On the morning in question, I didn’t have time to pick up a newspaper or my cup of coffee before I got to the hospital. So, after checking in, and receiving a disturbing morning update, I took the central elevator up to the gift shop.
I grabbed a newspaper, then went over to the self-service cafeteria and poured myself a cup. With both hands full, I headed to the cash register to pay. Nobody was there. I looked around the gift shop. Wait. No one. Suddenly I felt anger: For my sister’s diagnosis. Given the inability of the hospital to cure her. In a long list of grievances that she had never fully expressed. And now in the gift shop. (All this anger despite how successfully I was treated in the same facility years ago.)
I didn’t see any security cameras, but at the time I didn’t care if I got caught. I walked out with my unpaid belongings (a $3 newspaper and a $2.50 cup of coffee) on display. I took the elevator back to my sister’s flat, handed her the paper, and drank my coffee. Yes, I know the word for this is “theft.”
He also knew the names of some of the most famous shoplifters of recent times. There was Bess Myerson, a former Miss America who in 1988 pleaded guilty to stealing $44 in jewelry, cosmetics and some other items. In 2011, Lindsay Lohan was accused of stealing a $2,500 necklace and was forced to take court-ordered shoplifting classes and complete a community service program. Y Winona Ryderwho stole $5,500 worth of designer items from Saks Fifth Avenue.
Each was ridiculed and shamed by the media. I did the same among my friends, never stopping to ask why these high-profile women (with means) would risk so much shoplifting.
However, I kept stealing from the gift shop for the second and third day. My account now totaled $16.50, which didn’t lessen my rage.
Two weeks later, still deeply upset about Julie’s health condition, I “forgot” about the $25 salad bowl I had placed on the bottom shelf of my grocery cart. I went through the self checkout without paying it; Sure, I had plausible deniability, but what was going on with me? A blizzard seemed to have taken over my brain, and the usual filters that kept me within the lines of good behavior (and law enforcement) were gone.
In each case, I felt a release: a wave of ecstasy followed by calm and a kind of numbness. For a few minutes, moments that I held back, I didn’t feel the pain of what losing my sister could mean.
I confided in some close friends. I told my oldest niece, then 25, thinking she might be experiencing some of the same frustrations. It turns out that she was channeling her worries into a much healthier endeavor: writing about them. So why were my own usual coping tools failing me? (I even had a therapist.)
Increasingly concerned about my behavior, I decided to talk to a close friend, a lawyer, and asked him what the penalty might be. The first thing he said was almost a challenge: “It’s not a felony unless you steal over $1,000 worth of stuff,” though he did point out that since I’m white, I had a lot less to worry about with the police or the courts than anyone else. who is black
“That I have to do?” I asked, looking for some free legal help. “I don’t think you need legal advice,” she said. “You need to talk to your psychotherapist.”
I did, and this is what he told me: “I think at this point it’s pretty clear what you don’t want to feel. … And I’m sure that’s related to a lot of things. Not just July.
I followed his advice to stop for a month to try to control my urge. During that period, I also did some research and discovered that I am far from alone. According to the National Association for the Prevention of Shoplifting, 1 in 11 people in the United States, or nearly 25 million people, rob stores each year. Men and women do it equally and 75 percent of us are adults. (It is a myth that children and adolescents are the habitual criminals).
In Psychotherapy Networker, Terrence Daryl Shulman, author and founder of the Shulman Center for Compulsive Theft, Spending and Hoarding, wrote: “Most people who resort to theft are actually ‘crying out for help.’ There is something wrong, wrong, unresolved, absent”.
Shulman detailed the emotional reasons people shoplift, noting that the top three are anger (“to try to make life fair”), grief (“to fill the void due to a loss” ) and depression (“to distract from sadness”).
But law enforcement, stores, and even mental health professionals rarely think about the underlying causes, the mental health ones, that drive thieves. That would be making excuses, although for many of us there is a compulsive, if not addictive, element to our behavior. Believe me, I could pay for both the papers and the coffee.
I wanted to better understand my compulsion and spoke with Adam Borland, a psychologist at the Cleveland Clinic Behavioral Health Center. He explained that “many people who shoplift experience a pleasurable surge of dopamine throughout their body, similar to other addictive behaviors, and seek to feel that pleasure again and again.” (He also pointed out that it’s different from those who steal out of financial need, financial greed, or even a medical condition like dementia or Alzheimer’s.)
Borland told me that treatment options may include cognitive behavioral talk therapy; psychotropic medications (such as Xanax, Ativan, Lexapro, and Celexa); Support groups; and even 12-step programs. But how do mental health professionals know when this is a problem for their patients? A typical mental health exam asks about alcohol, drugs, sex, and eating disorders, but rarely about shoplifting compulsions. Certainly no therapist had ever asked me.
Six months after I took the salad bowl, my sister had another setback. This time I quickly told my therapist about my feelings of sadness, grief, loss, and anger. I was also more explicit with my friends. “I am full of anxiety,” I told some. I hoped that by more honestly confronting my deepest feelings I could weaken them.
Two weeks later, however, I pocketed three tubes of MCT oil, touted as “brain fuel,” each priced at $1.49. As with the salad bowl, I didn’t consciously plan it. My initial logic was that since they were so small, I knew they would fall out of the shopping cart, so I had to put them in my pocket. However, as soon as I did, I knew I wouldn’t produce them upon checkout. And I didn’t.
This time I felt real shame for not being able to control myself. I thought of a friend who has a car “accident” every time she has a major emotional upset. I remembered friends who had tried to stifle painful feelings in other self-destructive ways: drinking too much, overeating, gambling, and sexual compulsion. My advice to them had always been: “Stop!” same as him TV therapist yelling the same thing to their patients.
I feel much more compassion for them now, I understand better why telling someone to “stop” is not the answer. Perhaps the best question is: “What’s wrong with you?”
I decided to call the hospital gift shop and both stores to make the restitution. A part of me was afraid that they would call 911 and arrest me, or just embarrass me.
I began each phone call with this opening, “I have something embarrassing to admit,” and, to my surprise, was greeted compassionately each time. “Thanks for letting me know,” the gift shop manager told me, appreciating my “honesty.” (Yes, I found it ironic). No one had a way to pay my debt so to make amends I made a donation to the hospital which covered all my stolen items and more.
I wish I felt more compassion for myself, but even after repaying my steals, I still feel ashamed and embarrassed. Recently, after my sister’s cancer marker jumped up again, I felt the same emotional blizzard and familiar need to erase my feelings. This time, I left my shopping cart standing in the market aisle and ran straight to the exit, empty-handed, and then followed my niece’s tonic and started writing about my anxieties.
