice; it was a way of living. A constant internal calculation about what could be shared, with whom, and at what cost. It meant anticipating questions before they were asked, editing herself in conversation, and staying one step ahead in environments where being fully known didn’t feel safe.

Now in her mid-50s, Itzayana lives in Los Angeles and is a mother of two grown children. She began a career in the sensual massage business in her late twenties, at a moment when her life felt especially precarious. She was pregnant with her first child, separated from her husband, and living on her own. She needed to support herself. What began as a means of survival quickly became something more complicated.

As a licensed therapist in private practice, I specialize in working with women who are or have been in the adult industry and are navigating the complexities of leading a double life, often after a partner has discovered their work and threatened exposure. What I see again and again is not pathology, but adaptation. These women are not broken. They are responding intelligently to environments that require extraordinary restraint.

When she talks about herself, Itzayana doesn’t start with her work - she starts with a mother’s pride. She put both of her children through college. They are happy, settled in their careers, and content. For her, that accomplishment carries enormous weight.

Eventually, she and her husband reconciled. They rebuilt their relationship and their family. But she stayed in the business.

“The money was addictive,” she says. “I had so much cash at all times.”

Coming to the United States from a third-world country, Itzayana carried more than the pressure of survival. She was navigating immigration, motherhood, and financial responsibility while ensuring her children would have opportunities she never had. On the outside, she succeeded. On the inside, she learned how to live carefully.

To maintain that careful balance, Itzayana constructed an entire parallel story about her life. She created a fictional concierge doctor’s office where she claimed to work as a highly paid receptionist. She rehearsed details - hours, responsibilities, income - so the story would hold under casual questioning. She had to explain where she was going, why her schedule changed, and how she was earning more than most people in administrative roles. Secrecy required not just silence, but creativity.

To this day, her husband does not know that she was ever in the industry for over twenty years.

For many women in the adult industry, secrecy is not rooted in shame. It is about safety, stability, and protecting what matters most. Yet the psychological toll of living a double life often goes unnamed. Secrecy requires vigilance - monitoring language, relationships, and environments. Over time, that vigilance becomes embodied.

Research reflects what many women already know intuitively. In a study of women working in indoor sex industries in Melbourne, researchers noted that among women in committed relationships, “just under half of participants’ partners were aware of their sex work involvement,” meaning a substantial number were actively concealing their work from intimate partners (Sanders et al., 2015). Similar patterns have been found elsewhere: a Canadian study examining disclosure decisions reported that roughly one-third of sex workers kept their work secret from at least one intimate partner or disclosed only partial information (Benoit et al., 2022). Even when partners were aware, secrecy, fear of exposure, and issues of trust were commonly cited as sources of relational strain.

Living this way keeps the nervous system activated. The body learns that safety depends on not being fully seen. Over time, this can manifest as chronic stress: fatigue, irritability, anxiety, and emotional distance. It rarely arrives all at once. It accumulates quietly.

When someone is required to hide a significant part of their identity, the psychological toll often shows up as hypervigilance, emotional exhaustion, and a persistent fear of being exposed. Secrecy is not neutral. It shapes how people relate to themselves, how they attach to others, and how much rest they allow themselves to have.

Despite carrying this weight for decades, Itzayana is clear-eyed about what safety actually requires.

“I don’t trust a lot of people,” she says. “I don’t tell people my secrets, because they can turn around and use that against you. If they get mad at you, they can blackmail you with what they know. If you need to vent, go see a therapist. I would never advise anyone to tell a friend, no matter how close you think you are.” She pauses before adding, “I was lucky because I did work with my best friend. We became best friends.”

Her words point to an important truth: support isn’t just about closeness - it’s about containment. 

Safety doesn’t come from telling everyone everything. It comes from knowing who can hold the truth without turning it into leverage.

Itzayana’s hopes for the future are simple and deeply earned.

“Well, definitely, you know, financially capable of, like, standing on my own,” she says. “Living by myself. Having no one to answer to, having no one to cook for. I can just up and go anytime without having to consult anyone.”

Her dream isn’t extravagance. It’s autonomy. Peace. The freedom to move through the world without explanation.

The problem isn’t secrecy itself. The problem is carrying it alone.

Here are three ways women can begin to loosen the grip of secrecy:

• Find a safe person
  This might be a therapist, trusted professional, or someone who understands the realities of your world. Having even one relationship where you don’t have to manage the narrative can significantly reduce the emotional burden secrecy creates.

• Join a support group
  Being in community with others who share similar experiences interrupts isolation. Hearing your own story reflected back through others often brings relief, normalization, and a sense of belonging.

• Journal about secrecy
  Writing offers a private space to name what you’ve been carrying without fear of consequence. Over time, putting words to your experience can help release tension and clarify what you want moving forward.

Breaking silence doesn’t mean telling everyone everything. It means choosing where honesty is safe, and then allowing yourself to be witnessed without consequence.

*Some details have been changed to protect the confidentiality of the interviewee.

References

• Sanders, T., O’Neill, M., & Pitcher, J. (2015). Prostitution: Sex work, policy & politics. Sage Publications.

• Benoit, C., Smith, M., Jansson, S. M., Healey, P., & Magnuson, D. (2022). “The prostitution problem”: Claims, evidence, and policy outcomes. Archives of Sexual Behavior.