It is said that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. So, here is my admission: I am shopaholic.

I wasn’t always this way. There was a time when my wardrobe consisted of summer camp t-shirts and a tragic variety of velour track suits. Fortunately for me, or rather unfortunately for my mother’s credit card, something changed in my senior year of high school. With all of the stress and anxiety that came with that fateful year, clothes became an output for my frustrations. When I was feeling overwhelmed or self-conscious, I would get in my car, drive to the mall and fade into the racks of clothing where my problems could not find me. It sounds ridiculous, but shopping became a form of therapy for me.

A true shopaholic knows the season’s sale schedule like the back of her hand. You have your semi-annual sales, holiday sales and occasionally a pop-up sale will come along and send your heart racing. However, these sales pale in comparison to the pinnacle of the shopping season: Black Friday.

While it may seem like an odd tradition to the average person, Black Friday is nothing short of a religious holiday for shopaholics. The emails start showing up in our inboxes weeks in advance and they go straight into our “important” folder for safe keeping. By the time that Thursday rolls around, we can hardly sit still though Thanksgiving dinner. This year, I was strumming with energy from the time I woke up to the time I collapsed into bed. At dinner, I found my fingers scraping the tablecloth in a card swiping motion. I stuffed my cheeks with turkey and mashed potatoes- a warrior’s meal- and prepared for the battle ahead.

When the clock struck eleven, me and four of my fellow shopaholics climbed into a mini-van and set out on our journey to the dead-lands of Black Friday: the outlet mall. The car pulsed with nervous energy as we drove through the parking lot, searching for a highly-coveted curbside parking spot. The night was saved by a man in a black hoodie who lead us to a beautiful, wide, mini-van-sized parking spot. Hoodie man, if you’re reading this, you are a true American hero.

My entire body quaked as we approached the battle scene before us: lines that coiled around the premises, determined fellow-shoppers who looked like they would slit our throats before letting us get that last peacoat and frightened employees who stood in the cold holding signs that read “the line starts here.” However, not even this was enough to send me running. If anything, the energy of the crowd fueled me.

I rifled through sale racks, dove into piles of pants and made my way through a jungle of cardigans. I was beginning to get discouraged. We had showed up late, and most things in my size had already been snatched by other plus-size girls. A disappointed lump formed in my throat. How could I go home with nothing on Black Friday and still call myself a shopaholic?

Then, as if God had cast a ray of heavenly light down upon it, I saw it: The turtleneck sweater dress I never knew I needed. My fingers ran across the fabric and twisted around the price tag. Quality clothing at bargain price- a true holiday miracle.

My card was swiped and inserted until I was sure I had run myself into debt. The ride home was rowdy as cries of victory rang out into the night. We had done it. The battle was over- at least, that is, until the morning.

Black Friday is not for the faint of heart. If you are not devoted to the occasion, it is better to stay at home and wait for cyber Monday. However, if you are having a rough time, whether in life, school or home, I encourage you to brave the lines and the madness. Shopping has a healing power that rivals any prescription, and Black Friday is the perfect occasion to release your frustrations without compromising your wallet. You may be surprised by how much fun you have. Who knows? You might have the heart of a true shopaholic.