I tossed my phone onto the bed, the screen still glowing from the call. My younger sister had just been checking in, but the conversation turned sharp fast: I never call her back, and when I do, I sound distracted. She wasn’t wrong, which only made it worse.
Outside, it was 30 degrees—still freezing, even though it was the first week of April. The cold made everything feel heavier. That familiar flicker of anxiety stirred in my chest, then surged—tight and sudden, like a wave crashing over me. Without thinking, I reached for my phone again. Not to apologize, but to open TikTok Shop.
Within seconds, I was hypnotized by a carousel of pastel gadgets and serotonin-spiking junk: the new Rhode lip gloss in a glossy pink, a knockoff red card holder with fake crocodile skin, a mini desk vacuum shaped like a ladybug. Ten minutes later, I’d spent $150 on things I didn’t need, didn’t want, and probably wouldn’t use.
I haven’t always been like this. In the 26 years I’ve spent managing anxiety, I’ve tried almost everything—journaling, yoga, meditation, running, therapy. Sometimes those things helped. Sometimes they didn’t. Eventually, the old habits crept back in. Somewhere along the way, shopping became my go-to. I’d grab my phone like it was a life raft, scrolling through TikTok Shop or Amazon, chasing that quick hit of dopamine to pull me out of my head.
There’s something uniquely satisfying about the instant gratification of an Amazon package arriving at my door or the tantalizing promise of a TikTok influencer’s latest product recommendation. It’s like a temporary reprieve from whatever is causing the stress I may feel.
But unfortunately, that quick fix has a dark side. As the purchases pile up, often without me even realizing what I’ve bought, I’m left with credit card bills that linger far longer than the fleeting high of clicking “purchase.” And as much as I tell myself I’ll return things, I never do. Instead, I’m left with more stuff I didn’t need, and my anxiety…well, it’s still there, waiting for the next moment to strike.
Compulsive shopping is more than just a bad habit. It’s a disorder that often arises from deeper psychological needs, particularly stress and anxiety. The American Psychological Association links compulsive shopping to emotional distress, with individuals using it as a way to momentarily escape difficult feelings or circumstances.
This pattern of impulsive buying is often triggered by anxiety or depression, where the act of shopping provides a temporary distraction from whatever is causing the stress. For me, my anxiety usually stems from uncertainty. And right now, the state of the world feels incredibly uncertain.
With the looming threat of a recession in the United States, the economic climate is uneasy at best. Global tariffs put into place by the Trump administration have shifted trade policies in ways that are already driving up prices. Every economic tremor adds to the sense of instability, leaving me grasping for control in ways that, in a screwed-up paradox, leads me to my credit card.
In this wobbly economy, my family and friends have banded together to get me to stop. I don’t have as much leeway to spend, and the price of goods in general (even the cheap stuff on TikTok Shop and Amazon) are going up.
But it’s so hard, mainly because compulsive shopping disorder is categorized as a behavioral addiction. Experts say this addiction can create a vicious cycle of emotional highs and financial lows. I’ve felt it firsthand. It’s the dopamine hit when you click “Buy Now” on that ridiculously cheap gadget you’re convinced will change your life, only to realize later that it’s just another item to add to your growing pile of stuff you don’t need.
But I think that’s another reason why it’s so hard to stop—it’s so easy to buy things nowadays. With my credit card already linked into my favorite shops, the ease of a purchase and the immediate relief I feel after are intoxicating. The items are a balm: quick, temporary, and satisfying.
In the face of a recession, this behavior actually becomes even more ingrained in society. During the last recession in 2008, as anxiety about job security and economic stability increased, people turned to online shopping as a form of comfort, similar to what I’m doing now. In fact, during tough economic times, more people find themselves buying more than they can afford to feel in control. While the global economy suffered, retailers capitalized on this by offering frequent sales, enticing discounts, and “limited-time offers” that preyed on consumers’ anxieties. Yeah, f-d up.
As we get closer to another recession, it feels like déjà vu. With tariffs driving prices up, brands are all over TikTok feeds with “limited-time” deals, urging us to buy now before it’s too late. It’s like the pressure’s on to grab what you can, fast. And that pressure just feeds into the cycle of emotional buying, which, ironically, only makes the anxiety we’re trying to escape worse. Experts over at Time are even predicting another wave of “panic buying,” where people rush to stock up on cheap stuff, hoping it’ll help them feel more in control—even if it’s stuff they don’t need and won’t fix the bigger issue at hand.
While the economy spirals, I realize my need to keep purchasing only feeds the very anxiety that makes me feel so powerless. I buy because it’s quick. I buy because it’s easier than facing the deeper discomfort of uncertainty or stress. But at what cost?
I know they say that acknowledging the problem is the first step, so here I am. The world’s always going to be a bit uncertain, and there’s no getting around that, but I do have the power to change how I react to it. It’s about facing the anxiety head-on, finding healthier ways to cope, and realizing that true control doesn’t come from buying more— it comes from sitting in the anxiety instead of drowning it in packages.