Nobody looks at me and thinks: she's suffering from a mental illness. That's the thing about trichotillomania — it hides. It hides under eyeliner, under wigs, under thick headbands, under the perfectly ordinary face I show the world. And once a month, at the mikveh, it can't hide anymore.

Pesach is a time of deep meaning, filled with ritual, family, and the retelling of our journey from Mitzrayim to Geula. But for many women, the rhythm of the holiday can intersect with another important rhythm, the mitzvah of tevillah. When mikveh night falls on or around the seder, it can raise both practical and emotional questions.

When the war broke out over Shabbat, I wasn’t sure how we would even be able to open the mikvaot. Although it wasn’t technically my problem to solve, it weighed heavily on my mind. Somehow, I knew we would find a way. It just meant opening during our shifts and working around the sirens ensuring each mikvah had a safe room.

Taharat hamishpacha and mikveh are often spoken about in the language of closeness, renewal, and anticipation. When you are going through challenges in your marriage (and/or considering divorce), those same practices can feel heavy, confusing, lonely, or even painful. The halachot themselves do not change, but the emotional landscape around them absolutely does.

When I was learning to become a balanit , one of the main messages that was woven through each session is that the women who come to the mikvah are people, each with their own story. As balaniot we rarely are privy to those stories: struggle with niddah/mikvah, a fight with her husband, a sick parent, infertility, stress at work—or anything else we carry with us throughout our day.

As a Mikvah attendant, I have witnessed many moments of deep emotion and transformation. But one evening stands out with particular tenderness — when I had the honor of guiding a woman, a friend, through her Mikvah immersion following a hysterectomy due to breast cancer.