The emotional cost of Shopping Guilt

This is for the woman who has ever carried a shopping bag home with one hand and guilt in the other.

December 12, 2025
8:38 PM, when relearning money stirred quietly

I’ve always loved shopping. Not just the buying, but the imagining. The looking. The quiet thrill that rises when something feels like it’s calling your name.

Somewhere in that becoming, I fell in love with sparkle.

Glitter eye shadow. Rhinestone shoes. Gloss that catches the light. If it shines, it finds me. I think it’s because sparkle feels like a physical manifestation of everything shifting inside me: Freer, louder, softer, more me.

So when a good paycheck landed in my account, I did what many women in their becoming era do. I updated my wardrobe.

But impulse buying doesn’t wait for planned moments. It sneaks in on ordinary afternoons, when you’re not looking for it at all.

That day, I wasn’t planning to shop. In fact, I was trying not to. A quiet cloud of guilt had already started following me around. But a friend needed new jeans, and I knew the perfect store. I told myself I was just there to help. Just a second opinion.

The shop was buzzing with women everywhere and attendants moving with purpose. I sat down while my friend scrolled frantically through TikTok, trying to find the exact pair she’d seen online.

And then my eyes wandered.

A section of bedazzled jeans. Not just sparkly, but glittering. The kind of shine that doesn’t whisper your name. It yells it.

I watched as another woman picked up a pair and disappeared into the fitting room. She didn’t come out wearing them, but she walked straight to the checkout counter holding those jeans, along with several others. Somehow, her decision sealed something inside me.

My friend tugged me back to reality, disappointed that her size wasn’t available and ready to leave. But I wasn’t ready. Something in me was still standing in front of those rhinestone jeans.

Was it desire? Influence? Fear of missing out? Or the sparkle-loving version of me whispering, go on… just try. Whatever it was, it was loud. I asked the attendant for my size. The moment I pulled them on and caught my reflection, I knew. No hesitation, no mental budgeting and no debate. They felt like they’d been waiting for me.

By the time the jeans were folded into a bag, the decision was already made.

The excitement stayed behind at the counter.
The guilt followed me out.
It didn’t ask why I bought them. It asked why I wanted them so badly.

Was it the sparkle?
The stranger’s influence?
The joy of seeing a version of myself I’m still learning to know?

Impulse buying isn’t really about the item. It’s about identity. Emotion. Timing. Desire. Sometimes, it’s about the hunger to feel closer to the woman you’re becoming. I don’t regret the jeans. I love them, shine in them and feel like myself in them. But I’m learning to sit with the full story of my choices: the wanting, the pull, the impulse, the joy, and yes, the guilt.

It felt like memory. Like seasons when money was uncertain and safety meant holding tight. Like a time when spending on myself felt irresponsible, even dangerous. I learned early that survival came first, and pleasure could wait.

Even when money eventually comes in, fear doesn’t always leave. It just changes shape. I see now how deeply survival mode shaped the way I moved through life. How cautious I became, how often I denied myself things that might have helped me grow. Not just clothes, but opportunities. Investments. Small chances that required trust instead of fear.

I’m not saying a pair of jeans could have changed my life. But I can see now how often I walked away from moments that asked me to believe there was more ahead.

When life gets heavy, we all reach for something to cope. For some, it’s shopping. For others, it’s food, scrolling, entertainment, or anything that gives the mind a moment of relief. It happens to everyone. But guilt sits heavier when you’ve known what it feels like to not have enough.

I don’t advocate impulse buying. But I also don’t believe in withholding fulfilment from yourself in the name of discipline. Education. Health. Appearance. Skills. Small joys. These are not frivolous. They are part of building a life.

Lately, I’ve been learning to slow down the space between wanting and buying, not to say don’t, but to ask: what is this trying to give me right now? Comfort? Confidence? Escape? When I name the need, the impulse softens.

Before I buy something, I imagine the future version of myself using it. If she feels aligned, confident, or at ease, I let myself trust that. I choose one area of my life to nurture each season and I allow my money to go there without hostility.

You cannot save your way out of scarcity, but you can invest your way out of it. And sometimes, that investment begins with permission. With letting yourself enjoy what you worked for. With trusting that softness can exist alongside responsibility. Redefining yourself isn’t about what you buy. It’s about understanding why you buy it and who you’re becoming in the process.

I’m still learning how to spend with kindness. How to trust myself with money. How to enjoy what I buy without punishment. I’m learning that a gentle relationship with spending isn’t built through shame or strict rules, but through awareness, compassion, and patience.

Maybe this was never a story about jeans at all.
Maybe it was about learning that growth can sparkle too.

Until my next letter,
Hulda Cecilia
Her Sunset Letters ✨