Over the past few weeks, I have watched crises and struggles unfold, not only in my news apps but in the lives of people I love. Though my own home is peaceful, this feels like a season of suffering. My heart breaks for friends and loved ones and for those I’ve never met. I haven’t felt much like blogging, especially about clothes.

Here are some of the things I did manage to do: cry, pray, sing, talk, listen, hug, exercise, sit around, stay up too late, sleep too late, play games, eat, not eat, read, work, think, draw, cry again, pray some more, and wait.

And I also managed to shop.

I have so much good fullness in my life–people I care about, pursuits I enjoy and find meaningful–but still I shopped.

I felt compelled to seek comfort through consumption, and for a few moments and hours, I found it.

While browsing racks of clothes, I felt peaceful and in control. I could focus or let my mind wander. I could accomplish the task of acquiring something. I could make decisions or not. I felt powerful and productive.

It’s a little embarrassing to admit this.

If there were a spectrum of healthy-to-unhealthy coping mechanisms, I could easily classify shopping in the neutral middle. I’m not going into massive debt, I’m not hurting myself or anyone else. I can justify it. But if I’m trying to live with less—and I am—I’m not sure I want shopping to remain my automatic response to difficult emotions. It doesn’t seem to line up anymore. It feels a little self-sabotaging.

On my most recent retail therapy excursion, I really didn’t have money to spend. I had already spent most of my month’s fun money on clothes (and you’ll note that even now the month is less than halfway done). While I was shuffling hangers, I took comfort in knowing the tags were still on my previous purchases. If I found something else I liked, I could always return the other things. I wish I didn’t find that so reassuring.

I enjoy shopping, and I don’t mind that I enjoy shopping. I like finding interesting, beautiful, unexpected things. Sometimes I find shopping inspires me and feeds my curiosity and imagination. But shopping for comfort does not inspire me. At best, it temporarily distracts me, delays the inevitable. And plenty of other (free) things can inspire and feed curiosity and imagination even better than buying things.

In the end, I didn’t buy any clothes on that outing. I went home and spent time with family and friends and dealt with the undercurrent of emotion in quiet company.

I don’t want to stop shopping completely. I do want to stop trying to buy off unpleasant emotions. In so many ways, I can’t afford that. It’s not about the action but about my motivation. If I’m shopping to fill a hole or meet a need (in my heart, not my closet), I am going to be left unsatisfied.