Where’s My Mojo?

Okay, hear me out… I woke up this morning with the most random scene from Austin Powers playing in my head, you know, the one where he loses his mojo like it’s an actual substance someone could bottle up, steal, and put back later. And for some reason, I sat up in bed and thought: Wait a second… did I lose mine too?

Not in the Austin Powers way, thank goodness, but in that “where did my spark go?” kind of way. That inner hum, the creative juice, the I feel like myself energy. You know the feeling. When everything’s slightly off and you can’t quite put your finger on why. You’re not exactly sad, but you’re also not lit up either.

And of course, my brain starts scanning the possible culprits before I’ve even made coffee. Is it the moon? My hormones? Mercury retrograde? The five million life transitions happening at once? Honestly… maybe all of the above. But if I’m being real, it’s also this thing I don’t love to admit: I’m impatient. I want to feel like me again, and I want it now, thank you very much.

The truth is, I’ve made progress with this over the years. I really have. I’ve learned to surrender a bit more (not always gracefully), to let the in-between be what it is without trying to bulldoze through it. But when my creative rhythm feels off, or my connection to Spirit feels quieter than usual… I notice. And I don’t always love sitting in that space.

I’ve talked before about the discomfort of the in-between—that weird foggy space where you’ve outgrown something but haven’t fully stepped into what’s next. And while it’s tempting to fix, solve, or fast-forward through it, I’ve learned (and re-learned) that’s exactly where the deeper shift happens.

Mojo, I’ve come to realize, isn’t just the electric energy that gets you jumping out of bed with a plan. Sure, it can be that. But sometimes, it’s quieter. It’s the part of you that still shows up when you don’t feel like it. The one that whispers keep going, even when everything in you wants to crawl under a blanket and avoid your inbox. Sometimes mojo isn’t a roar, it’s a flicker. And that flicker still counts.

Years ago, I had one of my first clear spirit guide encounters during a meditation class. I was visualizing myself in an open field, surrounded by trees. No path ahead. Just me, standing there—slightly panicked. My brain immediately jumped to Oh no. No path, no spark = I’m lost.

And then I heard my guide Rose, clear as day: You’re not lost. You are a strong and independent woman. At the time, that was all I needed to hear, but I still didn’t get it. It wasn’t until many years later, during a reading with another medium, that the message finally clicked. I mentioned that same vision, and he smiled and said, “How wonderful is that? No path means you get to make your own.”

Well. Okay then.. That landed.

It took twelve years and a few thousand emotional detours, but I finally got it. Mojo isn’t something we’re handed. It’s something we create. And maybe, just maybe, we don’t need to panic every time it feels like it’s gone missing.

Doing what lights you up absolutely helps bring it back. So does rest. So does crying it out, laughing with a friend, or having a quiet moment of truth with yourself and your coffee. Sometimes, that spark starts to return when you stop trying to force the flame. It sneaks in when you’re gentle, when you’re curious instead of critical, when you let yourself just be instead of trying to prove you’re okay.

We’re not meant to be lit up 24/7. That’s not sustainable, and it’s not real life. Mojo needs space to breathe. Sometimes that space looks like stillness. Sometimes it looks like uninspired days that quietly plant the seeds for the next breakthrough.

And my final thought: You haven’t lost anything. You’re not broken. If you’re feeling a little off or unsure, that doesn’t mean you’ve failed, it just means you’re evolving. The fog always lifts. The spark always returns. Your mojo is still there, probably under a blanket with snacks, waiting for you to stop panicking (hellooo, me) . Just know, you don’t have to force the light back on. Give it a little room, and it’ll remember how to glow.

Yeah, Baby, Yeah!

Copyright 2025 Angelique Declercq. All rights reserved.