Anyone who knows me well, knows that I want a tiara. Maybe it's because I'm a sucker for sparkly things. Or maybe it's because everyone secretly wishes they had one, but I'm the only person brave enough to admit it. (I lean towards the later)
I had a mental health client once who wore tiaras. As a psychiatric nurse case manager, you really ought not to covet your patient's possessions. But I did. More importantly, I coveted her ability to wear them. I may be brave enough to say that I want one, but my hutzpah stops there. I rarely saw Stephanie without one of her mini crowns. She would always come to the office fully decked out in hair, clothes and make up. She was a sweetheart and I adored her.
I soon realized that I could gage, with a fair amount of accuracy, her level of psychosis by the number of tiaras she wore. One was baseline, and nothing to be concerned about. But when she showed up wearing two tiaras at the same time, I knew to be more attentive and to follow up with an extra home visit the next day. Three tiaras? Well, by the time she got to three tiaras she was so psychotic that she was barely functional enough to get to the office. I think I only saw it twice.
Stephanie, where ever you are, just know that you are my tiara hero!
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