Im in debt but cant stop shopping, says ALICE SNAPE. I had a credit card bill of £15,000. Then I discovered the hidden reason – and everything now makes sense

As I type this ­sentence, my thoughts are ­consumed by a Nobody’s Child dress.

I’m meant to be writing about the thing I love most: shopping. But I can’t concentrate. Writing about shopping isn’t enough – I need to be doing it.

For weeks, I’ve pictured myself wearing this dress at a fancy ­dinner I’ve been invited to. And there it was, my size back in stock. In a frenzy, I add it to my basket and check out.

I know the £63 price tag will nudge me over my overdraft limit. But I can’t stop myself.

I hold my breath, knowing the order might not go through owing to lack of funds in my account. When it does, I feel a heady rush, like ­taking a drag on a cigarette when you haven’t smoked in months.

It’s a feeling I’m well accustomed to. But it comes at a cost.

I’m now 42, and for the past two decades my all-consuming shopping habit has left me in near-­constant debt, taking a huge toll on my and my husband’s life. It impacts every choice we make – and all those we can’t because of the state of our finances.

A recent study found that UK adults spend an average £3,000 each year on clothing. There have been years I’ve spent at least double that.

For the past two decades, Alice Snape’s all-consuming shopping habit has left her e in near-constant debt, taking a huge toll on her and her husband’s life

I’m permanently in my overdraft. There have been multiple credit cards and loans of tens of thousands of pounds. For a beautiful few months last year I was in the black – for the first time in my adult life – and it felt wonderful.

Which makes my recent ­plummet back into the red all the more anxiety-inducing. There’s a constant gnawing at the back of my mind. Have I got enough money to cover that bill? My rent? The weekly shop?

I know you don’t pity me – why would you? You think I’m just a sad shopping addict.

And maybe you’re right. For years I thought the same thing. But then, in my late 30s, I found out there had been a hidden cause, one that had been influencing my behaviour all along.

Five years ago, I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). While many people think OCD only presents itself via extreme cleanliness, my therapist explained my desperate need to buy stuff had become a way to try to regulate my anxious mind.

And many people unknowingly have the condition. While an estimated 1.2 per cent of UK adults are thought to have OCD, only a small fraction have a diagnosis.

But you don’t need to have OCD to experience the seductive pull of a spot of ‘retail therapy’.

The feeling is familiar to most of us. The high of a new outfit, the promise that this is the garment that will change your life.

I’ve been known to leave the house feeling like an accomplished adult in a stylish outfit, only to feel utterly disgusting by the time I reach my destination. Perhaps I’m nervous about where I’m going.

Alice and her husband have a joint bank account, but she never uses it for her more guilt-ridden purchases

And so in moments of stress I fixate on the one thing I can change – my clothes. I’ve also rushed into Topshop to buy a whole new outfit en route somewhere, guiltily shoving my old clothes into my bag.

Therapist Jodie Cariss, the founder of Self Space, explains that in these moments my clothes and sense of self have become fused. ‘When the outfit feels wrong, you feel wrong,’ she says.

‘Clothes can hold so much meaning beyond the fabric – identity, safety, aspiration, ­control, even self-worth. When you have an obsessive or anxious mind, that meaning becomes supercharged.’

I know I’ve got a problem. And I’m working on it. But it’s not easy undoing years of conditioning. Shopping has always been one of my favourite hobbies.

But at university my shopping habit started to become pathological. Insecure and ­nervous, I thought what I wore could transform me into the ­person I wanted to be. And so I began to buy more clothes. And more, and more…

My outfits were a mask. People saw my put-together appearance – Kurt Geiger pointy flats, cropped jumper and leather jacket – as a sign I was OK.

In fact, I had started suffering from panic attacks. It was around this time my issues with money started – although back then it didn’t faze me. All students are skint, aren’t they? My student loan felt like ‘free’ money and suddenly I had an overdraft and credit card – ­literally thousands of pounds at my fingertips.

It got worse once I had graduated and moved to London. All of a sudden, in my mid-20s, I had a credit card bill of £15,000.

It began to impact on my life in tangible, depressing ways. I couldn’t afford a friend’s hen do and we fell out over it. I missed girls’ holidays that became ­legendary. And all for some clothes I no longer even own.

Despite managing to get herself in the black last year, Alice is now firmly in the red. And she’s not alone – a study found that people with OCD are almost six times as likely to be in problem debt than neurotypical people

Though my husband – whom I’ve been with for 14 years – and I have a joint account, I never use it for my more guilt-ridden ­purchases. I hide them away, feeding my habit by buying small things he might not notice – ­earrings, or a top that looks ­similar to another I own.

That said, he loves shopping as much as I do, albeit not as compulsively. We’d love to be the kind of couple who has an account for rainy-day savings rather than loans and overdrafts and ­constant disquiet.

We rent our flat and long to own one day but with our habits, home ownership seems like a far-off dream.

Whenever my ­mental health spirals the impulse to buy stuff kicks in. It got ­particularly bad during the ­pandemic. The parcels piled up as my bank balance depleted.

But when the lockdown eased, I couldn’t even leave the house. I’d check the windows and doors so many times I’d work myself into a crying mess and have to cancel. It was then that I finally sought treatment for the OCD I’d long suspected I had. Suddenly, my shopping habits made sense.

Shopping, Jodie explains, hits the reward centre of the brain, and offers the relief that comes with ‘imagining a future version of yourself who feels more put together, more certain, more right’.

All of us are conditioned in this way, though for people with obsessive personalities like me it can be particularly acute.

My OCD is also behind my need for ‘back-ups’. If I can, I purchase things in multiples. There are two pairs of identical shoes unopened in boxes under my bed. The third pair are the ones I wear. Jodie says this is my anxious brain trying to ­protect me from ‘what ifs’.

But I don’t want to end up in vast amounts of debt yet again.

Despite managing to get myself in the black last year, I’m now firmly in the red. I’m not alone – a study found that people with OCD are almost six times as likely to be in problem debt than neurotypical people.

Yet I have no choice but to cut back. I don’t trust myself with a credit card and my bank won’t let me extend my overdraft more than it already is.

I was ­prescribed a course of cognitive behavioural therapy after my diagnosis – which helped ­control my more obsessive thoughts and endless checking of windows but did little to curb my shopping addiction.

I’m learning the difference between what I want and what I need, resisting that urge to mindlessly scroll Depop when I’m feeling down. I want shopping to become a rare day of fun, not a compulsive habit that leaves each garment with a residual scent of guilt.

Next year, I’d like enough money to go on a proper holiday, something I’ve not been able to afford for a couple of years. My husband and I are both desperate for one.

But leopards will always ­struggle to change their spots. Shopping in another country is ­basically a cultural activity, isn’t it? I’m thinking about the ­souvenirs already…