Have you ever walked into Target for one thing and walked out with $300 worth of “necessities”? Do you justify every Amazon order by saying, “I deserve this”? Do you tell yourself you’re saving money because something was 40% off — even though you didn’t need it in the first place?
Yeah… same.
Hi, my name is Christy, and I’m a recovering shopaholic — emphasis on recovering, because the struggle between my wallet and my wardrobe is still a full-on WWE cage match.
As a kid, my parents worked opposite shifts — my mom hustled nights as a waitress, and my dad worked days as a mechanic at a golf course. We rarely had time together, so when I did see them, their love language came in the form of gifts. Toys, treats, new clothes — you name it. I wasn’t spoiled… I was just emotionally gifted.
Looking back, that’s where my love for shopping started — it wasn’t just about stuff, it was about feeling seen, loved, and special. Every new outfit was a hug in fabric form.
Fast forward to adulthood, and I became that girl who couldn’t leave a store without buying something. If I didn’t find anything, I’d throw a mini tantrum like a three-year-old denied candy. Except the three-year-old had better credit. I was nineteen years old acting like the mall owed me emotional closure. I didn’t need therapy; I needed a clearance rack.
Now, here’s the plot twist: despite my shopping addiction, I was actually really good with money. My mom drilled into me early the holy trinity of financial wisdom — tithe, save, and don’t bounce a check. So even during my shopaholic phase, every paycheck followed a sacred order: ten percent to God (because I’m not trying to get cursed over a Gucci bag), bills, savings, then retail therapy.
And honestly? That system still works.
My husband Stephen once said, “We’ve saved more money since I got locked up than we ever did before.” And I was like, “Of course, babe. You married a Korean — we’re the Jewish accountants of Asia!”
Now don’t get me wrong, being frugal has its perks… but I took it to another level. When Stephen and I used to go out to eat, I’d say, “Let’s just get one drink and share the refill cup. Unlimited refills, baby!” He’d stare at me like, “You’re really saving 75 cents right now?” You bet your sweet discount I was.
Even now, I’m still the kind of woman who raids hotel supplies like it’s a survival mission. I haven’t bought toilet paper since my husband went to prison. So if you come over and use my bathroom — congratulations, you’re wiping your ass with Hilton luxury.
And let’s not forget my water bill hack — I shower at the gym downstairs. You think I’m working out? Nope. I’m saving money while getting free conditioner.
Then there’s Stephen — my polar opposite. The man gives like he’s Oprah. “You get dinner! You get a drink! You get leftovers!” He loves feeding people, hosting dinners, and making sure everyone leaves with a full belly and a Tupperware to-go bag. I used to say, “If you hang out with Stephen, you’ll gain weight and a new appreciation for five-star cuisine.”
And it’s true — all our assistants left with thicker thighs and happier hearts. Being married to him taught me something huge: I was living with a scarcity mindset. Always saving, always withholding, always afraid there wouldn’t be enough. Stephen lived with an abundance mindset. He believed the more you give, the more comes back to you — in food, love, and blessings.
Slowly, I started loosening up. I stopped counting every penny like it was on death row and started realizing that generosity creates its own kind of wealth.
Now I live in this beautiful tension between boujee and budget-conscious. Yes, you’ll catch me shopping at Louis Vuitton or Prada — but what you don’t see is my secret envelope system. Every week, I stash a little cash into an envelope labeled “fun money.” That way, when I want to splurge, I use that envelope.
It’s guilt-free shopping. My bills are paid, my tithe is given, and my savings are safe. So when I walk into a store, I can say, “Yes, I’ll take that bag — Jesus already approved the budget.”
There’s something hilarious about growing up middle class but acting boujee. Like, I’ll buy a $1,200 purse but hesitate to pay $4.99 for extra guac. I’ll say, “That’s robbery!” as I clutch my Louis Vuitton. Or when the cashier asks if I want to donate $1 to hungry children, and I’m like, “Not today, I just tithed.” That’s the duality of womanhood — spiritual and slightly stingy.
But honestly? I’ve learned to laugh at it. I used to feel shame for my frugality, then guilt for my indulgence, until I realized: both come from the same desire — to feel secure, loved, and in control.
Shopping isn’t just about buying things. It’s about how it makes us feel. Beautiful. Worthy. Seen. Desired. When I was a little girl, getting gifts meant love. As an adult, it became a substitute for emotional comfort. But now I’ve learned something deeper — true abundance isn’t in what you buy, it’s in what you believe.
When I finally understood that my value wasn’t tied to what I owned, I found peace. Whether I’m rocking a designer dress or a clearance rack steal, my confidence doesn’t come from the label — it comes from me.
Money and shopping will always be a dance — sometimes we lead, sometimes we trip over our own heels. But here’s the truth I’ve learned (and still remind myself of every time I walk into a sale): you can have nice things without letting things have you. You can be generous without going broke. You can love shopping and still love saving.
At the end of the day, the goal isn’t to be dripping in designer — it’s to be dripping in peace.” Because true wealth isn’t what’s in your wallet… it’s in the confidence of knowing you are valued, loved and accepted no matter what designer outfit you have or are wearing.
And that, my friends, looks good with everything.
So yes — I still shop. I still love beautiful things. But now I know the most beautiful thing I can wear is confidence in who I am in Christ.
Whether you love me or love to hate me, you are still my lovers.
Don’t forget Jesus loves you, and so do I.