Sobre Mim | Reine

There is a Portuguese word, saudade , that has no perfect translation. It is the longing for something that may never return. But sobre mim is the opposite of saudade —it is the presence of claiming what is here, now. It is the refusal to live in the ghost of a past self or the mirage of a future one. The queen does not rule over what was or what might be. She rules over this breath, this choice, this moment.

And what of the crown? It is not made of gold or jewels. It is made of small, fierce recognitions: the day you walked away from a relationship that diminished you; the morning you spoke your truth even as your hands trembled; the night you forgave yourself for not knowing sooner. Each of these is a gem. Each is a victory. reine sobre mim

But a queen does not beg for a throne. She recognizes that the throne has always been within. There is a Portuguese word, saudade , that

Sovereignty over the self is not tyranny. It is not the cold isolation of a monarch who rules alone. On the contrary, a true queen knows that her strength lies in the delicate art of boundaries. She can say yes to love without saying no to herself. She can welcome others into her kingdom without handing them the keys to her soul. It is the refusal to live in the

To declare "reine sobre mim" is to perform an act of quiet revolution. It means waking up and deciding that your own voice is the one that finalizes the law of your life. It means looking in the mirror and seeing not a collection of flaws to be edited, but a sovereign face—the face of someone who has survived, who has softened and hardened in all the right places, who no longer needs permission to exist.

So I write these words as my coronation oath. I will not wait for someone to place a tiara on my head. I will not seek validation from a kingdom that does not see my light. From this day forward, I am reine sobre mim —queen of my choices, my body, my time, my story. The reign begins now. And it is magnificent.

For years, I lived as a subject in the kingdom of others. I handed the scepter to expectation, to the gaze of the crowd, to the loud voices that told me who I should be. I learned to curtsy before approval, to measure my worth by the applause of a room that was never truly mine. In that court, I was a servant—polite, accommodating, exhausted. I built altars to "should" and burned my own desires as offerings.