A True Tale Of A Mom Who Has Lost Her F*cking Mojo And Kind Of Needs It Back

A True Tale Of A Mom Who Has Lost Her F*cking Mojo And Kind Of Needs It Back

Unsplash / PEXELS

Has anyone seen my mojo? She’s missing.

I think I left her behind somewhere last year, amid the abyss and blur known as 2016. She fell off my truck and tumbled into the trenches, a casualty dropped alongside the road of an emotionally charged political landscape.

Perhaps, though, I didn’t lose her. Maybe she ditched me.

But, wherever she is, I want her back because I’m quite tired of this feeling: sadness, melancholy, a heaviness resting on my shoulders, not exactly fired up to do anything. And feeling this way, (completely let down), takes its toll on a person.

Am I alone? Is it just the winter blues settling in?

Not so long ago, I was a badass woman who got shit done. I woke up each new day with a smile on my face, filled with all sorts of resolve about what I would and could accomplish, about everything I wanted for my life. I would bounce into the shower, where my mojo and I would scrub ourselves silly, thinking about everything under the sun — from where I wanted to go and how I would get my exercise, to ideas for blog pieces and what sort of cute outfit I would throw together. The day ahead seemed exciting and fresh. My mojo and I felt empowered.

But now that she’s gone, I hardly want to move from the couch to go use the bathroom. Apparently I have to be in the mood to heed the call of mother nature. These days, I snuggle deeper under the covers and hit the snooze button repeatedly, giving myself an extra 15, 20, 30 minutes each morning. I come home from work and simply lay myself down. Two hours after dinner, I make myself a little plate of crackers and cheese. I forget to wash my face at night, and I’ve stopped meticulously slathering moisturizer into my not so fine lines. I’m also back to biting my nails again.

I don’t want to write or eat healthy. I want to sit on my ass and watch movies with a large dollop of chocolate frosting on a mini-spatula, or a big bowl of buttered noodles and shaved parm in my lap. I don’t want to go to the dentist or get my annual physical. I don’t want to have my eyes checked or get my mammogram. I just don’t feel like taking care of myself.

Perhaps this is truly what it feels like to have the “wind” knocked out of my sails. Losing my magical mojo is essentially a complete loss of spirit.

Maybe she’s pissed because she doesn’t want to “accomplish” more goals. Maybe she secretly hates goals. I mean, maybe she knows that goals are good for her, but she just needs a damn break. A hiatus from all the going, and doing, and planning, and smiling and “checking off” her list. Perhaps she is gone because she is taking a much-needed vacation from the day-to-day demands of being a badass who conquers her day like a Viking on a mission.

I suppose I get it. We all need a break sometimes, especially her. She’s given me so much.

But there’s only so much sitting around one can do, waiting, before it becomes frightening.

So I got a new haircut. I rejoined my gym. Then, I took a decent selfie and made it my new profile picture (don’t you love a great filter?). I went into the city and saw a brilliant Broadway show. I thought maybe I could coax her return with some of that zippy stuff, but man, she is slow to respond. She’s meandering back to me in bits and pieces, taking her sweet time.

It’s difficult to get anything done without her here. I miss her. She used to give me inspired pep talks about exercise, and she would shoot me the “the look” whenever I went reaching for another buttered dinner roll. She kept my to-the-minute calendar nice and tight, and persuaded me to go to bed on time. I could always feel her lovingly coax me to sleep. She reassured me and told me to stop worrying about so many dumb things. My mojo was a happy sort of gal who kept me on track.

I guess she’s just tired. Tired of being “on” all the time. Aren’t we all? Perhaps it’s time for me to stop taking my lovely, generous mojo for granted.

Maybe January needs to be her time. A time for her to unplug for a little bit in order to rewind, regroup, and reset. Maybe, for once, I just have to let her step away for a bit.

Because she deserves it.

But if you see her, tell her I said hello. She’s probably lazily sipping some exotic cocktail with sliced fruit hanging off the straw. I know for sure that she’s reaching into the basket for yet another french fry, as she summons an adorable waiter over with a shoulder shimmy and her signature yoo-hoo arm wave. And yes, as he approaches, she’s shamelessly dropping her sunglasses to the tip of her nose to get a better look. I would like to think she’s just chilling out in a beach chair, reading her book, and watching the waves roll in as the sun sets.

If you happen to run into her, do let her know how much I miss her. And tell her she’s welcome back when she’s good and ready, no questions asked.