Why I Started NOBB

Hi, I'm Adam. I'm 31 years old, and I'm going to share with you my personal bad breath journey—the story of how this invisible problem nearly destroyed my life, and how I finally found my way back.

This isn't easy to talk about. Even now, after everything I've been through and overcome, there's still a part of me that feels ashamed admitting how much this affected me. But if my story can help even one person avoid the eighteen months of suffering I went through, then it's worth sharing.

---

November 2023

I remember the exact moment everything changed. It was a Tuesday morning around 10am, and I was doing a DoorDash delivery like I'd done hundreds of times before. The person at the counter gave me this look—disgust mixed with confusion, like I'd walked in smelling like I'd rolled around in garbage. I didn't understand it at first. I just stood there, confused, wondering what I'd done wrong. The look stayed with me though. It felt deeply, profoundly wrong in a way I couldn't articulate.

I delivered the order and tried to shake it off. Maybe I'd imagined it. Maybe they were having a bad day. Maybe it had nothing to do with me.

Two or three hours later, I picked up an order from Chick-fil-A. I can still see the cashier's face like it happened this morning. I walked up and showed her my phone with the order details. She leaned in to look at the screen, and the moment she got close, her hand shot up to cover her nose. She stepped back quickly and disappeared to the back of the restaurant. Through the kitchen window, I could see her talking to a coworker, both of them glancing at me. The looks on their faces said everything: they thought I'd done this on purpose, like I was some kind of person who just didn't care about basic hygiene.

As I stood there waiting for the order, all I could think was: what the hell is wrong with me today?

The moment I delivered that order, I drove straight home. I scrubbed myself in the shower. Brushed my teeth thoroughly. Changed into completely fresh clothes. Put on my favorite cologne—the expensive one I saved for special occasions. I examined myself in the mirror, trying to find whatever was wrong.

Here's what made it so confusing: I'd already showered that morning. Already brushed my teeth. Already done everything a normal person does to start their day. This wasn't a matter of forgetting basic hygiene. Something else was happening, and I had no idea what.

The Week That Changed Everything

I tried to forget about it. Tried to convince myself it was just a weird day, a coincidence, something temporary that would resolve itself.

But it didn't.

A few days later—I don't remember exactly how long—I ran into someone I knew. We stopped to chat on the sidewalk, just casual conversation, and as we talked, I watched him slowly bring his hand up to cover his nose. He tried to be subtle about it, but I could see it. And I could see the look in his eyes too—something like pity mixed with discomfort. Like he felt sorry for me but didn't know how to help.

That's when I truly understood: something was genuinely, seriously wrong with me.

But here's what made this experience so isolating, so absolutely devastating: nobody told me. Not one person. Not the strangers who recoiled from me. Not the acquaintance who covered his nose. Not even the wonderful woman I was dating at the time—someone I trusted, someone who cared about me.

Just reactions. Disgust. Distance. That horrible, deafening silence.

When I got home that day, I went straight to the bathroom mirror. I opened my mouth wide and examined everything I could see. My tongue looked a little whiter than usual, but nothing that seemed alarming. No obvious problems. No clear answers.

I walked to the 7-Eleven near my house and bought a bottle of regular Listerine. I stood in my bathroom and swished it around my mouth, hoping it would magically fix whatever was wrong. Then I just went on with my day, trying to pretend everything was fine.

The False Hope

At first, I convinced myself it was simple. I must have dry mouth. That made sense, right? I was smoking about three-quarters of a pack a day at that point—more than usual. Dry mouth was a known side effect. I'd quit smoking eventually, drink more water, and this would all go away.

I'd been smoking since I was 17. I was 29 now, and this had never been an issue before. But I accepted it as the most logical explanation. I promised myself I'd cut back gradually, then quit completely. Problem solved.

Except it wasn't solved.

I was dating someone really special at the time. She was smart, compassionate, understanding—everything you'd want in a partner. But I was too ashamed to ask her directly if I had bad breath. Most people associate bad breath with poor hygiene, with not caring about yourself. And by this point, I was already brushing my teeth 5-6 times a day. Morning, afternoon, evening, after every meal. I was doing everything right, and it still wasn't enough.

I started watching her reactions obsessively. Sometimes when we talked, she'd cover her nose. Other times, she wouldn't react at all. I read somewhere on Reddit that some people genuinely can't smell certain types of bad breath—something about genetic variations in smell receptors. I desperately hoped she was one of those people. When we were intimate, close together, she never seemed bothered. That gave me hope that maybe it wasn't as bad as I feared.

But in the back of my mind, I knew. I could see it in those small moments when we were just talking, sitting across from each other. The slight movements. The subtle shifts in her body language.

She never said anything, and I'm grateful for that kindness. But the silence also meant I had no guidance, no roadmap, no way to know if anything I was trying was actually working.

The Descent

Every night, I'd lie in bed scrolling through the bad breath subreddit on my phone. I'd read stories from people who'd suffered for years, people who'd tried everything, people who'd lost jobs and relationships because of this invisible curse. I'd read about solutions that had worked for others: special mouthwashes, tongue scrapers, dietary changes, probiotics, hydrogen peroxide.

I tried everything I read about. Everything.

I started a night shift job around this time, partly because I needed the income, but honestly? I was relieved to work alone. No more walking into restaurants and facing cashiers. No more small talk with strangers. No more watching people's faces change when I spoke.

One night around 1am during my shift, I was reading yet another Reddit thread. Someone wrote that hydrogen peroxide had completely cured their bad breath—just swish it around your mouth for 30 seconds, twice a day. I immediately opened UberEats and ordered a bottle. I think it came from 7-Eleven, though I don't really remember the brand at this point. Everything from that time blurs together.

During my break, I went to the employee restroom. I took a small sip of water first, then poured hydrogen peroxide straight from the bottle into my mouth. I swished it around for about 30 seconds. My mouth started burning almost immediately—this intense, chemical burn that made my eyes water.

I spit it out and looked at myself in that fluorescent-lit bathroom mirror. I remember thinking: "I don't care what I have to do. I'll do whatever it takes. I can't live my entire life like this."

That became my mantra: whatever it takes.

The Obsession

I became completely obsessed with finding a solution. My entire life narrowed down to this single problem.

I brushed my teeth constantly. Five, six, sometimes seven times a day. I brought my toothbrush to work and brushed every three or four hours. I became the number one customer for Trident gum—I went through packs of that watermelon flavor like they were going out of style. It became my security blanket. If I was going to talk to someone, I'd pop a piece of gum first. Sometimes I'd have three or four pieces in my mouth at once.

I quit smoking. That was actually one of the few positive outcomes of this nightmare—it finally gave me the motivation to quit something I'd been trying to quit for years. Because as bad as smoker's breath is, this was a trillion times worse.

I quit drinking alcohol completely. Quit coffee, even though my morning cup was one of my favorite rituals. Quit tea. Quit energy drinks, even though I only had them occasionally. I cut out everything that anyone online suggested might contribute to bad breath.

I stopped going out with friends. Stopped meeting people for casual hangouts. Stopped initiating any conversations that weren't absolutely necessary. Every social interaction felt like walking through a minefield where I was the only one who could get hurt.

The cruelest part of all this? I'd see people with obviously worse hygiene than me—people who clearly didn't brush regularly, who wore dirty clothes, who just generally didn't take care of themselves—and they'd give me that look. That "go brush your teeth" look. Like I was the one who didn't care about basic hygiene.

They had no idea I was doing ten times more than they were. They couldn't see the obsessive brushing, the constant gum chewing, the supplements I was taking, the mouthwashes I was cycling through. All they saw was someone with bad breath, and they judged me for it.

Life felt profoundly unfair. I'd lie awake at night thinking: Why is this happening to me? I'm not a bad person. I haven't done anything to deserve this. Why me?

The Desperate Experiments

I tried everything. And I mean everything.

TheraBreath mouthwash—the one everyone swears by online. Biotene for dry mouth. Different varieties of Listerine. Lozenges that were supposed to stimulate saliva production. Oil pulling with coconut oil, something I learned about from TikTok. I'd order products the moment I read about them, or drive to the store immediately to pick them up. I was desperate for anything that might work.

I tried home remedies: salt water rinses, apple cider vinegar mixed with warm water, baking soda paste. I slept with mouth tape to force myself to breathe through my nose. I bought an air humidifier for my bedroom. I took psyllium husk for gut health, but it gave me pain around my kidneys and I threw the whole bottle away.

I became convinced it might be a sinus issue after reading yet another Reddit thread. I ordered every sinus-related product on Amazon: saline sprays, neti pots, sinus rinse kits. But they only made things worse. I'd wake up with the driest mouth imaginable, my tongue coated in this thick white layer.

I scraped my tongue religiously with a tongue scraper I'd gotten with one of the oil pulling kits. Some mornings I scraped so hard I'd see blood. I'd rinse with hydrogen peroxide after, which seemed to help for maybe ten minutes before everything went back to normal.

I asked my friend if my breath had improved. He always said I never had bad breath to begin with. But I could see it in his face—he was trying to be kind because he'd watched my confidence completely crumble. He'd seen me transform from someone outgoing and social to someone who barely spoke, who avoided eye contact, who radiated anxiety.

Nothing worked. Not really. Not permanently.

The Breaking Point

After months of this, I ended the relationship with the woman I'd been dating. It wasn't fair to her, and I didn't feel like myself anymore. I felt like this broken thing that couldn't function in normal society.

I stopped having any social life at all. I'd go to work, come home, and that was it. I avoided any situation where I might have to talk to people face-to-face.

Eventually, I made the decision to move to a different state. I told myself it was for a fresh start, a new opportunity. But really? I was running away. I'd damaged or destroyed every relationship I had because of this issue. Moving felt like the only way to escape the wreckage.

It had been almost a year and a half since that first morning at the DoorDash counter when everything changed.

The Realization

Looking back now, I realize I might have been pretty dumb about the whole thing. Because in all that time—eighteen months of obsessive research and desperate experimentation—I never seriously considered that my bad breath might be coming from somewhere other than my mouth.

I'd read about gut health and bad breath, but I always skimmed past those posts. They seemed too complicated, too uncertain. Mouth problems were simple: brush more, use better mouthwash, scrape your tongue. Gut problems were this whole other thing I didn't want to deal with.

But by this point, I'd made some changes without really thinking about them. I'd started cooking at home more because I couldn't afford to keep ordering out. I'd given up soda and fast food, partly for budget reasons and partly because I'd read they might contribute to bad breath. I was eating less spicy and oily food because they seemed to make things worse. I was sleeping better—regular hours instead of erratic shifts. I was trying to manage my stress, though that was a constant battle.

And my bad breath had improved. Not completely—I'd say by about 90%. I still had days where it was noticeably worse, but I was starting to understand the patterns. Certain foods would trigger it. Stress would trigger it. Poor sleep would trigger it.

One day, I was sitting at home and thinking about those trigger days—the days when my breath was at its worst. And I realized something I'd been ignoring for years: I was constantly constipated. Always bloated, especially after eating dairy. And on the days when my digestion was at its worst, when I felt the most uncomfortable and backed up, my breath smelled terrible.

It wasn't a subtle connection. My breath literally smelled like something was rotting inside me. Because something was—food sitting in my digestive system, not processing properly, creating these gases that came back up.

How had I missed this for eighteen months?

The Turning Point

Once I made that connection, everything started to make sense.

I cut out dairy completely. No more milk, cheese, yogurt—all the things I'd eaten regularly my entire life. I eliminated sodas and sugary drinks. I stopped eating fast food and processed meals. I started actually cooking at home, even though I wasn't particularly good at it.

One of my biggest challenges had always been drinking water. I know that sounds silly, but I've just never been a water person. It feels boring and tasteless to me. But I knew dehydration was making everything worse, so I started experimenting with hydration powders and electrolyte mixes—anything to make water more appealing. I found combinations that worked for me, and suddenly I was actually staying hydrated for the first time in years.

I focused on gut health. Fiber. Probiotics. Foods that actually helped my digestion instead of making it worse. Before this, every time I had constipation, my breath would smell awful. Now I understand why, and I can't believe it took me so long to see the connection.

The improvement wasn't instant. This wasn't a miracle cure that worked overnight. But within a few weeks, I noticed real changes. My breath was consistently better. The bad days became less frequent, less severe. I could feel my body working properly again.

More importantly, I learned my triggers. I could predict when my breath might be worse and take steps to prevent it. I understood my own body in a way I never had before.

For the first time since November 2023, I felt like myself again.

Why NOBB Exists

I started NOBB because I wasted eighteen months of my life—eighteen months that I can never get back.

I destroyed relationships. I lost the confidence that had taken me years to build. I isolated myself completely, became a shell of the person I used to be. I spent thousands of dollars on products that provided temporary relief but never addressed the real problem.

The worst part? All the information was out there. People had made the connection between gut health and bad breath. But it was buried under hundreds of posts about tongue scrapers and mouthwash. Every company selling bad breath products had a financial incentive to keep you focused on quick fixes that didn't actually fix anything.

I don't want anyone else to go through what I went through. I don't want someone else to lose a year and a half of their life chasing the wrong solutions. I don't want someone else to feel that crushing isolation, that constant shame, that sense that they're fundamentally broken.

NOBB exists because I finally figured out what actually worked, and I know there are people out there right now—maybe you—who are lying in bed at 2am scrolling through Reddit threads, reading the same posts I read, trying the same things that didn't work for me.

I want to give you the roadmap I wish I'd had. The understanding that this isn't about brushing more or using a different mouthwash. It's about addressing the root cause. It's about understanding that your body is trying to tell you something, and bad breath is just the symptom.

— Adam