I don’t know why it exactly happens, or when it all started…
Well, actually that’s a lie. Over the last year and a half, I have been observing my behavior quite carefully, trying to analyze the root of all evil.
What I am talking about, is retail therapy. I like to shop. I shop when I am depressed, or when I am stressed, or when I am upset, or as a form of procrastination.
But to be honest, I believe it all started with having kids. Or rather through YouTube. I remember vividly when I was pregnant with my first child and went on a yard sale spree with my dear neighbor, the pro of all pros when it comes to thrift shopping. I came along for the company only, because I thought we have everything we need.
Now, six years later. I am also a pro. I know the value of things, and when I used to see something in a thrift store, I would buy it, not because we needed it, but because it was such a great deal. And this was just in addition to all the hours I spent online researching the perfect baby toys, even ordering them from Germany. YouTube and Instagram sucked me into their poisonous vortex, making me feel guilty for not having the best baby gear, and toddler toys. Making me feel like I’m not a good mom if I don’t craft things for my children. Of course, I bought all the supplies and ended up never using them. Because I am a working mom, which is stressful. And stress led to more shopping late at night. At least the shopping and research eased my pain somehow, or let me forget about it for a while.
With becoming more financially literate, I also slowly crawled out of that wormhole and wiped off the poison. But I still have some of those feelings from time to time, even though through decluttering I also – magically – decluttered some of my guilt. Now, the dilemma is that I don’t want to buy things. I do not want to bring more objects into our home. So I realized instead of researching and buying a lot of things, I just obsess about one particular thing now. Sometimes even a thing I have already decluttered. As described in the disposer’s remorse post. Before I can think rationally, I am sucked under again. This time it’s a whirlpool created by myself. Nothing around me seems more important at that moment. I am consumed, and time just disappears. Then I think about my children and can breathe again. It doesn’t matter. Objects really don’t matter.
It is similar to walking uphill. I look down at the path, focused on the pavement in front of me. Seeing all the unevenness, the stones, the debris. Zoomed in on the details of the trail and the thoughts in my head. Until I stop to take a break. I look up and suddenly there is nature, and a view, and it’s beautiful, and I breathe deeply.
