How Mental Health Issues Affect Sex Workers in Dubai

Living and working as a sex worker in Dubai isn’t just about the risks of arrest or social stigma-it’s about the quiet, daily erosion of mental well-being. These women, often isolated and under constant pressure, face emotional tolls that rarely make headlines. Their struggles aren’t abstract statistics; they’re real, lived experiences shaped by fear, loneliness, and the weight of invisibility.

The Hidden Pressure of Survival

In Dubai, sex work is illegal. That alone creates a climate of fear. Every client, every phone call, every movement carries risk. Police raids happen without warning. Clients can vanish without paying. Landlords kick tenants out if they suspect what they do. There’s no legal safety net-no labor rights, no health insurance, no recourse if something goes wrong.

Many women enter this work because they have no other options. Some are migrants from countries with few economic opportunities. Others are fleeing abusive relationships or supporting family back home. The pressure to earn money quickly turns into a cycle of overwork. They take more clients than they can handle. They skip meals. They lose sleep. They stop seeing doctors because they can’t afford the time-or the risk of being seen.

Loneliness That Doesn’t Go Away

One of the most damaging side effects of this work is profound isolation. These women often live alone. They can’t talk about their jobs with friends or family. Even other sex workers rarely share personal details. Trust is a luxury they can’t afford. Over time, this isolation breeds depression. A 2024 study by the Dubai Health Authority, based on anonymous interviews with 127 women in the informal sex work sector, found that 68% showed signs of moderate to severe depressive symptoms. Only 12% had ever sought counseling.

Some women keep journals. Others talk to God. A few have formed small, secret support groups-meeting in parks at dawn or over encrypted apps. But these are fragile lifelines. One woman, who asked not to be named, told a researcher: "I cry every night. Not because I’m scared of the police. I cry because I don’t remember the last time someone asked me how I was feeling."

Trauma That Never Gets Treated

Violence is a constant threat. Clients who refuse to pay, who become aggressive, who don’t respect boundaries-there’s no way to report them. The police won’t help. Hospitals won’t file reports without police involvement. Many women endure physical or sexual assault and never speak of it.

Post-traumatic stress is common. Flashbacks. Nightmares. Panic attacks in elevators or at the sound of a knock on the door. One former escort, now in her late 30s, said she still wakes up every morning checking if her door is locked-even though she hasn’t worked in five years. The trauma lingers.

And there’s no system to help. Mental health clinics in Dubai don’t advertise services for sex workers. Therapists won’t take them. Insurance won’t cover it. Even if a woman finds the courage to seek help, she risks being reported. The fear of exposure is stronger than the pain of silence.

The Cost of Being Invisible

There’s no official data on suicide rates among sex workers in Dubai. But anecdotal evidence from NGOs and social workers suggests it’s higher than in the general population. A local outreach group that provides food and hygiene kits to women in the area reported three suspected suicides in 2025 alone. None were reported to authorities. Families were told the women "had accidents."

Many women develop coping mechanisms that worsen their mental health. Substance use is common-not for pleasure, but to numb the anxiety. Some turn to alcohol. Others use prescription pills bought on the black market. A few use stimulants to stay awake longer, to meet more clients, to earn more. These aren’t choices made out of rebellion. They’re survival tactics.

Who’s Supposed to Help?

There are no government programs for mental health support tailored to sex workers. International NGOs avoid the topic for fear of legal backlash. Religious groups offer charity, but rarely counseling. Even the few clinics that offer free psychological services require identification-something many women don’t have.

Some women rely on informal networks: a former coworker who knows a nurse, a driver who gives rides to a clinic in Sharjah, a mosque that quietly lets them use the bathroom after hours. These are lifelines, but they’re not systems. They’re patches on a broken fabric.

What Could Change?

Legalization isn’t the only answer-but decriminalization of sex work would open the door to real support. If women could report abuse without fear, if they could access healthcare without being flagged, if they could take sick days without losing income-mental health outcomes would improve dramatically.

Simple steps could make a difference: mobile mental health units that visit areas where sex workers gather, anonymous online counseling via encrypted apps, partnerships with pharmacies to distribute anti-anxiety medication without requiring ID. A 2023 pilot program in Abu Dhabi, run by a nonprofit with no government funding, provided free weekly Zoom therapy sessions to 42 women. After six months, 71% reported reduced anxiety. Only 12% had ever spoken to a therapist before.

Change doesn’t require grand legislation. It requires recognition. Recognition that these women aren’t criminals. They’re people. People with trauma, with fear, with dreams they’ve buried under survival.

They’re Not Just "Call Girls"

Behind every statistic is a person. A woman who wanted to send her sister to college. A mother who needed to pay for her child’s insulin. A young woman who lost her visa and had no way home. Their stories aren’t about morality. They’re about desperation-and the quiet strength it takes to keep going.

Mental health isn’t a side issue. It’s the core issue. Until we stop treating sex workers as invisible, we’ll keep failing them. And until we see them as human, we’ll never fix what’s broken.