My husband cleaned up his gut — then ate an entire tub of hummus and set off the house alarm with his farts. AITA for locking the dairy and grounding him from grocery shopping?

My 40-year-old husband decided to "clean up his gut," went on a bland-food kick, then was diagnosed with IBS and lactose intolerance — and immediately proceeded to binge on everything he was told to avoid. I removed dairy from the house and restricted his solo grocery runs to keep the peace (and the oxygen levels). Now our home smells like war and the dog refuses to sleep in our room.

He started Googling “gut health” and ate three days of boiled vegetables, brown rice, and sad tofu, then announced his insides were "gentrifying" — immediately followed by a symphony of gastrointestinal theatrics that set off the carbon monoxide alarm and cleared the bedroom. Panicked, I waited for an actual diagnosis; after tests, a gastroenterologist confirmed IBS, lactose intolerance, and multiple food sensitivities. Instead of easing into a new diet, he decided "moderation" was optional and ate a giant spread of hummus, watermelon, and Brussels sprouts in one sitting. That night the house acoustics changed forever.

I tried to support his "gut reset," went to appointments with him, and then had to become the food police — I removed all dairy from the house and banned unsupervised grocery trips after he ate prohibited foods and swore probiotics cancel dairy, and now our house is traumatized.

The timeline was quick: three days of the bland "cleanse," an alarm-triggering nocturnal event, a visit to the gastroenterologist, and a formal diagnosis of IBS with lactose intolerance. I expected some caution afterward. Instead he binged forbidden foods — an entire tub of hummus, half a watermelon, and multiple servings of Brussels sprouts — then argued that probiotics made dairy okay. After the 2am yogurt and shredded-cheddar binge I banned dairy from the house, removed unsupervised grocery privileges, and instituted a tofu-only rule unless I was present.

"My insides feel like they're gentrifying."

The consequences were immediate and absurd: the dog refuses to sleep in our room, I open windows like I'm aerating a compost heap, and Alexa asked if we wanted emergency services. He played the "I might have a twisted colon" card and then treated the diagnosis like a challenge rather than a constraint. I tried to balance empathy with boundaries — I want him to heal, but I also want my home to be habitable.

"The probiotics cancel the dairy."

Now: dairy-free house, grocery runs supervised, and a sanctioned list of "watch-me-eat" foods. He sulks, I enforce the rules, and the dog sleeps downstairs. I’m doing my best to be supportive — accompanying him to appointments, researching safe recipes, and learning which symptoms mean a call to the doc — but I also drew a firm line when his actions were actively harmful to his health (and my nose).

🏠 The Aftermath

Practically: the house is dairy-free, he’s been grounded from shopping alone, and I control purchases that historically led to midnight dairy raids. The dog sleeps elsewhere, windows are often open, and we've had to laugh about it to avoid crying. Medically: he has follow-up plans with GI and is trying elimination diets. Emotionally: he feels infantilized; I feel exhausted but justified — boundaries were necessary after repeated risky behavior.

Consequences include fewer flareups when he sticks to the plan, but more tension on shopping days and occasional backslides (yogurt at 2am is a recurring theme). Socially, dinner invites have changed — friends now ask what they'll be allowed to bring — and our bedroom is temporarily a no-go zone for the dog.

"I’ve removed all dairy from the house and he’s grounded from unsupervised grocery shopping."

I’m relieved he finally has answers for his gut issues, but I’m also frustrated that a medical diagnosis didn’t immediately translate into safe behavior. The line I drew was about protecting both of us — his health and my living space — and it’s created short-term peace at the cost of some marital friction.

💭 Emotional Reflection

This isn't just jokey domestic warfare — it's a real medical and relational issue wrapped in absurdity. On one hand, IBS and lactose intolerance are legitimate and require patience, education, and careful meal planning. On the other hand, repeatedly ignoring medical advice and then defending it with pseudo-science ("probiotics cancel dairy") shows a lack of accountability that justifies firm boundaries.

Reasonable people can sympathize with his discomfort while still expecting respectful behavior: communicating cravings, asking for support rather than defying rules, and working with you on meal planning would go a long way. You set rules to keep the household livable — that’s reasonable. He needs time, humility, and perhaps a nutritionist or behavioral support to translate diagnosis into sustainable habits.

If this continues as a pattern (diagnosis → binge → chaos), couples counseling or a dietitian-led plan could help. For now, your boundaries are intended to protect both his health and your home — not to punish him — and that’s an important distinction to keep in mind while you navigate the stink and the feelings.

Here’s how the community might see it:

“You’re protecting your home and his health — reasonable boundaries after repeated self-sabotage.”

“This is hilarious but also medical. Get him a real plan with a dietitian and stop the 2am yogurt discos.”

“Be kind but firm — offer help, not shame. Grounding grocery trips was harsh but probably needed.”

Reactions will likely mix humor with practical advice: empathy for his diagnosis, support for your boundaries, and encouragement to get professional help so the house stops smelling like a biohazard.

🌱 Final Thoughts

Medical issues can be messy and funny at the same time, but when a diagnosis becomes a permission slip for risky behavior, boundaries protect both people. You can be supportive while still refusing to make your home unlivable — that balance matters.

Next steps: insist on a clear, clinician-approved diet plan; involve a dietitian; keep grocery shopping supervised until he demonstrates consistent adherence; and find ways to laugh about the absurd parts while taking the diagnosis seriously. If he’s willing to change, these rules are temporary; if not, they’re necessary.

What do you think?
Would you have removed dairy and grounded him, or handled it more gently? Share your survival tips for living with a newly-diagnosed IBS spouse 👇