How I Finally Stopped Unbuttoning My Jeans at My Own Sunday Dinner Table
After nine remedies from every auntie, herbalist, and MLM rep in my group chat — the one thing that actually worked.
At the table where my grandmother used to write out remedies in her own hand. I finally stopped needing most of them.
I spent most of my forty-third year quietly unbuttoning my jeans under the tablecloth at Sunday dinner. Nobody saw. But my auntie knew. And at forty-four, sitting at the table my grandmother used to set — still mad at my own stomach — I'd had enough.
It wasn't that I hadn't tried. I'd tried everything. By the time I sat down and did the math, I'd spent somewhere north of eighteen hundred dollars in a year and a half on gut remedies, most of them picked up at my own kitchen table from women I love.
I.What I tried first
Grandma's ginger-and-honey tea came first, because it always comes first. Soothing, warm, what every woman in my family reaches for when something's off. It never actually fixed anything, but it was never really supposed to — it was what you drank while you waited for the thing to pass. I didn't want to wait anymore.
My mama started mailing me little brown paper bags from the herb shop on Fulton Street, her handwriting on the front. Three different probiotics from the Black-owned wellness shop on Edgewood, the one my cousin swears by. An apple-cider-vinegar shot every morning for eight weeks, which taught me that apple cider vinegar is not a drink. A hundred-and-forty-dollar detox kit my cousin wouldn't stop pushing in our group text — which I eventually ordered just to make her stop. A ninety-five-dollar herbal supplement I bought at a church function from a woman I genuinely like, which made me feel guilty to throw away. I cut dairy for a month. I cut gluten for two weeks. I ordered a sea-moss smoothie subscription from an Instagram page that claimed a woman in it was a doctor.
By the time I added up the receipts, it was eighteen hundred and forty-seven dollars over eighteen months. I'd paid for almost every remedy in the African, African American, and Caribbean herbal traditions, and I was still unbuttoning my jeans at Sunday dinner.
II.The baby shower that changed things
My sister-in-law mentioned it at a baby shower in July. Our mutual cousin's, at a house in Stone Mountain with the AC losing its fight. She noticed I'd been sitting out the cheese tray I would normally have demolished, and she leaned over and said, real casual: "Try what I drink in the morning. It's a tea thing. It's not a big deal, it just works."
She wasn't selling me anything. She wasn't an affiliate. She just said it the way she might mention a new moisturizer. That's why I actually listened.
I almost didn't order it. I'd been burned too many times by "a tea thing" and "a gummy thing" and whatever else had shown up in the group text that month. But two weeks later I had a bad stretch — three nights in a row changing into an oversized tee before dessert at my own house — and I thought, fine. One more.
III.Ingredients my grandmother would recognize
I will admit I did not expect to recognize anything on the label. I had been reading labels for a year. Most of them were a column of things I couldn't pronounce followed by the phrase "proprietary blend," which every Black woman learns to read as "we don't have to tell you."
This one was a short list, and most of it was already on my grandmother's shelf. Organic green tea. Chamomile. Nettle. Lemon verbena. And licorice root — the same herb my mama had been mailing me in the brown paper bag for two years, except portioned so you didn't have to guess.
No mystery chemicals. No fourteen-day reset. No kit to commit to. Just tea. Steep it, drink it, get on with your morning. I'd been drinking tea my whole life. I knew how to drink tea.
IV.The thing I ordered (yes, the name)
It's called Poopy Time. I know. When the box landed on my porch I tried to hide it from my teenager, who took a photo of it anyway and texted it to her whole group chat by dinner. The brand has a sense of humor about what it is — and I ended up respecting that more than I respected the clinical-looking supplements that had overpromised at me for a year.
I ordered the Tea+ Bundle — two bags of their Debloat & Detox tea, and they were throwing in a third bag plus two bottles of their gummies. For what I'd been dropping on probiotics and ACV in a single month, it was the easiest call I'd made in a year and a half.
V.Week by week
I was skeptical making my first cup. By the first afternoon, I was flat. Not "a little better" — actually flat, in a way I hadn't been in two years. By day three I'd stopped bracing for four p.m. By the end of the first week, I'd stopped doing the math before every meal.
By week three I was wearing the jeans I'd put in the "maybe next summer" drawer. By week six I sat down at my own Sunday dinner, in fitted jeans, and forgot to be angry at my stomach. I realized it about halfway through my mama's macaroni and cheese — I hadn't unbuttoned anything. Hadn't thought about unbuttoning anything. That's a thing that sounds small. If you've lived what I've lived, you know it isn't.
Nothing extreme. Just consistent relief that tastes good, and actually fits into my routine.
I finally feel lighter, less bloated, and normal again without stressing about my stomach.
Bloating disappeared by afternoon, digestion feels easier, and I have way more energy.
Source: poopytimetea.com
VI.If you want to try it yourself
The bundle I got is the one they're discounting right now — sixty-six percent off, with a few extras they weren't throwing in when I first ordered (gummies and express shipping). It ships free, it's backed by a sixty-day money-back guarantee, and if it doesn't work for you, you send it back. That was honestly what got me to click order the first time.
3rd Bag Tea
Debloat Gummies
Fiber Gummies
Express Ship
-
2 Bags of Detox Tea
$135$45.99 -
FREE3rd Bag of Tea
$25 -
FREEDebloat Gummies
$30 -
FREEFiber Flush Gummies
$30 -
FREEExpress US Shipping
$10
Source: poopytimetea.com
VII.Why I finally hit 'order'
I almost didn't. I'd been burned too many times by too many women I love. A few things got me over it:
- The guarantee is sixty days. Long enough to see if it works on a real body in a real month — not the fourteen-day return window most of this industry tries to get away with.
- The ingredients are herbs I could pronounce. Green tea, chamomile, licorice root, nettle, lemon verbena. My grandmother would have recognized every one.
- It ships free, from the US. My box was on the porch in three days. Not three weeks. Not "we'll let you know when it leaves the warehouse."
- It tastes like actual tea. Warm, a little earthy, slightly sweet. A cup I actually look forward to in the morning — which is something I could not say about any capsule, gummy, powder, or "shot" I'd bought in the eighteen months before.
None of these alone would've convinced me. All four together did.
VIII.One last thing, before I sign off
I tried nine things before this bundle. Grandma's ginger. Mama's paper-bag herbs from Fulton. Probiotics from the shop on Edgewood. Apple cider vinegar. Two different detox kits. A sea-moss subscription a fake-doctor on Instagram sold me. A ninety-five-dollar bottle from a church function I felt too guilty to throw away. I've spent almost two thousand dollars on women-I-love's remedies and strangers' schemes.
This is the one that stuck. Six months in, it's still what's on my dining table in the morning. If you've been quietly unbuttoning your jeans under the tablecloth at your own family's dinner the way I used to, this is the one I'd point you at. Worst case, you send it back in sixty days. Best case, you stop doing the math before dinner at all.
— Imani