I always believed that happiness could be delivered in cardboard boxes.My name is Ria Sharma, 28, digital marketing professional by day and a compulsive shopper by... well, also by day, night, and every moment in between.It all started innocently. A dress here, a pair of earrings there. "Retail therapy," they called it. And I bought into it—literally.There’s a certain magic in opening a parcel. The gentle tear of the tape, the rustle of packaging paper, the first touch of a new fabric. It’s like a tiny birthday party, every single time.But over time, these birthday parties turned into a full-fledged festival that never ended.I had accounts on every shopping site known to humankind: Myntra, Amazon, Nykaa, Ajio, Flipkart... you name it. I had wishlists longer than my resume and discount alerts that popped up more frequently than messages from my friends.My mom often joked, “Ria, you’ll need a separate flat just for your dresses.”And I’d laugh. Because, come on, what was life without a little fun?That was until I received the dreaded message.“Your account balance is below ₹500.”Wait, what? That had to be a mistake. I had been earning well—decent salary, no big loans, and a small rent.I opened my banking app and stared at the transactions.Myntra. Flipkart. Amazon. H&M. Nykaa. Zudio. ZARA.All in red. Like blood. Each item small on price, but big in damage when they added up.That night, I sat in my room, surrounded by unopened parcels. Some still sealed, some with clothes that didn’t even fit me. I hadn’t returned them. I was always too lazy, too distracted, or too emotionally attached.I didn’t cry. Not yet. But something cracked inside me.---The next morning, I wore one of my “fancy but never-used” formal shirts and entered office with a resolve.“No shopping for a month,” I told myself.By lunchtime, I was already tempted. Myntra had sent a notification:“End of Season Sale – Up to 70% Off!”That was my weak spot. I tapped the notification and scrolled.But something had changed. I didn’t feel excited. I felt… guilty. Like I was cheating on myself.I closed the app. First win.But the universe wasn’t done testing me.In the evening, my colleague Priya walked in wearing this stunning beige trench coat.“OMG! You look amazing,” I blurted.“Thanks! Got it in the sale—just ₹1,499!”Of course, it was the sale. Of course, I wanted it.I smiled, complimented her, and walked back to my desk.I typed “beige trench coat” into Google.And then paused.I looked at the sticky note on my desk that I’d written that morning: “No shopping till May 15. You can do this.”I sighed and shut my laptop.---Three days into my no-shopping challenge, I realized something weird: I had so much time.Time that I used to waste browsing, now went into talking to mom, finishing work earlier, going on walks, watching the sunset.My wardrobe, previously my happy place, now felt like a museum. Full of artifacts bought in moments of impulse.I picked out pieces one by one. There were dresses I had never worn, shoes that hurt my feet but looked good in pictures, and makeup I didn’t even know how to use.It hit me hard: I wasn’t buying because I needed anything. I was buying to fill something inside me.Loneliness. Boredom. Insecurity.Retail therapy was just a pretty name for emotional avoidance.That evening, I opened a giant box marked “Occasion Wear.”Inside was a gorgeous lavender gown I had bought six months ago for “future weddings.”No wedding invite ever came.I put it on.Stared in the mirror.And cried.Not because I looked bad—but because I had been looking for validation in all the wrong places.---One week later, I did something I never thought I’d do.I made an Instagram post. No filters. No glam.Just me, sitting on the floor with my mountain of unused clothes behind me.Caption:“I’ve been addicted to shopping. Not because I loved clothes, but because I didn’t love myself enough. Starting today, I’m choosing healing over hoarding. #NoMoreRetailTherapy”The response was overwhelming.Friends messaged. Strangers DMed. Someone even said, “Thank you for saying what I couldn’t.”That night, I didn’t shop. I slept like a baby.---Over the next few weeks, I made small changes.I sold some of my clothes online. Donated many. Started a mini-blog on mindful shopping. Began journaling.I wasn’t perfect. I had relapses. A lip balm here, a cute top there.But I was aware. And awareness was power.I set a monthly shopping budget—₹2,000 max.I unsubscribed from all sale notifications. Turned off shopping app alerts.And every time I saw something tempting, I asked myself:“Do I want this, or do I need this?”If the answer wasn’t “need,” it stayed in the cart.Eventually, the cart was emptier, but my life felt fuller.---Two months into my journey, I bumped into Priya again—this time at a local flea market.“You’re glowing!” she said.I laughed, “It’s the glow of financial stability and self-love.”We both giggled.She picked up a scarf and asked, “Should I buy this?”I shrugged, “If you love it, and you’ll wear it, go ahead.”She smiled, “Look at you—Miss Mindful now!”I winked. “From Shopping Queen to Conscious Queen.”---Today, it’s been six months since I last impulse-bought anything.I’ve paid off a credit card. Started saving for a solo trip. And most importantly, I’ve learned that happiness isn’t wrapped in plastic and delivered by a courier guy.It’s in knowing yourself. Choosing wisely. Living lightly.And sometimes, yes, even in a really good pair of shoes—but only if they fit your feet and your budget. Buying things isn't bad. But buying them to fix feelings never works. You can’t shop your way out of loneliness or anxiety. Sometimes, the best thing you can give yourself is a pause, a breath, and a little love.
