ABSTRACT
In the waiting room, a slumped, twisted, ferocious-looking boy was jammed between his mother and a key worker. I could not see his face. When I introduced myself his legs went into an amazing forceful action as if they had a life of their own. Realising I would not be safe on my own with him I asked his mother and worker to bring him to my room and to stay with us. I tried to sound casual, as if that had been my plan all along, but I felt most fearful. I was not only frightened by the violence of this child whose face I had yet to see, my fear had also eroded my professional confidence. I also felt apologetic to the home staff. When the referral letter had mentioned that his violence meant two staff were needed to be with him at all times I had responded disbelievingly. Now I understood.
