I have such a torrid past when it comes to my relationship with money. My feelings towards money have bounced back and forth between lack of respect, utter fear, complete adoration, and apathy. I’ve hoarded it, spent it, ignored it, worried about it, obsessed about it, and feared having it (or not having it). Money caused way, way too much drama in my life for many years.

Growing up, I never really was a saver. I had a piggy bank that never got all the way full. I sure did envy and respect friends who could save up for coveted things, though I never believed I could do the same thing myself. A high school job at a department store that required a credit card in order to obtain an employee discount guaranteed my entry into the world of debt. College came, and with it living on my own and making more of my own choices. I’m sad to say that much of my extra spending money during those four years went towards things like veggie burgers, PopTarts, coffee drinks, CDs, concert and movie tickets.

I married Ken and was in utter bliss…for many reasons, of course, but one of them this: I was marrying a chemical engineer! His start-out salary was outstanding….and the ladder only had one way to go: Up. The first six months we were married, I happily spent the money he brought home. After all, our apartment needed interior decoration and our table needed decadent meals on it every evening.

We bought our first house ten months later — a modest, starter home that needed minimal fix-ups. Things were perfect. That is…until, just six months later, we were forced to move two hours away from family and friends due to a plant closure and job relocation.

I was distraught. No…I was crushed. It wasn’t what we wanted to do, but it was what we felt we had to do. A job away from “home” was better in our eyes than no job at all, so we moved away. We bought a brand new home this time, and I found a job that paid well.

But our house was just a shell. It was empty. It needed something. What did it need? More furniture? More electronic gadgets? More clothes in my closet? Paycheck after paycheck went to obtaining these fixtures…yet the void within me was never filled. I felt no guilt purchasing whatever my heart desired. After all, we had no children yet. We both had secure jobs. We were bored. And it made me….happy.

I had fallen head over heels in to the trap of “retail therapy.” What my job, my husband, my house, my health, my wardrobe couldn’t give me, I tried to write a check for, tried to charge to a plastic card.

I remember one particularly bad day at work that left me distraught and frustrated. Instead of going straight home, my car seemed to drive itself right over to the shopping mall nearest my workplace. Within moments I was standing in a glossy aisle, staring straight at an endcap display of brand new handbags put out for spring. White. Linen. Leather straps. Houndstooth interior. Gorgeous. And only $79.50.

“I have never, ever bought something right off of a season’s new line before. It’s so pretty. It’s so NEW. It looks like it was made for me. It smells good. It’s shiny. And after all….I did have a horrible day. This will be my salve, the little gift that makes it all better.”

And with that justification held as tightly in my grasp as the handles of the Macy’s shopping bag, I walked out of that store that night with a new handbag, wondering why I didn’t feel better. Not in the slightest.

Stay tuned for Part II….