The Sadie Green Story.
What are the repercussions of abuse? This podcast tells my story of childhood degradation and survival. Each episode features a conversation between me and my longtime friend, Pam Colby, and includes excerpts from a memoir that I wrote when I was younger. We share this in an attempt to understand how early trauma can affect a lifetime. Thank you for listening.
The Sadie Green Story.
E16. Home Visits and Food
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We follow Sadie’s memories of how fear and disassociation can erase days, even as the record still claims everything went “great.” We connect the dots between childhood trauma, secrecy, and a lifelong struggle with food, trust, and self-protection. Sadie shows how school, books, and a supportive summer program helped her build an independent self. Thank you for listening, and feel free to share.
You can also email us at < sadiegreenstory@gmail.com or send a voice message from any particular episode on our website http://SadieStory.Buzzsprout.com
Special Thanks to our supporters, who have made this podcast possible.
- Lucy Mathews Heegaard: Audio Engineer
- with music via Epidemic Sound
- Terry Gydesen: Photographer
- Polly Kellogg
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- Molly Tillotson
- Clare Dudzinski
- Julian Bowers
- Wendy Horowitz
- Maggie Kazel
- Pat Farrell
- Lynette Tabert
- Laura Jensen
- People's Farm Collective
- Deborah Copperud of "Spock Talk" podcast
Welcome And Story Setup
SPEAKER_01Welcome to the Sadie Green Story about an older adult looking back on her abusive childhood. It's a conversation between Sadie and myself, Pam Colby, her longtime friend. We are exploring how early trauma can affect a lifetime. Thanks for joining us. Hi, Sadie.
SPEAKER_00Hi there, Pam. It's a lovely day here in Minneapolis. Glad to be with you. What are we
Doctor Pushes A Home Visit
SPEAKER_00up to? Well, we are going to pick up where we left off in the last episode. And just to remind people where we were, I will read that last paragraph from the last episode. One day, my doctor called me into her office to give me some good news. Ma had called. Never having made it to requested meetings with the doctor before, we have too much work to do at home. Ma now asserted I should come home for a visit. The doctor thought this was a wonderful idea. But the doctor didn't know anything. Once in her fancy office room, she handed me three dolls. Pretend one is your mother, one your father, and the other one is you. I'd like for you to show me how you act together. Just make up anything. Shocked at her suggestion, I glanced at her to see if she was serious, then tucked my hands beneath my seat and dropped my forehead toward my knees. She has got to be kidding. I didn't say anything out loud. My face flushed. I kept my head down and I waited. Don't you want to show me? Won't you do this for me, please? She wheedled. No way. Never in a million years. The private voice went off. Well, silently I sat, unmoving. There was no way in hell I was gonna play this game. She couldn't make me. This was typical for us. I was cooperative, though sullen, until she came up with these ridiculous ideas. And now she had another one to go back for a visit. What did she think a visit meant at my house? My God, she didn't know anything. But again, what could I do? It was unnatural to confide in her. Preposterous to believe that she was on my side. She set dates and ordered the bus ticket. And as time ran out, I became more desperate, throwing curlers across the room, demanding extra food, and telling staff I plan to kill myself. She's making threats, they write dutifully in the logs, not to be taken seriously. I promised to throw myself beneath a moving truck first, to run away from the bus station. I refused to eat. But nothing prompted me to tell the truth. They'd think I was some kind of nut. They wouldn't believe me. Finally, the dreaded morning came. I was escorted to the bus station, whispered about to the driver. And even as my time ran out soon to ride away from their supposed safety altogether, I could not bring myself to tell the truth. Family secrets held the upper hand. I'd been away from home three months. There'd been no contact with any of them, except I had received two letters in the mail from Ma. One long, accusing letter said I was being brainwashed, and didn't I realize I belonged at home. You will get nothing you don't deserve, as usual, she wrote. I couldn't let her see how bad it was, how it was all my fault. She might agree with Ma and think I was a sham and didn't belong here. She might send me home and never let me back.
Missing Days And The Quiet Room
SPEAKER_00So what happened on the visit? Three days unaccounted for. Until I read the hospital notes, I didn't recall a three-day visit home. I remember the fear I had before I went on that trip, but I don't actually remember the visit. Maybe because it was much like the time before I left home in the first place. I think if it had been different, if it had been good, I would have remembered that. The last line in the staff notes after my return to the ward is telling to me. It read Seems happy and cheerful, said she had a great time. It turned out better than expected. Said they missed her and wanted to come home. Requested to be locked inside the quiet room tonight. The quiet rooms were padded cells. They measured at six feet square, with thick, pink padding on the walls, floor, and ceiling. That was all. No furniture, no windows, except for a small one-sided observation glass, set high up in the heavy door. I never had to go there. But I got to sit inside alone if I left the padded door open.
Food Hoarding And A Store Incident
SPEAKER_00I started stealing food again. Staff kept the galley kitchen locked between meals, except for opening it briefly, mid-morning and mid-afternoon at freshy time. I liked helping to prepare refreshments, slicing juicy oranges, cutting cheese, arranging crackers or vanilla wafers on a plate. Meanwhile, I could slip small pieces in my mouth when they weren't looking, holding the food inside my cheeks till it dissolved, or until I had the privacy to chew it. I was not limited in the amount of snack food I could eat from the freshy cart. But what if someone saw me taking more than other kids? So I secretly paid close attention. How many was she taking? Only two or three crackers? That's ridiculous. I can eat a whole box, easy. I couldn't tell if I was hungry. That was beside the point. Just the sight of food was irresistible. Even food off someone's plate, or food thrown in the garbage. If I passed a jelly bean on the dirty back stairwell, I'd have to stop and pick it up, pop it in my mouth. Liking it didn't matter, taste was not important, but oh, it was a travesty to waste it. And because I knew others lacked my food obsession and had a higher standard of restraint, my challenge was to not be seen. My reward, that old victory's return, was successful grasp of food. Until I was in physical pain, knowing how much was enough, really did not register. I'd see the possibility of food and feel the anxious flutter in my stomach. At any cost, just find a way to get it. Taking handfuls right in front of folks is awful. No dignity in that. Instead, wear clothes with pockets. Watch the smaller kids in case they drop something, or leave it on the windowsill. Pretend to help them but slip portions to yourself. They can always go for more. One day I was walking by a local grocery store. I didn't have a scent on me, but I did have time, and the entry of the store looked so inviting. I meandered up and down the crowded aisles thinking, maybe something small, just slip it in my pocket. I walked past the ice cream freezer for the second time. Ice cream sandwiches are good. It's easy when they don't expect it. Boldness often puts you over because normal folks avoid the risk. They don't recognize what's possible when needed. I slipped the ice cream in my pocket. See, it's no big deal. They live on another level. My hand was on the doorknob when he tapped me on the shoulder. Excuse me, I think you have something that doesn't belong to you. That dumb. What do you mean I have something? I think you have an ice cream sandwich. Oh, I put it back. I was gonna get one, but then I put it back. Okay then, let's go have a look. I thought I saw you take it. If not, it should still be right on top. He escorted me back down the aisle. When we approached the waist-high freezer, I could not believe my eyes. There, randomly placed right on top, was an ice cream sandwich. He apologized profusely, and I left. As I turned the corner, I looked up at the sky to thank the miracle for happening. I made sure I was all the way around the block before I pulled the ice cream out and ate it. Some things are too awesome to understand.
A Later Talk With Her Father
SPEAKER_00In 1990, 20 summers after leaving the Grey Farmhouse, I went home for another visit. My father walked me outside to my car when I was leaving. There was an openness about him, so I took a deep breath and asked him how it felt for him to have me come there. Oh, I like it when you visit. But some others might have a problem with it. Who, Mom? No, I think George and June might have old resentments. George and June, but why? Why them? They're the oldest two. They share the most memories. Oh, back when you all rode the bus to Brainerd Junior High School, George's friends told him they thought they saw you stealing cookies. So he asked you. You said no. All the way home on the bus. You supposedly didn't have those cookies. But we searched your clothes when you got home, and sure enough we found them. He had to go back to his friends. I felt the hot flush in my face. Oh for Pete's sake, yes, I probably did. I don't remember that incident exactly. But I stole all my food back then. Remember? I was hungry. He lifts his cap with two fingers, running the others through his thinning hair, like he doesn't really comprehend. Oh, we always seem to have enough food. You had enough food. I was the family dog. I wasn't good enough to eat with the rest of you. Can't you remember? My voice is getting high, too loud. I bring it down again. I want him to keep talking. I want to ask him about the hospitals. I want to ask him why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you let it happen? And now you stand there like it never did, and I am crazy. But I don't ask him that. Not this time, not yet. I'm still hanging on to loyalty, afraid the truth will kill us all. And I still want him to like me.
Psych Ward Notes And Broken Trust
SPEAKER_00Twenty years earlier, back home on the psych ward, two wrapped sandwiches are found hidden in my room. When I am confronted for stealing food, an inside flutter starts, and I instantly feel short of breath. I frantically make the excuse of how I'm simply saving the sandwiches. I wasn't hungry when the freshies came around, but was afraid I might be later, so I save them. Later on a walk with Cheryl, a staff person, she asks me, Why does it feel like you have to steal food here? Defensively, I say, I'm being blamed for something I didn't do, just like at home. They blame me for everything. Then I tell her how years before, $3 disappeared from the table at home. Ma and Pa accuse me, of course, calling me a thief when I was not. Even now, when I was home, Ma brought up again how I stole money from them. After our walk, Cheryl dutifully recorded our conversation in the notes, adding, was difficult to tell if Sue exaggerated or was fully honest, showed hostility in her voice and face, but no hurt. I wonder now if Cheryl ever learned what it might feel like to be threatened on a daily basis by a person in control of you. Certainly she didn't know then, or she might have considered the years I lived through mastering expressions to hide my hurt. Isn't most hostility a mask to cover hurt? Did she recognize how I just exposed myself? I did not take responsibility for hoarding the sandwiches. So she did not believe me or take me seriously. I was not about to trust her with more information. Like a turtle, I instinctively retreated back inside my shell. Yeah, it makes me crazy. Yeah. And then Of course I stole food.
SPEAKER_01It wasn't a very big house. So to know that you weren't sleeping in the house.
SPEAKER_00Oh, they yeah, they sure knew that. Or that you weren't eating in the house. Oh, yeah, they knew that. Of course they knew that. And that you were being punished when you stole food. Yeah. Yeah, it makes me crazy. Somehow I was this terrible kid.
SPEAKER_01Yeah.
SPEAKER_00Yeah.
SPEAKER_01Well, it's a little insight into your father at that time period.
SPEAKER_00Oh yeah.
SPEAKER_01Okay. So I was really struck by your relationship with food and the need to steal food.
How Food Patterns Change Over Time
SPEAKER_01And I'm wondering for you, just in the the bigger picture of your life, how has your relationship with food changed over the years?
SPEAKER_00Yeah, that's a good question. Food was a major issue for me for years and years. I remember in the foster family I would steal food from the cupboards. And I was expert at knowing how to steal a little bit of this, a little bit of that, so that it wouldn't be noticed.
SPEAKER_01Which was what you did at home.
SPEAKER_00Yes. And I don't remember ever being caught. They might have known and didn't challenge me. I remember doing it when nobody else was home. I don't remember ever being confronted by it. And then as I left and I was living independently, I remember a boyfriend when I was, let's see, I would have been probably in my early 20. We lived together for maybe three years. And I remember the food issue was so big that I would literally rent a room to get out of the house so that I could fast by myself. I would eat until I was just miserable. I would just stuff myself until I was physically in pain. And then of course I just beat myself up, beat myself up, and I'd have to fast. And that went on for years. I also remember when I was in that cabin when I first started documenting memories, then I would have been 30. 30. Just eating all kinds of things that didn't go together, that were partly spoiled, were still very much an issue then. Let's see. Oh, another my mom was 70, and I still do not eat regular meals all of my life. I have never gotten in the habit of eating regular meals. I do not like to be hungry. I always eat immediately when I get up for the last couple years or more. It's been cinnamon bread. The first thing I do is eat that cinnamon bread. And then I do my routine of exercise, meditation, or in the past going to work. And I always eat in the morning. I always eat in the morning. And I've been physically there were periods of my life when I was overweight. I'm not overweight now, and I haven't been for several years. But when I was, that in itself was a torment. I know how universally painful it is for women to be overweight. I eat healthy now. I try not to eat spoiled food. I I hate to waste food. I just hate to waste food. I'm lucky that I live near a co-op and I can literally pull out a recipe and go get what I need for that recipe and do the same thing two days from now.
SPEAKER_01Just want to comment that by the standards of most Americans, you're very petite. And I'm not trying to I'm just saying that where wherever you're at in your relationship with food, your body is very small.
SPEAKER_00Yeah, I'm fairly disciplined. Food was a hard one for me to and I don't really know why it changed or how it it just evolved over time. Maybe living with someone else for many years, that probably had an influence on how I have been around food, and that person was the primary cook.
SPEAKER_01Well, it seems like there's a lot of people with food issues in this world. And for you having such a harsh start to your relationship with food. I I thought that was why I wanted to ask that question.
SPEAKER_00Yeah, I remember when I was round when I thought I was fat if I was ten pounds overweight. And when I was thirty pounds overweight, I was constantly aware of it. So I do know how it feels. And I also know how how privileged I am to be so-called average size. I do think I have a really high metabolism. My brain moves really fast. When they report that I have this high cognitive ability, you know, I've never really felt that smart. I don't see myself as being smarter. I really don't. But I do have a super active brain. It's like a whirling uh pinwheel. But speaking of brain work, let me go back to the manuscript and talk about my time going back to school.
School As Escape And Confidence
SPEAKER_00Weeks after coming onto the cycle, I started attending public high school, shame-wracked in general, but dressed carefully in newly collected clothes. I walked the half-dozen blocks across campus to the high school in the mornings and in the afternoons walked back, carrying a load of schoolbooks, proud to travel the streets, just like a normal student. I excelled in English and geometry. Reading was my favorite pastime. Within weeks, I read William Faulkner, Anne Rand, all the Herman Hesse books, and In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. I cried through Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie and Elizabeth Cotta's Patch of Blue. When I got an A on book report assignments, I figured I was lucky to have had the time to study. No doubt other kids had chores to do at home. Maybe other kids didn't get attention like I did. Other kids didn't live so close to high school. Perhaps the teacher made mistakes. My first class in the mornings was geometry. I love the sketches and the tools, the way designs fit together perfectly, and the short eccentric teacher who stood at the blackboard gesturing in explanation. When he handed out quizzes, he promised the top scorer a giant Lollapalooza at the Bridgman's ice cream parlor down the street. Two times in a row, I won the coupon. It was a relief when a red-headed boy named Richie won the third time. It didn't seem fair that I should get the prize so often. In June, school let out for summer vacation, but a teacher told me about summer school. I grabbed the opportunity and could barely wait for it to start. In summer school, instead of sitting in classrooms, we painted huge canvas murals spread out on the hallway floor, took day trips to museums, visited the back room of a post office, and went for nature walks along the river. One day we armed ourselves with tape recorders and walked in pairs throughout the city, discovering the ordinary sounds we take for granted. For a country girl, recently afraid of her own shadow, the summer in the city held unending excitement. Even the loyal sunshine seemed sweeter than before. Except for scheduled surgeries, the only day of school I missed while on the cycle was the final day of summer
Another Trip Looms And Farewell
SPEAKER_00school. Once again, Ma and Pa telephoned the doctor, this time because they were going to Montana for the annual family reunion, and they said they wanted me to come along. Don't you think it's wonderful they want you? My doctor said excitedly. I think it's a good sign. Of course I knew the real reason they wanted me to go. How would they explain my absence otherwise? But nothing had changed between the doctor and me. I was nowhere near confiding in her. I felt sure she still believed I was the crazy one. The number of days Ma requested for this visit tripled from the time before. I tried not to think about it. If we spend the week with other people, relatives, it won't be terrible, trying to convince myself. Once again, hospital staff drove me to the bus station. And I want to stop here. We do need to call it a day, but we will continue with that story in the next episode. And I want to thank all of you who take the time to listen. We wish you well wherever you are headed. Take care of yourselves, and bye for now.
