I've waited 15 years for this.It took 15 years for my immersion in a mikvah to be a neutral experience. Not traumatic. Not painful. Neutral. From the very first time immersing in a mikvah, a few days before my wedding, I was on my own. Searching in the dark, in unfamiliar territory.

Ever been at a gathering and something breaks accidentally and, at the sound of shattering glass everyone jokingly shouts “Mazal tov!”? It’s one of the most ironic reactions embedded into our Jewish culture – that the sound of breaking glass triggers a raucous shout of joy and celebration.

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.

I just started a PhD program in Jewish Studies. The first course is in research methods, and as we work to articulate what we want to study, this week we were taught about the "why." Academic interest is something — but being motivated beyond just the theoretical is something more.

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.

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.