This book isn’t just about recovering from a shopping addiction. It’s about uncovering the reasons why we cling to things, why we buy into the lie that “more” will make us whole. It’s about my journey of stripping back the layers, sometimes painfully, of what I thought defined me, and finding a way to love the person underneath it all.

The irony is brutal. School will teach teenagers advanced philosophy, statistics, and literary theory, but not how compound interest can either build your future or quietly eat it alive.

My dad used to say something to me all the time when I was growing up: “Why do you want to wear someone else’s name on your shirt? You should put your own name on it.”

As a kid, I thought he just didn’t understand fashion. I would roll my eyes, desperate for the same branded hoodies, sneakers, and logos everyone else seemed to worship. I wanted the labels because the labels meant something. They meant you belonged. They meant you were cool enough, wealthy enough, accepted enough. At least that’s what I believed back then.

What I didn’t understand as a child was the depth of what he was actually trying to teach me.