Broken. Are you there God?

Over the last few months, it has been brought to my attention that I am broken.  Not physically, but on the inside.  You know the place that really counts.  I have been struggling with spending money for years.  The issue has become worse and worse.  I have dug myself into deeper and deeper holes, and well, I have a problem.  Ok, I have an addiction. 

Technically, this condition is also known as Oniomania, a term for the compulsive desire to shop, more commonly referred to as compulsive shopping, shopping addiction, shopaholism, compulsive buying or CB.  Compulsive shopping may be considered an impulse control disorder, an obsessive-compulsive disorder, a bipolar disorder,^[2] or even a clinical addiction, depending on the clinical source.

I am finding that this addiction is a lot like any other.  It can ruin your relationships, make you sick, destroy the things you love and put everything at risk.  It can be as bad as being a drug addict, but in my case, I have nothing to show for it.  At least with drugs or alcohol addiction your body is usually worse for the wear.  With, for me anyway, I have nothing to show.  But if I have access to money, I spend it.  We got over $9,000 this year in tax refund (we had HUGE medical bills last year), and I have no idea where about $5,000 of it went to.  It brings a whole new meaning to the term “pissed it away.”

The worst part of it is that it has taken me so long to come to terms with the fact that it really is an addiction.  As a woman, we all joke about how our husbands think we spend too much money, or call each other a shopaholic in jest.  But for some of us it really is a serious issue.  For years I have been racing home to get a new article of clothing or pair of shoes into the closet before my husband got home.  I can’t count how many times I have torn off tags to clothes that I was never going to wear, and hid the tags at the bottom of the garbage can.  I wish I had a dollar for every time I raced to the bank to get money from one account and put it in another account before my husband tried to use his card.

Finally, one Saturday, after my world started falling in around me, my husband tried to use the card.  The bank account was empty.  The savings account was empty. And I was empty.  Done.  Exhausted.  Hurting.  Broken.

I am still learning so much about this addiction, but like with any addiction, admitting that I have a problem is the first step toward recovering.  I don’t know what to expect, but I am searching for the road to recovery.  I am seeing a therapist and last night I went to my first Celebrate Recovery meeting.  The one thing I do know is that God is going to walk this road with me.  He thinks I am worth saving, and he is going to hold my hand, and carry me if he has to, but I will recover from this addiction.