ABSTRACT

The check-in in our assessment case conference was going smoothly. The last person to speak said,

I don’t know if this is the right place but I wanted to share something with you. I have been testing one of three adopted children, the seven-year-old. She’s been difficult but the parents have been great, supportive, and reliable. Shockingly, the father died unexpectedly five months ago and since then, the mother has changed completely. She’s confused, unable to follow up on appointments, sleeping for hours, and neglecting the children. My child had been awful, fighting with everyone, exploding, just her worse self. The kids have been removed temporarily to the “shelter” (where children stay until a placement is settled), and the staff are having a terrible time with her. She’s resistant to everything, and having wild tantrums. So I went to see her, somewhat apprehensive about what would greet me. When she saw me, she gave me a glare, almost daring me to ask her questions or give her a task. We looked at each other for what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a few seconds. For a few moments I felt paralyzed. What was my role here? I was the assessor, not her therapist. But because I had worked with the family in a collaborative, therapeutic way for several weeks, I was the person she knew best. And the only one who was right there. So I listened to my gut and just took a chance. I said, I bet what you need right now is a hug. She threw herself into my arms and broke down in sobs.