Provocative, funny and emotionally raw, this compelling novel of unexpected pregnancy, queer love, eating disorder recovery, and chosen family is loosely inspired by Chelsea’s own experience in an inpatient eating disorder treatment center, which she entered for anorexia when she was 22.
I had a chance to learn more in this interview.
What was the inspiration behind the book?
Baby Steps was inspired by my own experience in a residential eating disorder treatment center. And while that might not sound like the obvious setting for a dark comedy, I can assure you, some of the funniest people I've ever met were in treatment. Which makes sense, because when you put a bunch of deeply neurotic, emotionally unstable women in one building and take away their coping mechanisms, you're basically producing a Bravo reality show without the alcohol.
I remember being in treatment and thinking, someone needs to write about this. Not just the illness, but the friendships, the romances, the petty rivalries, and the absolute absurdity of it all. There was so much humanity and humor in a place that most people imagine as relentlessly bleak.
I was also frustrated by the way eating disorders are portrayed in popular culture. It always seems to be the same emaciated teenage girl staring sadly at a plate of lettuce. And while those experiences are real, they're far from the only ones. Eating disorders affect people of every shape, size, gender, and background, and I wanted to tell a story that reflected that complexity.
How can fiction teach us important lessons about life?
I think fiction is one of the best ways to teach people empathy because you can trick them into learning something while they're being entertained. It's basically emotional education disguised as gossip.
You might not pick up a clinical textbook about eating disorders, but you might pick up a novel about a pregnant woman who gets sent to rehab, falls into complicated relationships, and makes a series of spectacularly bad decisions. And somewhere between laughing with her and wanting to shake her, you start to understand her.
That's what I love about fiction. It allows people to experience the world through someone else's perspective without having to agree with everything that person does. In fact, I think the most interesting characters are the ones who are deeply flawed. Nobody wants to read 250 pages about a woman who communicates her feelings effectively, maintains healthy boundaries, and drinks the recommended amount of water. That's not a novel. That's a wellness influencer.
I also think fiction gives us permission to explore the messier parts of being human. We can be selfish and generous, deeply insecure and wildly arrogant, desperate for love and terrified of intimacy, sometimes all before lunch.
I don't want readers to finish Baby Steps feeling like they've attended a seminar. I want them to feel like they've spent time with real, complicated people, and maybe come away seeing the world a little differently.
What are some things that people often get wrong about eating disorders, and why does it matter?
First and foremost, people think you can identify an eating disorder by looking at someone. You can't. There's no official eating disorder uniform.
The reality is that eating disorders affect people of all body types, genders, ages, and backgrounds. Someone can be seriously ill without looking anything like the stereotypical image we've been shown in movies and television.
Another misconception is that eating disorders are about vanity. People assume it's just someone who really, really wants to be thin. But these illnesses are much more complicated than that. They can involve anxiety, perfectionism, trauma, emotional regulation, and a desperate need for control. If eating disorders were simply about wanting to look good, we'd all just get better lighting.
And then there's the way we talk about recovery. Hollywood loves a good montage. The protagonist enters treatment, cries in group therapy, eats a piece of pizza, and suddenly she's cured. Roll credits. Unfortunately, recovery doesn't work like a makeover scene in a romantic comedy. It's nonlinear, uncomfortable, and often involves doing things you desperately don't want to do.
This matters because these misconceptions can keep people from getting help. If you don't look like the stereotype, you might not think you're sick enough to deserve treatment. And if everyone around you is engaging in similar behaviors, it's easy to convince yourself that what you're doing is normal.
Part of what I wanted to accomplish with Baby Steps was to challenge those ideas without making the reader feel like they're being assigned homework.
As we move into the holiday season, why can holidays be especially triggering, and how can loved ones help?
The holidays are basically the Olympics of unsolicited commentary about food and bodies. You have your aunt asking if you've lost weight, your mother announcing she's been "bad" because she ate a cookie, and your uncle explaining intermittent fasting to a room full of people who absolutely did not ask.
For someone struggling with an eating disorder, that environment can be incredibly overwhelming. Food is everywhere, routines are disrupted, and suddenly you're sitting at a table with relatives who haven't seen you in a year and feel entitled to provide a full performance review of your appearance.
There's also the emotional component. The holidays can bring up complicated family dynamics, old insecurities, and pressure to be happy. You're supposed to be feeling grateful and festive, but instead you're trapped between a bowl of mashed potatoes and someone asking why you're still single. It's a lot.
My biggest piece of advice is to stop commenting on people's bodies. Full stop. Even if you think you're giving someone a compliment. "You look amazing, have you lost weight?" might sound harmless, but you have no idea what's going on in that person's life. They could be ill, grieving, or struggling with something you know nothing about.
I'd also encourage families to stop making food a moral issue. You don't need to announce that you're "being naughty" by eating pie. It's pie. You haven't committed securities fraud.
And if someone you love is in recovery, ask how you can support them rather than policing their plate. Be mindful of their treatment plan, and remember that the goal is to make them feel included and comfortable, not to turn Thanksgiving dinner into an episode of Intervention.
Ultimately, the best thing you can give someone during the holidays is a little compassion, a little patience, and the freedom to eat a meal without having to participate in a family-wide discussion about carbohydrates.
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