The supermarket made me feel poorer than my bank account actually says I am

Dear Delyara, I don’t know how else to explain it. It wasn’t only the prices. It was the whole feeling of moving through the aisles with constant calculation in my head. Put that back. Get the smaller one. We can do without this. Wait until next week for that. Don’t be silly. That’s not essential. No, they don’t need the nicer cereal. No, I don’t need the better shampoo. No, no, no. By the time I reached the checkout, I felt reduced. Not irresponsible. Not incapable. Reduced. As if the whole trip had trained my brain to think in deprivation before I’d even unloaded the bags from the trolley. I came home irritated in a way my family could feel but didn’t deserve. It amazes me how money can change the emotional atmosphere of a house before anything has actually gone wrong. Sometimes the strain begins in aisle four.