by Jessica Alpert
Before my surgery in March, I prepared in many ways. I sent emails. I wrapped up projects. I froze food. I finished putting together so many photo albums. I wrote letters to people and told them how I felt. Yes this may have been slightly dramatic but I was having open heart surgery—so you just never know.
In one of my “before surgery” phone calls, I admitted something. “I’m actually really looking forward to this so I can get a few months off to think. Is that insane?”
I think it is.
Although I’m not a religious person, I have recently embraced Jewish ritual and community with new appreciation. One of those rituals is the mikveh, the Jewish ritual bath. When I was in college, I remember reading about the mikveh and going super hard core judgy-judge judge about it. “Anti-feminist and degrading,” was my immediate reaction. I knew about it from only one perspective—the period perspective. Some women immerse in the mikveh after their menstrual cycle to achieve “ritual purity.” I vowed I’d never set foot in one.
Fast forward 20 years and I’m walking into Mayyim Hayyim for my third immersion. College Jess would have been in DISBELIEF (or shooketh but I promised my kids I would stop trying so hard).
Mayyim Hayyim defines itself as “a 21st century creation, a mikveh rooted in ancient tradition, reinvented to serve the Jewish community of today.” It caters to a wide range of people dealing with an even wider range of life cycle events. It’s beautiful and spa-like, peaceful and welcoming.
In all my other immersions, I had considered it a “thank you for getting me through” kind-of action; I was grateful for the safe delivery of my twins or the courage to transition my career.
This time was different. I was using it to literally open my heart to what was coming.
A mikveh is filled “living water” (water not collected by human hands) and in Mayyim Hayyim’s case, it’s rain water. Before you immerse, you need to really clean every part of your body—from underneath your nails to inside your ears. (You can learn more about preparing for immersion here.)
When I was ready, I walked down into the pool and thought about the major intervention that was only two days away. My body had gotten me this far and even though it would be battered and bruised, I knew it would go the distance. I felt completely held by the water and so, so calm. Below is what I read after my immersion.
![](https://i0.wp.com/substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe6711247-e657-4bab-9b94-6cf21f606ce5_2390x1597.jpeg?resize=1456%2C973&ssl=1)
I love how there isn’t a glossing over of what’s hard. It’s honest about the process of healing—“help me endure the suffering and dissolve the fear,”—and taking stock—“let the light of courage find its place.” Which brings me to the point of this story. Major life changes force us to reevaluate how we live and what we’re doing. But I wish it didn’t require major surgery for me to take stock and truly reflect. If I’m being honest though there’s no other way I would have slowed down. It’s just so much easier to be moving and doing. If I have one hope for you it’s that you give yourself a chance to think about what’s happening today. Even if it’s the most mundane day, take it in. Be grateful for how non-eventful it was. Don’t wait for an operating room to make you see the bright lights.
Jessica Alpert is the co-founder and CEO of Rococo Punch, an audio content creation company based in Boston. This post was originally published on Jessica’s Substack.