Why too cute, ya Allah?

This is Monday, December 29. I am at my friend’s studio in South Jakarta. I am reading a book called Women and Leadership, alone, quietly, so quietly, because many Jakartans have already left the building for vacation.

Earlier this morning, I went jogging. Something felt different. I enjoyed it so much.

Lately, I have been questioning myself over and over again: why can’t I meet my old standard of running at least 4 km a day? Why? I was a little angry with myself. I used to push myself to the limit, and failing to meet my previous standard felt, to my angry self, like a humiliation. But I just couldn’t do it. Over the past two weeks, I’ve returned to running every morning, yet I only managed a maximum of 3 km each time.

Since the end of October 2025, my life has been filled with back-to-back breakdowns. I returned to therapy, just like I did in 2022, and began retraining myself to accept who I am, to acknowledge that I can be tired, that I am not the center of everything. Self-acceptance, for me, also meant embracing the fact that it is completely okay to lose habits, including the habit of running 4 km every morning.

It is okay if you can’t, Maidina.

What matters is continuing to try, because it keeps you healthy. So I chose to embrace it. I kept validating myself: just run, just go, love the process. It’s okay to lose your old self, something better will come.

And this morning, about two weeks after returning to running, I learned the best lesson.

I enjoyed my run so much. I ran 3.2 km nonstop. I shortened my usual route because I was running late, but I felt incredibly happy. There wasn’t a single second when I felt tired or wanted to stop. I only stopped when I finally got home. During the run, I reflected.

2025 has been really hard for me. Really hard.

Taking on a responsibility that was enormous, and came so early in my life, when I thought I still had so much space to explore, has been a profound lesson. At the same time, I experienced the most painful betrayal I never imagined could happen to me. I lost a partner in every sense: someone I used to think with, walk with, and lean on. Along with that, I lost my confidence, the belief that I was safe from being betrayed by someone whose hardships I had walked through hand in hand.

All at once, I felt like I had lost everything that supported me: not only people, but systems, tools, methods, everything.

Yet I kept going, especially through the second half of 2025. I embraced vulnerability. I asked for help from many people. I overshared, yes, maybe unwisely. I hoped my team would become allies. But I believe this was Allah’s way of helping me.

And I am human. Breakdowns are inevitable.

What is the cutest is those breakdowns became the most rewarding thing that happened to me in 2025. Through them, I learned that I am human, and that I am big-hearted. I love kindness. I cherish humanity, compassion, and love for others. And then I asked myself: if I can describe myself with those words, why can’t I be humane, big-hearted, compassionate, kind, and loving toward myself too?

Since October 2025, my life has been about acceptance: taking my time, listening to my body with compassion, and being with myself, cherishing myself unconditionally. Since then, the world that Allah sends to me has become cuter, and cuter, and cuter.

I found an unimaginably sweet partner. I reconciled with my mom. I grew closer to my siblings. I laughed genuinely with my cousins. I am about to start my long-term dream job, without the hardship of losing significant income (which, in my country, is rare for this kind of work).

And my ability to run has returned, perhaps even better than before.

Before, I ran 4 km because I was stressed and needed a distraction. It helped me survive. Now, I run because I love it. I enjoy it. My life feels so cute right now.

I accept that I haven’t fully returned to 4 km yet. But I know that tomorrow, I can, because now, I run from love, not pressure.

Why too cute, ya Allah?