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.

I was 35 when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. At the time, I had four little kids, ages six to one and a half. Overnight, we were thrown into a new world — genetics, surgery, chemo, and radiation.

What a blessed, joyous first experience for my daughter, embracing her into the mitzvah of mikveh immersion in a manner that will hopefully connect her to Hashem - and her beloved – with warm, wonderous ties of happiness and holiness, for blessed decades of fertility to come. It was this very positive experience of hers – and of mine alongside her – that struck me painfully as so very much in contrast to my own tevilla experiences.

For many women, immersing in the mikveh is one of the most private and spiritual moments of the month, a time for reflection, renewal, and connection.  Yet, even in such a sacred space, it’s not only allowed but essential to advocate for your comfort and sense of dignity.

But as the time drew near, I pushed these fair arguments out of my head and just took it one step at a time. I cleaned myself in a halachic permitting manner, checked myself, walked out of the house (I left my children with my guests) and trekked to the Mikvah...

What does it feel like when someone witnesses you with love in their eyes? A mikveh attendant has incredible power as a witness.