How making an impulsive purchase made me realise I haven’t been OK since my dad died

My childhood wasn’t a good childhood. A combination of a narcissistic mother, and a father who came from a culture where it was normal to hit your child, has equated to most of my childhood memories centring on emotional and physical abuse.

Since the age of 16, when I started earning my own money, I enjoyed buying clothes. Online shopping wasn’t really a thing in the early 2000s, and so at this point it wasn’t really a “problem”. However, when I gained more independence and started driving at age 17, I would take every opportunity to travel to the local shops to buy something. It didn’t matter what it was; I just needed something.

I moved out of my childhood home at age 18 and never looked back. After some talking therapy in my early twenties, I realised that I had been buying clothes to cope with the pervasive emotions that stemmed from an abusive childhood. But this type of realisation goes only some of the way to fixing the problem. I spent most of my twenties reinventing myself through a constant cycle of buying, selling and donating clothes. I went through a goth phase, a boho hippy phase, an all-black phase, and more. Each new reinvention would require a considerable initial investment to ensure my outward appearance was cohesive and put-together, which I justified through the hassle of selling everything on eBay from the previous phase. This continued throughout my thirties.

In December 2023, I found myself in a Youtube hole on the theme of “not buying things”. I was inspired to follow suit, and not buy any new and unnecessary clothes in 2024. I put together an elaborate Notion page; I made rules about what I was allowed to buy and what I wasn’t allowed buy, and what I could buy if I truly needed to replace something. This prompted me, again, to sell or donate a lot of clothes that I didn’t wear regularly. My “no buy” lasted until March 2024, when I broke the seal by purchasing a new sweatshirt, because I convinced myself I needed something to pep me up for a conference trip to London. And so began another cycle of reinvention: clearing out and selling more clothes, and replacing them with sustainable, timeless, and classic pieces. These were clothes that were going to take me into my fifties. This was my “investment piece” cycle. This was the last cycle, just one more reinvention bro, I promised myself.

This year was going well, actually. Whilst I joyfully abandoned the concept of not buying anything at all, each clothes-based purchase for the most part was carefully considered. I convinced myself that because I was using a clothing inventory app, (which I even talked about on Bluesky) and because I made sure that each item I was adding to my wardrobe could make X number of outfits, I was shopping the right way. However, as autumn set in, and the days got darker, I found myself drawn towards the lure of buying things to make me feel something. Just one more item bro, then I’ll be the perfect person; I’ll be complete. And then, something stupid happened.

I can’t even remember how this happened, but two days ago, I became obsessed with a coat. I don’t even know how I came to know about this coat, where I found this coat, or what part of the internet showed me this coat. But for 24 hours, this coat was everything to me. It was my next step to achieving the perfect version of myself. I researched everything about this coat. I watched videos, read blog posts, looked for good reviews, bad reviews, researched the sizing, the materials: everything. I found every single shopping website that stocked this coat. But I didn’t buy this coat. Because I couldn’t justify the cost. And plus, I already have two winter coats, and I like wearing them.

After giving myself 24 hours to consider this purchase, (and convincing myself that this was enough time to really consider this purchase), I bought the coat. I didn’t need the coat. But there it was: the dopamine-fuelled high of a new purchased followed very quickly by a sinking feeling of guilt, shame, and disgust. I was fully aware of what I was doing and why I was doing it; but I did it anyway.

Last week I spoke to my doctor about symptoms I had been attributing to a somewhat early menopause that I had been monitoring for around 18 months (to cut a long story short, most of my cycle involves feeling very depressed and nauseous). Given my age (39 at the time of writing), the doctor dismissed my concerns of peri-menopause given that my periods are still regular and normal, and suggested that maybe I try some anti-depressants or the combined pill to ease my symptoms of extreme PMS. I rejected this idea; I haven’t had a good experience in the past with SSRIs or SNRIs (which I used in combination with therapy to try and deal with my childhood) or any type of contraceptive pill.

But when I clicked “confirm purchase” on the coat, it hit me. “Around 18 months ago” is when a string of crappy life events came at me, one after the other.

• In March 2023, my dad died;

• In July 2023, I got laid off;

• In August 2023, in the midst of many interview cycles, my husband had his first seizure, which set off a string of health-related issues culminating in a long hospital stay in September 2024;

• The world has been pretty fucked this past year;

• And throughout all of this, my mother has continued to reject me, despite the promises of a renewed relationship after the passing of my dad.

Since March 2023, I haven’t been OK, but I figured it was my age and my hormones. But I know now that I am still trapped. Trapped in an endless cycle of trying to be OK, thinking I’m OK, acting like I’m OK, but being consumed by my desire to be loved and accepted, which manifests in buying clothes to reinvent myself.

And yet, I am determined to be OK.

The coat hasn’t arrived yet. Maybe I’ll send it back. Or maybe I’ll keep it. Maybe I’ll wear the shit out of it to remind me that I do have insight about my emotions. I know that I still have unmet needs from my childhood, and I'll probably have to live with this forever. And deep down, I know that a stupid impulsive purchase will not fix me.

Yet, I am determined to be OK.

Update: I returned the coat. It made me feel nothing whatsoever.