College Admissions (aka Mom’s Slow Decent into Madness)

Scrolling through Instagram and TikTok this past week triggered what I can only describe as full-blown PTSD.  Watching kids I don’t even know dramatically reveal their college admissions decisions left me queasy.

          It took me right back—not just to Decision Day—but to the entire anxiety-ridden journey.

          Because let’s be clear: this doesn’t start senior year.  Oh no.  This begins around eighth grade, when you casually remind your child that beginning next year, every grade they earn, every club they join, every volunteer hour they log, every sport they play, and every non-profit they launch will determine where they go to college.

          So . . . enjoy middle school while you can.

          No pressure.

          Ninth grade rolls around and it’s game on.  And it’s not just for your child.

Mom is now fully activated.

If it was simply reminding your child to do her homework, that would be one thing.  Child’s play.  Instead, you’re managing a four-year strategy plan so that by junior year your child has a “competitive resume.”

Competitive against whom, exactly?

Oh, just other teenagers who’ve apparently:

• started businesses;
• cured minor diseases;
• won Nobel Peace Prizes;
• and casually written New York Times best-sellers.

I still remember when my own son asked me in ninth grade to help him start a non-profit . . .  for his college application.

In a moment of weakness and panic, I actually considered it.

          Parent involvement is both necessary . . . and legally delicate.  Just ask Lori Loughlin.  There is, apparently, a line.  And as history has shown us, that line is not always where you think it is.  So now you have to constantly ask yourself, “Am I being supportive . . . or am I about to commit a federal offense?”

          Guiding your child through high school success is one thing.  Assisting in the application process is quite another.  That’s because the entire application process has changed dramatically since you went to college.  Back in those days, you dipped your quill into the inkwell and filled out the one-page application form, folded it neatly and put it in an envelope sealed with beeswax, put a stamp on it, dropped it in the mail, and waited patiently like a normal human being for a reply.  The application form was simple.  The school wanted to know your basic personal information (name, address etc.,), grade point average which was easily calculated, SAT or ACT score, honors and club memberships.

          Oh, how times have changed.

          First, there is “the list.” And not just any list.  It’s a carefully curated and balanced list consisting of their “Reach School,” “Target School,” Safety School,” and probably a bunch of other categories I’ve blocked out from the trauma of it all.  This is also when your child who once proudly declared “Hook Em Horns” suddenly announces their dream school is a tiny liberal arts college in the Pacific Northwest that costs $90,000 per year.  You’ve never heard of it.  But now it’s everything.

          Paramount in achieving this goal is establishing a strong GPA and a high score on the SAT or ACT.  Don’t ask me to explain how the GPA is calculated.  I just know it can be “weighted,” “unweighted,” and might also involve something called “rigor” which seems more appropriate for a discussion of a CrossFit class rather than an educational pursuit. And the ACT? Let’s put it this way.  An ACT score that just seems “fine” suddenly becomes amazing when “super-scored” with another test taken six months ago.

          Then there is the resume, where everything counts.  It’s certainly easiest to be Class President and Valedictorian and call it a day.  It’s not an instant ticket to an Ivy League school, but it at least offers a fighting chance.  For everyone else, there is cataloguing every little thing.  Volunteer hours are particularly important.  Colleges value students with a philanthropic bent.  Never mind the fact that Mom and Dad had to threaten and bribe said applicant to get them to actually “volunteer.” As for everything else, just know that colleges are looking for well-rounded students . . . preferably ones who appear to have never sat down or slept.

          And then we arrive at the essay.  They are designed to give the Admissions Officer a window into applicant’s soul.  They are also the moment you realize your child is quietly rewriting family history.  Who knew that family vacation to EPCOT in second grade inspired a lifelong passion for global diplomacy, cultural immersion, and world peace?  You just thought you were just trying to keep everyone alive and entertained in 95-degree heat. Apparently, it was a transformative journey.

          Somewhere along the way, you realize you are no longer just “Mom.” You are now project manager, deadline enforcer, and full-time emotional support resource. You also teach important life lessons like how to get your teacher to write a recommendation letter without pestering them so that they write something positive.

Campus visits are next.  Lovely.  And mostly identical.  “This is the dining hall.”  “This is the dorm.”  “This is the state-of-the art gym with a climbing wall and lazy river that will add several thousand dollars to your tuition and ultimately your student loan payment.” Meanwhile, you’re whispering to your teenager the entire time, “get off your phone, “look interested,” and “stop slouching because they’re watching you.”  Are they actually watching?  No idea, but we’re not taking any chances.

          And then there is Decision Day!

          The only way to describe it is this:  It’s like watching your team take the final shot of the game. . . while also waiting for a medical diagnosis. . . while also refreshing a website that may or may not crash.

          And when that acceptance finally comes?

          You celebrate like you got in.

          Because honestly, let’s face it, you kind of did.

          As for everyone else? 

          It will work out.  Your child will land somewhere, grow up, and figure it out.

          And you?

          You will finally rest.

          Until grad school applications.