I don’t know when it started. I was never much of a “shopper.” I never thought of “going shopping” as an amusement or leisure activity to be enjoyed. Shopping was a necessary obligation on occasions, like buying groceries, but just less often, and with a much greater degree of consternation and costs. When it came to spending money, I was far more interested in good coffee, travels, date nights, and books. I much preferred purchasing seats to the symphony, rather than an outfit to wear there! This should be accentuated by my husband’s utter disregard for clothing, and his preference to not spend money on what may be referred to as “appearances”–things like matching pillows, or matching dishes, or curtains or brand-name clothing. Yet he’s not stingy, or a cheapskate. He’ll spend extra money on select items: good coffee, the Opera, a rare book, a worthy cause. But he is not tempted to spend money. I think he spends money justly, where spending money is due. Sometimes that is on a very rare and beautiful book that he will both read and cherish. Sometimes that is on a bottle of wine for guests or a fancy meal to celebrate a worthy occasion. I would not call him frugal, nor wasteful. He uses money well, according to the occasion and his values.
I, on the other hand, am “un disastre.” I remember a nun using the term, “a disaster!” to describe someone or something–I am quite sure she wasn’t referring to me–but whenever I remember her, I remember her expression as applied to myself and my many flaws and foibles. I think of her shaking her head, but with a full understanding that life, and people, are often a mess, and while she was reproving of this, she was also merciful and at least a little amused by it. I suppose, when I think of her, I am able to readily admit my sin, some area of “disaster” in my life, like a child’s horribly messy room, and accept her head shaking, while also noticing the smile at the corners of her eyes and mouth. And that allows me to smile too, and get to work cleaning up.
Reflecting on my “spending money,” I think it started after I had my first baby and my husband was deployed. A huge frustration of new parenthood is that it seems impossible to DO anything one used to do, or want to do, or hope to do. Experiences, like hiking, or sitting all afternoon reading in a coffee shop, or even going to church quietly to pray…those things couldn’t be done anymore (or so it seemed). Indeed, it seemed impossible to do much of anything, aside from attend to a baby/toddler, and manage the cooking and laundry and dishes as best I could. I think that led me to, at times, buy things…it didn’t take much time or effort or energy to buy something, especially online. And it felt pleasurable to do so. Maybe I didn’t have time to do the things I wanted, so I began to acquire things instead, and hope I might find time to use and enjoy them someday.
I suppose too there is some kind of pleasure response in the brain to acquiring a new something. Like getting a gift, or the excitement of a package in the mail. Even though I am the shopper, buying things for myself without surprise, there is still something mildly exciting about a new widget, arriving especially for me. Furthermore, purchases can represent something I hope to do: an exercise program I wish to complete (yoga mat, belt, blocks, leggings, tank tops…), an amount of weight I want to lose (stylish outfit), a new skill I think I might acquire (that pretty looking calligraphy set at the bookstore), a way of life I wish to adopt (a bike, bike trailer, bike bag, for shopping at the Farmer’s Market with my baby), and so on and so forth.
The problem is not just spending too much money, or acquiring things needlessly (and those can be significant problems), but I think the most ridiculous foible is that I may spend an inordinate amount of time “shopping” (staring at a computer screen late at night, looking at photos, reading reviews, comparing products…), and no time at all actually using or enjoying or DOING the thing the purchase was supposed to be about.
I think of this as the “Fitness Magazine” problem. Fitness magazines have such an allure. Skinny, fit, happy looking models in snug and swanky workout gear. Promises that if you do such-and-such, you can look and feel as amazing as that airbrushed cover girl. It can be oh-so-tempting to buy the fitness magazines, to ogle their pictures, to skim their articles, to dream about one’s upcoming new fit life, and even to stock up on all the right gear–of course–exercise tops and bottoms and undergarments, shoes and socks, hair things, and other things, equipment and devices, gym memberships and classes and passes–oh there is a lot to BUY! And it’s so easy! (Much easier than working out!) You can just sit up late at night, even while nursing a baby, and click on all the things you want. And if you have a credit card, you can buy them!
The same can happen with cooking magazines: lots of ogling, and even buying, but very little cooking!
And it can happen with books. It’s very easy, and tempting, to buy many lovely looking books. It’s a lot more difficult to read them.
Pretty soon, one may have a house or apartment overflowing with stuff, and a hefty credit card balance to pay off, and yet taking honest stock, one might find that one used, or enjoyed, very few, if any of the things!
(Unlike a nice bottle of wine: I always enjoy that, and in short order too! So I guess that’s money well spent?)
Even worse, like a messy room getting messier, I have noticed not only this problem I describe, but also this added iteration of trouble: after one gets accustomed to the pleasure of acquiring things, as with any addiction, one may begin to use this behavior more and more inappropriately, not only to acquire something, but also to try, falsely, to achieve other purposes by this particular pursuit of pleasure.
For me, it probably began humbly enough, perhaps an emotional balm to my loneliness when my husband was deployed years ago. He was gone, and I missed him. I couldn’t have him back for a long time, and the pain of separation is sorrowful. What could I do, late at night, alone with a sleeping baby? I was too tired to read anything rigorous. I couldn’t go anywhere. If I was tempted other ways, I might have watched a lot of TV or binged on Netflix series. Instead, I picked out outfits and make-up to wear when my husband returned. A few clicks, a few special packages coming my way, and I felt better. I don’t think it was a bad coping mechanism. Indeed, a reunion after months apart is worthy of a new outfit and some lipstick.
But sin, and addiction, can be tricky like that….it can start out as not-sin. Oh, it’s the way even good things can become idols. Exercise is wonderful for health and energy and productivity. It can really help us to become our best selves. It can even be necessary for physical healing after injury, or to avoid early death by heart attack. And yet, it can so easily become an idol, done for vanity or pride, and to a selfish degree, where workouts come before children’s activities, or time spent with one’s spouse, or doing a needed project in the home.
I just never expected this to be a problem for me. Hadn’t I lived with nuns for almost a year, spending almost no money, acquiring nothing beyond what I was given? Didn’t I know the sweet freedom of needing nothing of cost, of enjoying all that was free, and freely giving of myself?
And yet! What “un disastre” I had become!
I am beginning to see how wildly I spend money, with carelessness, and to fill emotional or other voids, or to try to solve other kinds of problems: I was worried I was pregnant (when I was hoping not to be), so I went shopping for a new lot of maternity clothes to make myself feel better and to try to get excited about a pregnancy I didn’t want. I was depressed, so I bought new lotions and make-up to make myself feel better and prettier. I was tired of being “poor” so I “treated myself” to a load of brand-name clothing. I was stressed, so I bought something. I was sad so I clicked something. Aromatherapy, candles, a dress, a shirt, a book, a blanket. When facing one kind of hardship, I decide to “reward” myself with purchases. I get tired of sacrifice and self-denial. I want to celebrate…and shop!
And again, it can be tricky to untangle. I genuinely needed some new clothes recently. I was unable to lose all the weight after my youngest baby. He was 19 months old, and I was still wearing sweatpants, maternity pants, and my husband’s jeans! I finally accepted that I am now a larger size, and I still deserve to wear clothes. Indeed, that acceptance, and my simultaneous gratitude for my good health (regardless of the extra pounds), seemed to warrant a bit of happy and reasonable shopping. It did warrant it. And yet…like a true addict, I fail in moderation. I set a budget, but don’t stick to it. I set new, and very generous, budgets for each store outing. I conveniently don’t count a whole lot of purchases. I go to somewhat expensive stores. I buy more than I need. I buy more because it’s, “on sale.” I attempt to make a return, but then buy additional items as soon as I walk in the store.
I’m tempted to excess. I’m tempted by desire for more.
I also fail in my financial and sacrificial obligations to my family, and to the suffering poor.
For my family, I too often prioritize myself, my desires, my clothes, my comforts, my “little (or not-so-little) luxuries.” The family may not appear to suffer as a result, but the cost–which I realize could be indeed calculated, if I was willing to keep track of it–the cost is nevertheless somewhat hidden, but very real. I will spend hundreds of dollars for a batch of new exercise clothes, or special scented candles, or new pillows…but what else could that have paid for? We have an old house in need of repairs. We want to remodel the mudroom, and the kitchen. We (my husband included) need a large wardrobe because the one tiny closet in the master is quite insufficient for two people. We want to plant a garden in the backyard and we need to buy plants and soil. There will be car maintenance and eventually a new car purchase. There are plane tickets or summer vacations. Or even, post-Pandemic, a date night and trip to the theater. When it comes to these large family purchases, my husband and I may have careful discussions. He’ll be judicious in choosing what projects we should do, and in carefully selecting the materials for a low budget. He’ll wait for an item to go for sale, second-hand, on Craig’sList. And he’ll postpone a needed purchase for himself indefinitely, going without, in order to prioritize what we most need for the family. But when it comes to luxuries for myself, I just swipe my credit card, with no discussion at all.
And the suffering of the poor! With every purchase I make on a luxury for myself, it would seem I not only forget them, but drag them through the mud. “I’m tired of not being able to buy things for myself!” I say. And I go shopping. I relieve myself of the feeling of budgetary restrictions and “indulge.” But what of the very poor? What of them? They NEVER get to go shopping, or indulge, or even have the comfort of knowing they have, or will have, all that they need. They do not have all the food they need, or clean water, or heat, or shelter, or safety. They do not get to nap when they are pregnant. They don’t get to stay home when they are sick. Worst of all, worst of everything: they don’t have enough to feed their children. They don’t have medical care they can reach or afford when their child is suffering illness or injury, even at mortal peril.
I cannot imagine a worse thing than to be unable to afford for the needs of my children, even with backbreaking and exhausting efforts. I cannot imagine what it feels like to stare in the hungry eyes of my little babe, and also know that somewhere, somewhere, there is another woman, a mother, who is out shopping for whatever random thing she wants, a mother who can easily feed her kids, and also afford to indulge in a multitude of luxuries–and she knows, that is, I know, that the poor mother exists, and I, I look away, or worse, I see her, and do nothing, or perhaps throw her some crumbs, which I then feel quite overly good about–even though I made a careful, agonizingly teensy contribution to a charity for her, but then spent easily and extravagantly on whatever I desired for me.
It’s not fun to think about. I am sure it’s much worse to experience such poverty.
I know, it’s complicated. I could, faced with such thoughts, feel compelled to sell all my earthly possessions, move my family into a studio apartment, and give every possible free penny to the poor. (And I would certainly marvel at anyone who does that.)
I am reminded of the story where Jesus tells that very thing to a rich man who asks him what good thing he should do to inherit eternal life:
Jesus answered, “If you want to be perfect, then go and sell all that you own. Give the money to the poor, and you will have riches in heaven. Then come and follow me!” But when the young man heard Jesus tell him to give away his money, he was sad. He didn’t want to do this, because he was very rich. So he left. Then Jesus said to his followers, “The truth is, it will be very hard for a rich person to enter God’s kingdom. Yes, I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter God’s kingdom.” (Matthew 19:21-23)
Now, I grew up fairly wealthy, and I attended church services in a number of wealthy communities. Oddly, this story was read frequently at these churches, and it was always the subject of the sermon, which always went , with great eagerness, something like this: “Now, Jesus didn’t actually mean that you have to sell everything and give it all to the poor! (Rich people chuckle in the pews; of course He didn’t mean that! Preposterous idea!) He just meant that you can’t love money more than Him. The rich man loved his money more than Jesus, so he was sad. You just have to love Jesus more than anything else you have, love Him more than your money or possessions, with your whole heart….”And keep talking about how much we all love Jesus, and how generous the rich are, and how wonderful everyone here is.
As for me, I was never so sure! I thought it was, at the very least, a bit presumptuous to assert that God Himself didn’t mean what he said. And I thought those preachers to the rich were rather over-eager to comfort their worried wealthy congregants, to pat them and assure them that no action was needed, so long as “their heart was in the right place.” In case I hadn’t gotten the message, I even had this sermon re-hashed (more than once) at the dinner table or kitchen island, to make sure I was very clear in my understanding of this parable (which sounded more like a lesson than a metaphor to me).
In any and perhaps every case, it’s clear I am missing the mark here. Not only am I not giving away all our wealth, I’m not even making sacrifices for the sake of the desperately poor, or even for my own family or my husband. I like to make donations to charities, or buy things for my kids and spouse and house, but I almost never do so by denying something to myself–which I think is a huge piece of the Christian life…maybe the whole point of it, to lay down one’s life for others…at the very least, you’d think I could avoid the next pair of fancy yoga pants for the sake of giving something far more important!
Embarrassingly, that has become a difficult challenge for me. I do feel tired of sacrifice. (Was it the back-to-back-to-back-to-back pregnancies that wearied me? I think that plays a role, though it doesn’t suffice as an excuse. Women have always been pregnant. That doesn’t exempt them from their obligation to their neighbor, to the poor, to their children and spouse.)
So what should I do? What will I do? Let me begin with this:
I want to stop using shopping as a therapy. Instead, let me read, let me write, let me exercise, let me pray. When I am tempted to click on a shopping related ad or website or emailed coupon, let me ask myself, “why?” Am I clicking because I actually need something? Or is it just a habit, or temptation, or am I trying to fill in a gap somewhere more serious, because I am depressed or anxious or unhappy? I want to turn to other things. Just as I am ready to be done reading dumb things on my phone when I am tired or grumpy, I also want to be done with shopping for emotional reasons. And that includes happy or celebration shopping. Let me find other ways to celebrate, like reading with my spouse, or singing, or playing outside. It’s time to form new coping mechanisms, new habits, and step away from spending money for every problem or emotional state. It’s time to DO the things, rather than buy them! And it’s time to form habits and pursue activities that will make me better. Instead of shopping, I could be becoming a better human being (and that’s usually free!).
Further, the time is coming to turn this problem of mine over to my dear husband. I’m not going to give all our money away to the poor (our Lord knows I am quite far from that!), but I could do one small action that would be a big sacrifice for me, and also a very appropriate one: give my husband counsel and authority over ALL purchases. Our dear priest suggested this idea one Lent, for spouses to do this for each other, and I am quite sure the time is coming (this Lent), for me to take it up. What it would mean is this: All purchases would be made or approved by my husband.
No more late-night internet spending binges. No random clicks. No shopping swipes. No heading to the store for one thing and coming back with a whole lot of other things that randomly captured my attention. That’s not to say no shopping at all, or no spending, but no doing so selfishly, secretly, without moderation or discussion. It means showing my husband what I want to buy and saying, “what do you think?” Or asking my husband to buy what I need. And if I am at the store, it means sticking to the agreed upon budget and list! That will be humbling for me, and also, I think, effective.
It is worth saying that my husband is not stingey or controlling. What I am proposing for myself can be, in other relationships, a form of abuse and control of one partner over the other–control of finances, with one partner groveling for permission to purchase anything. This is not the case here. My husband is aware that I spend sometimes extravagantly. He is generous. He is charitable. He laughs at my foibles and shakes his head. “It’s just money” he will say. He doesn’t want to fight over it. He doesn’t want to give money a dignity or priority of concern or conversation. He doesn’t want to waste precious time of this short and precious life focusing on money. And he trusts me. Too much, perhaps. And so, I think it is time for me to humble myself in this way, to make this sacrifice, and to honor him and my family in a way that I have long failed to do.
For many of you, this probably sounds like “no big deal.” You are the folks who are able to actually stick to your shopping list, and not make a bundle of impulse buys. But this is where I am quite weak. Indeed, I am reminded of how it feels, while lumbering around in the third trimester, to bend down and pick something off the floor or to put on socks: easy for everyone else, but a great accomplishment for this Mama! So it is.
Baby steps, that for me, “un disastre” shall feel like great leaps.
