I Deep-Cleaned My House and Accidentally Rebuilt My Entire Medicine Cabinet

It started with a trash bag.

Not a metaphorical trash bag — an actual, physical, 39-gallon contractor bag. The kind you use when you mean business. I had about four hours to myself — which is basically a miracle at this point in my life — and instead of doing literally anything relaxing, I started cleaning. Not tidying. Cleaning. The kind where you move the couch and genuinely question your life choices.

I don't know what got into me. Maybe it was the stress finally breaking through the surface. Maybe it was the three Yerba Maté drinks I'd had before noon. (Listen — I know. We'll get to that.) Maybe it was just the very Wyoming thing in me that says: if something's broken, fix it. If something's dirty, clean it. If something is accumulating silent damage in your life, don't look away.

I worked through the kitchen. The junk drawer. The pantry where old protein bars go to die. And then I got to the medicine cabinet.

And I stopped.

I just... stood there. Looking at it. And something in me that had been building for a while — a low-grade, background-level sense of this isn't right — finally cracked open into something louder.

Half-empty NyQuil. Two different bottles of ibuprofen with maybe twelve pills left each. Tums — the big Costco barrel, because apparently heartburn is a lifestyle now. Pepto-Bismol. DayQuil. Some knockoff Excedrin. Airborne. Ricola. TheraFlu packets from 2023. A box of generic antihistamines.

This was our family's first line of defense. This was the stuff we grabbed when we didn't feel good. And standing there with a trash bag in my hand, I realized: I had no idea what was actually in any of it.

Here's the context you need to understand why this hit me the way it did.

For the better part of a year, I'd been dealing with persistent heartburn. Not every day, but often enough that the Tums barrel felt non-negotiable. I'm also honest enough with myself to trace the timeline: stress, inconsistent sleep, food choices that swung between genuinely clean and genuinely terrible depending on the week, and a stimulant consumption pattern that I'd describe charitably as "enthusiastic."

My morning usually started with a Yerba Maté — Guayakí Enlighten Mint if I'm being specific, which has become almost meditative at this point. Fine. Then another one around 10. Sometimes an Alánis. The occasional Celsius on a hard afternoon. I'm not proud of the Celsius. I know what's in it. But I'm also not going to lie to you about my life.

No Red Bull. No Monster. I have some standards. But the cumulative picture wasn't exactly a wellness Instagram account.

Meanwhile my eating was a tale of two cities. I genuinely loved and cooked real food — but I was also capable of stress-eating like a man who's given up on himself entirely. The heartburn was the body keeping score. It was telling me something, and I kept answering it with Tums, which — as I was about to learn — was possibly making the whole situation worse.

So there I am. Trash bag in hand. Medicine cabinet open. And instead of just restocking — which is what I would have done six months ago — I grab my phone. Because at this point in my life, I don't consume anything without knowing what's in it. Or at least I try not to.

Within about twenty minutes of reading, I had genuinely unsettled myself.

Let's start with Tums, since that was my most-used item. Tums is calcium carbonate — basically chalk — that neutralizes stomach acid. Feels good. Fast. Done. But here's what nobody told me in the CVS aisle: heartburn is very often caused by too little stomach acid, not too much.

Your stomach needs acid to break down food, absorb nutrients, and kill bacteria. When acid is low, food doesn't digest properly. It ferments. It creates pressure. That pressure pushes what little acid is up there back up into the esophagus. You feel burning. You take Tums. You neutralize more acid. You've now made the underlying problem worse while getting temporary relief. Repeat until you've got a Costco barrel.

I am not a doctor. I'll say that many times in this piece. But this paradigm shift — that the symptom and the cure might be working against each other — broke something open in my brain. Because it's the exact same logic I apply to everything else in business, in relationships, in life: if the solution isn't working, maybe you have the problem wrong.

From Tums I went to NyQuil. And then I went to DayQuil. And then TheraFlu. And then I realized something that genuinely bothered me: they all contain acetaminophen. Which is the same active ingredient as Tylenol. Which I also had in the cabinet.

If you've ever taken NyQuil to sleep and then had a headache in the morning and reached for Tylenol, you may have accidentally double-dosed on acetaminophen. The maximum daily dose is 4,000mg, but many doctors recommend staying under 3,000mg. It's shockingly easy to cross that line when the same compound is hiding in four different products in your cabinet.

Acetaminophen overdose — including accidental overdose — is the leading cause of acute liver failure in the United States. 56,000 emergency room visits per year. Not from people trying to harm themselves. From people doing exactly what I was doing: grabbing multiple OTC products without checking the overlap.

Then I looked at the inactive ingredients. NyQuil has Red Dye #40. High fructose corn syrup. Acesulfame potassium — an artificial sweetener that some research links to gut microbiome disruption and neurological effects. Titanium dioxide, which is banned in the EU as a food additive.

This is the thing they sell you when you have a cold. This is the thing marketed to children.

I'm not trying to be dramatic. I'm trying to describe the sensation of someone who thought he was paying attention, realizing he wasn't paying enough attention.

Four hours turned into six. The house was cleaner. The medicine cabinet was now on the counter in a pile. I'd ordered a coffee (yes, in addition to the yerbas — I am who I am) and I was genuinely absorbed.

Here's the thing about rabbit holes: once you pull the first thread, the whole sweater starts to unravel. I went from NyQuil to NSAIDs. From NSAIDs to gut health. From gut health to the actual science of heartburn and stomach acid. From stomach acid to the microbiome. From the microbiome to how chronic NSAID use destroys the intestinal lining. From there to the concept of leaky gut. And then I was reading about herbal medicine, functional medicine, naturopathic medicine, and a phrase that would become a kind of north star for the day:

Now. I want to be real here. I'm not anti-medicine. I've seen what modern medicine can do. If I have a heart attack or break a leg or need surgery, I am sprinting to the emergency room and I am grateful it exists. Modern medicine is irreplaceable for acute, serious care. Full stop.

But for everyday ailments — a headache, a sore throat, heartburn, a cold, trouble sleeping, muscle soreness — the reflex to reach for the orange bottle without understanding what's in it or what it does to your body over time... that part needed rethinking.

And so I started making a list. What would I actually want in my medicine cabinet? What actually works? What's the evidence? Who makes clean versions of these things?

One of the first things I did was get my vocabulary straight. Because when you start reading about natural medicine, you'll encounter about seven different systems and they all kind of blur together if you're not careful. Let me save you the confusion.

Modern / Allopathic Medicine

What you grew up with. Pharmaceutical drugs, surgery, evidence-based interventions. Extraordinary for emergencies. Sometimes overkill — and sometimes genuinely harmful — for everyday ailments. The system itself isn't the problem. The reflexive, unexamined use of it for everything is.

Holistic / Integrative Medicine

Not a technique — a philosophy. Treat the whole person, find the root cause, combine what works from multiple systems. This is the mindset I was starting to adopt without having a word for it.

Naturopathic Medicine

A full medical system. Naturopathic doctors complete four-year doctoral programs, can order labs, and use herbal medicine, nutrition, and other natural therapies. Different from homeopathy — which is one narrow tool within naturopathy, not the same thing.

Functional Medicine

The modern, data-driven version of holistic medicine. Advanced lab testing. Root cause analysis. Looks at gut, hormones, genetics, sleep, stress. This is the world that aligns closest with the biohacking and longevity space I'd been hovering around for years.

Ayurveda & Traditional Chinese Medicine

Thousands of years old. Not woo. Many of the herbs used in these systems — turmeric, ashwagandha, ginger, reishi, astragalus — now have robust modern research supporting what traditional practitioners knew empirically. These aren't folk remedies. They're the original data set.

Because I promised you we'd come back to this, and because it's the most personal part of this whole thing. The heartburn had been my most immediate, ongoing, this-is-affecting-my-quality-of-life issue. And what I found changed how I approach it entirely.

The root cause framework for heartburn — once I stopped assuming it was acid overproduction — looked something like this for me:

• Stimulant load — multiple Yerbas, occasional Celsius, coffee. All of these relax the lower esophageal sphincter. That's the valve between your esophagus and stomach. When it relaxes, acid slips up.
• Stress — cortisol disrupts digestive enzyme production. Your gut is literally connected to your nervous system. When you're stressed, your body de-prioritizes digestion.
• Sleep disruption — poor sleep raises cortisol, which compounds the above.
• Food choices under stress — ultra-processed foods, fast eating, eating late.
• Chronic Tums use — possibly suppressing the signal while worsening the root cause.

So what did I actually start doing about it? Here's what I added to replace the Tums:

I also addressed the controllables: cutting the afternoon Celsius (mostly), not eating within two hours of bed, and — most embarrassingly simple — just slowing down when I eat. Turns out wolfing down food at your desk while answering emails doesn't give your digestive system the signal it needs to actually do its job.

Over the following few weeks, I rebuilt the whole thing. Not overnight — I didn't want to spend $800 at once, and I wanted to actually learn what each item was before I bought it. I went in tiers.

The Foundation — What Covers 80% of Common Ailments

• Raw Manuka Honey (UMF 10+ or MGO 250+) — sore throat, wound care, immune support, straight antibacterial. One of the most versatile things in the cabinet. Replaces Ricola, TheraFlu throat relief, and antibiotic ointment for minor wounds.
• Elderberry Syrup — genuinely well-studied antiviral. Multiple double-blind trials showing shorter cold and flu duration. I make my own now, which took all of 20 minutes to figure out. Or you can just buy it.
• Echinacea Tincture — most effective in the first 24 hours of a cold. Liquid tincture absorbs faster than capsules. Don't use it for more than 10-14 days continuously.

Supplements and Remedies

• Magnesium Glycinate — headache prevention, sleep quality, muscle relaxation, stress response. Magnesium deficiency is shockingly common. I take 300-400mg before bed now.
• Turmeric + Black Pepper — anti-inflammatory. Curcumin has been compared to NSAIDs in studies for pain and inflammation. Black pepper increases bioavailability by something like 2000%. This replaced my ibuprofen habit.
• Fresh Ginger — nausea, digestion, cold, pain. Blocks the same inflammatory pathways as ibuprofen. I keep a root in the fridge at all times.
• Peppermint Essential Oil — tension headaches. There are actual studies comparing topical peppermint to acetaminophen. Two drops diluted in a carrier oil, temples and forehead. Works.
• Aloe Vera Gel (pure) — burns, sunburn, skin irritation. I grow a plant now. It takes zero effort and it's there when you need it.
• Raw Apple Cider Vinegar — digestion, heartburn (as described above), immune support. Bragg with the mother.
• Zinc Lozenges — cold duration. Start within 24 hours of first symptoms. Zinc acetate or gluconate forms.
• Liposomal Vitamin C — immune support, antioxidant. Liposomal form absorbs far better than regular ascorbic acid.
• Multi-strain Refrigerated Probiotics — gut health, immunity, digestion. The refrigerated ones are meaningfully more potent.

The Extended Cabinet — Add Over Time

• White Willow Bark — nature's aspirin. The original. Salicin is the same precursor compound. Slower-acting, easier on the gut.
• Andrographis — one of the most well-studied herbs for cold and flu. Outperformed placebo.
• Quercetin — natural antihistamine and anti-inflammatory. I take this starting two to three weeks before allergy season.
• Arnica Gel — bruises, muscle soreness, sprains. Apply topically. Legitimately effective.
• Activated Charcoal — food poisoning, gas, bloating. Binds toxins. Don't take it within two hours of any medication because it'll absorb those too.
• Medicinal Mushrooms (Reishi, Lion's Mane, Shiitake blend) — immune modulation, energy, cognitive function. Host Defense by Paul Stamets is the most researched brand.
• Ashwagandha KSM-66 — adaptogen. Cortisol regulation, stress response, energy. Effects build over 4-6 weeks.
• Tart Cherry (Montmorency) — inflammation, muscle recovery, sleep. Contains cyanidin, a natural COX inhibitor comparable to NSAIDs in some studies.
• Calendula Salve — cuts, minor burns, eczema. Anti-inflammatory and antimicrobial, centuries of wound care use behind it.

I want to zoom out here, because this piece isn't really about herbal medicine. The herbal medicine is just what happened to be in front of me that Saturday. This is about something more foundational.

The Stoics had this concept: premeditatio malorum — the premeditation of evils. The idea being that you should think through what could go wrong, not to catastrophize, but to prepare. To not be caught off-guard by the predictable.

Getting a cold is predictable. Having heartburn after stress is predictable. Having a kid with a sore throat on a Sunday morning when the doctor's office is closed is predictable. And yet most of us are completely reactive when it happens — scrambling to CVS, grabbing something off the shelf without reading the label, treating our bodies with the same critical thinking we use to pick a rental car.

Marcus Aurelius wrote about the importance of tending to your own body as a part of your duty — not for vanity, but for capacity. You can't execute your obligations to your family, your business, your community, if your body is running on fumes and pharmaceutical patches. This is basic maintenance. Not optimization theater. Maintenance.

The heartburn wasn't the problem. The heartburn was the information. The problem was the accumulated lifestyle — the stress unmanaged, the sleep deprioritized, the stimulant load unexamined, the food used as emotional quick-fix. The heartburn was just the messenger. And I'd been shooting the messenger with calcium carbonate for a year.

Okay. I know I've been building to this.

Yerba Maté. Yes, I drink a lot of it. And yes, I was simultaneously building a natural medicine cabinet while continuing to drink something that absolutely contributes to my heartburn. I see the irony. I live inside the irony.

Here's my honest position: Yerba Maté is meaningfully cleaner than most energy drinks. It contains natural caffeine, theobromine (same as dark chocolate), and polyphenols. Guayakí uses organic, shade-grown yerba. The energy is smoother, the crash is lighter. Compared to Celsius — which contains synthetic caffeine and niacin that makes some people flush — it's a genuinely better choice.

But. Multiple yerbas a day still compounds the esophageal sphincter issue I described. The caffeine still taxes the adrenals. And the habit had become mindless rather than intentional, which is how every health behavior eventually goes wrong.

So where did I land? I kept the morning Yerba. I mostly dropped the afternoon one. I replaced the occasional Celsius with sparkling water or, when I actually needed a boost, black coffee without guilt. It's not perfect. It's progress. That's all I'm trying to do here.

The whole point of this isn't becoming a wellness monk. I have a family. I have a business to run. I have properties to manage. I don't have time to decoct herbs at dawn or spend $300 at a naturopath every month. That's not real life.

But what I can do — what I am doing — is making sure that when someone in my family doesn't feel well, our first reach isn't toward something we don't understand. That we have clean, effective options on hand. That my kids grow up in a house where the default isn't "grab whatever's in the orange bottle."

Here's how I think about building this cabinet practically for a family:

• Start with Tier 1 only — Manuka honey, elderberry, echinacea, ginger, magnesium, turmeric, aloe, peppermint oil, apple cider vinegar, zinc, vitamin C, probiotics. That's it. That covers probably 80% of what a family reaches for the medicine cabinet for.
• Quality matters more than quantity — One good tincture from Mountain Rose Herbs or Herb Pharm beats six cheap capsule bottles from a discount brand. The supplement industry is under-regulated. Source clean or don't bother.
• Learn the Quick Reference — Know what to reach for and when. The PDF version of this guide has a printed quick reference — I laminated mine and stuck it inside the cabinet door. Because at 2am with a sick kid, you don't want to be researching.
• Keep modern medicine for what it's designed for — Strep throat that isn't improving? Chest pain? High fever in an infant? Deep wound? Breathing difficulty? That's the ER, the urgent care, the pediatrician. No hesitation.

It's been a few months since that afternoon. The medicine cabinet looks completely different. The Tums barrel is gone. The NyQuil is gone. The ibuprofen refills I used to grab without thinking — gone. I still have basic first aid items. I still have a digital thermometer. I'm not living in a monastery.

But my heartburn is meaningfully better. Not perfect — I'm still a person under stress who drinks too much Yerba Maté. But better. And I understand why it's better, which matters more to me than just the result. Because if I understand the mechanism, I can maintain it.

My kids aren't going to grow up thinking that every discomfort has an orange-bottle solution. They're going to grow up in a house where we ask what a symptom is trying to tell us before we try to silence it. That feels like a meaningful inheritance.

And all of this started with a trash bag and a few hours alone and the specific kind of fed-up energy that occasionally produces something useful.

Wyoming will do that to you.

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