Chapter 1

Social status is like currency in the suburbs of Los Angeles and that’s the charm of living here. The glitz, the glamour. I used to be a celebrity in my youth. Singing and dancing, mostly acting on a popular tv show that ran for several seasons.

People still recognize me on the street sometimes, which is nice, but at 40 years old, I’m living the family life. These days my professional career is writing a Substack where I discuss healthy living and parenting. Young mothers relate to my journey into parenthood and that raw connection fuels my writing like nothing else.

Let me tell you about something that happened a year ago. It’s a cautionary tale of seeking validation through friendship groups and all the trappings in between. I thought it would fill a void in my life. I thought I could have it all. But that’s not possible. Social validation always comes with a price.

It was Vanessa who invited me into the mom group. We used to be friends during our time in Hollywood and reconnected after discovering that we’ve become neighbors. Once I agreed, everything fell into place. Email lists. Invitations. Group texts. We talked about all things parenting and made each other laugh along the way. And I loved being part of a tribe like that.

As for the women, I was blown away by how empowering it felt being around them. A few of them are/were in the entertainment industry, a few are stay-at-home mothers, and some ran small businesses online. Their confidence was contagious and I found myself opening up in ways I hadn’t in years.

In hindsight, the beginning of my sexual odyssey began when Linda, an older asian woman, twirled her drink and looked in my direction. As a group we dined on steak and pasta at a nice restaurant, and as usual, the conversation turned to light-hearted topics. She sat directly across from me. I’ll never forget that sight of her, that sleeveless dress hugging her curves, the deep plunge of her neckline, those sharp, inquisitive eyes locked on mine.

“So, a writer?” she asked.

I didn’t feel pretentious explaining what I do, I didn’t have to justify myself. They asked genuine questions and they hung on every word. For the first time in a long time, I felt seen, I felt nourished. My family and longtime friends saw my writing project as a hobby, not as a career, but these women understood.

The mood shifted when Linda took the conversation on a detour with a cryptic joke. One that, in hindsight, foreshadowed everything that happened in the months to follow.

“If you’re a writer, does that mean you’ll be writing about us?”

By that point the meal was almost done and Linda put an elbow on the table, and her chin was in the palm of her hand, like she was questioning me in an exaggerated manner. But the slight smile let me know it was a joke.

I smiled back at them, “Well, if I ever do write about this group, I’ll keep the good parts vague, and the best parts off the record.”

As the waiters cleared the plates and the bill was being handled, the conversation drifted to vacation plans and the latest Pilates instructor that everyone was obsessed with. Linda’s question stuck with me, her tone especially. I wanted to go home and write about the group dinner, but I didn’t want to alienate my new friends… hopefully my new best friends.

I felt young that night, wanted, like I belonged.

And god that was intoxicating.

Life has a funny way of taking me in different directions. Being honest, when my film career faded into obscurity a decade ago, I thought I’d never be happy again. I thought I’d already peaked in life and I wrote about those depressed feelings often. Those ups-and-downs of life are what my readers find relatable.

But with a growing family and writing career and new friends, I had second wind.

I was fulfilled at 40 years old. Reinvigorated.

We were laying around the pool at Shoshana’s house. By mid-May, the outdoor heat came to life. During summer the mom group would take turns lounging at each other’s backyards. Always during weekdays, always just the group, and that was the first time I was invited.

As it was explained to me, the rule was simple, no judgment, wear whatever you want. It was like reclaiming something that was lost, if that makes sense. They didn’t care about stretch marks or weight gain in certain spots. We recognized that giving birth was a superpower.

That normalcy pulled me closer to them. We sunbathed whenever we could, shameless about avoiding tan lines. I saw glimpses of nipples, they saw glimpses of mine. I’ve always been protective of that, being a celebrity, or at least a former celebrity. In my younger days I got tons of offers to do nude scenes, and I always turned them down, though I still wonder if doing nude scenes would have saved my film career.

So yeah, I’ve always had a tight stance on nudity. Public gyms? Forget it. I learned that women will always try to look. They’ll always be curious about what the nipples of an actress look like. Curiosity, sexual desire, or scoping out their competition. That feeling of, ‘That’s all she’s got? Mine are better.’

My first time sunbathing with the group was a moment. They were comfortable with sunlight hitting their bare backs. Breasts were minimally covered. Only one woman ever went full topless with her tits up, Rebecca, and she was proud of her huge tits. I could tell her nipples used to be pink but darkened by lactation. Linda would often show side boobs. So would Vanessa, the fellow actress, and when we saw each other’s nipples for the first time, we smiled.

Those were the kinds of moments I promised never to write about.

By late May, the morning was especially hot and we had plans to order Chinese lunch. We lounged by the pool. Some read books or typed on their laptops. Some were under umbrella shade, some laid across blankets while under the sun, two women were in the pool on floating beds. Lana Del Rey music played in the background, the newer stuff.

I’ll never, ever forget the moment where I was laying on my stomach, typing notes for a post about jean pants, when I heard someone splashing in the pool and then stepping out. Vanessa emerged nude from the water. And I mean full nude. It wasn’t a show or anything sexy, she casually stepped out of the pool and pulled her hair back with water dripping from her figure. She stood by the steps of the pool until most of the water had dripped off, then she walked over to grab a towel to dry herself, still in the nude.

A few women glanced in her direction, but to them it was nothing. The sight of Vanessa nude was a game changer in terms of how I viewed this group situation. As far as I knew, she was never the type to go nude. She’d done family programs all throughout her career. Though fame has long passed her by, the internet would go bonkers seeing this view of her body. Viral within minutes. Men would kill for a picture of this. Women, too.

The group? How nonchalant they were told me everything I needed to know. This was just another Tuesday morning to them. They didn’t care that a celebrity in their group was towel drying her hair with tits and a trimmed bush shining under the hot sun. Drying was fast given the heat. She didn’t bother to rush or cover herself.

“Should I order now?” Tina asked.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Annabelle replied. “Make sure you get those salt and pepper fish fillets. Last time you forgot.”

No one was fazed by Vanessa’s continued nudity and she casually got dressed, reminding Tina to also order the salted fish and chicken fried rice while her boobs were still out and those nipples shined under the sun. I tried not to gawk, I had to be subtle.

45 minutes later when the food arrived, we all prepared to eat.

Vanessa approached me and brought her lips to my ear.

“Sorry about that. Sometimes I get carried away.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You look great.”

She smiled at me, and without any makeup, I could see the age lines on her face, which she didn’t seem to mind. I smiled back, letting her see my age as well, while we both stood face-to-face and I thought about her nude body.

As fast as our friendship grew, the downfall was equally as rapid. Hannah suggested a one-day spa retreat at a place a few hours away. Full body, Swedish style. Money wasn’t an issue for anyone. With their support system, having their kids looked after wasn’t a factor, either. It was meant to be a bonding thing and total relaxation from life. They all jumped at the chance. I declined.

I told them my child had a fever. The group chat was kind.

“No worries! Sending love to all.”

“Family first, we get it.”

“Next time for sure!”

I appreciated their warm wishes, but to be honest, my child’s fever was only mild at best. The main reason I declined was because the weekend getaway required everyone in the group to be naked together during the sauna and mud baths. I thought the group dynamic was already perfect and I didn’t want to change a thing. The thought of their eyes leering at my nude body made me uneasy.

That’s the real reason I declined the spa invitation.

After that I found myself being excluded.

The shift was like a tide pulling back. My phone used to constantly buzz from group chats, daily memes, quick parenting tips, inside jokes and community gossip, that all started going quiet. Those dopamine hits were gone. During meet-ups, they seemed less interested in me, no one bothered asking me questions anymore. I saw Instagram posts of them going to lunch without me and having the biggest smiles on their faces.

People often assume that I grew up popular because I started in the entertainment industry at an early age, but that isn’t true. Fame can often be isolating. I was bullied in high school when I started appearing on tv spots because other students thought I was ‘too good’ for them.

That’s exactly what I felt like after the group exclusion.

One of the greatest sources of shame I felt was with my readers. I’d been writing about the benefits of mom groups and engagement was high. I never showed face pictures of the group, or even named them, but I often detailed our group dynamics and what we did for fun. Naturally, I felt like the world’s biggest fraud because my own group had seemingly decided to exclude me for whatever reason.

There were two choices. Try to make amends and find out what the issue was. Or just move on with my life and drop the subject from my writings, hoping readers wouldn’t ask me about it. Both options were miserable and shameful.

I thought I’d move on, but in a state of emotional weakness, I texted Vanessa.

Me: Looking for closure, am I officially out? Please be straight with me

Vanessa: Can we meet in person?

Me: Rather not waste my time. Let me know here

Vanessa: Are you going to screenshot this text? I don’t want this shared

Me: No, not my style. I don’t reveal personal stuff, you know that

Vanessa: Honestly, some of them don’t trust you because you’re a writer

Me: I’ve never written about them personally though

Vanessa: Doesn’t matter, you haven’t proven yourself

Me: Does this have anything to do with turning down the spa?