"Mom, I want to go there so bad. I really, really liked it," said my daughter Allison.
She was calling from her college road trip. It was 2021, the summer before her senior year. She had just visited the school where her dad, Kyle, and I met.
"Are you sure? Northwestern would be lucky to have you. Remember, it was easier for us to get in back then. Now, even though you have better grades and scores than I ever did…"
"I know, Mom. It's a crapshoot," she finished my sentence.
"It's not that you can't get in. It's just that…"
"I know, Mom! With their single-digit admit rate, they can be extra choosy. If they want an urban Asian girl who wants to study cog sci, but also plays lacrosse or oboe, they won't pick me," she said in a singsong voice, mimicking me. "You told me a bazillion times!"
...
Even though I repeated to her the same reminders I gave my coaching clients to manage expectations, I didn't manage my own. Deep down, I never expected that her early decision application would get deferred to regular admission.
I knew better yet became indignant. She deserved to go.
Not only did Kyle and I go there, but my brother had gone through the seven-year undergraduate to medical school program. Kyle's sister got her master's in journalism there, and my father got his Ph.D. there.
Allison wasn't just any legacy.
"Did you name her after Allison Hall?" our fellow alumni friends asked after she was born.
"Yup," we said.
"Of course you did," they said.
We named her after the dorm where Kyle and I had met. This shouldn't have surprised anyone. Kyle was an ultra-fan, even when our sports teams were terrible. Now, despite moving to New York, he kept his season tickets to Northwestern football. And, as soon as our girls were old enough, he took them to see them play at least once a year, more if they were visiting a team nearby. He taught them that you stay until the bitter end, even when you're losing and freezing from standing on ice throughout the game, which happened quite a bit.
Wanting to make sure they also saw women play, Kyle also planned road trips to see the lacrosse team. Dressed in purple, they knew all the words to "Go U Northwestern" when many of our fellow alumni did not.
So when I started to hear about the students who did get in early, I became furious. Close friends were kind to join in on my outrage, telling me how the others were not as worthy as Allison. The gossip, I admit, was a balm, even if it only provided temporary relief.
There were things I knew I shouldn't do, yet I couldn't help myself. Even as the rational voice gave me sound reasons why, I did them anyway: I ruminated, trying to figure out why they got in and Allison did not. ("Schools have institutional priorities, and we can't know how other students fulfill them.") I called up the alumni office and asked if there was someone I could speak to in the admissions office. ("Questioning their decisions or adding pressure to adjacent employees is not likely to help your case.") I called up experts to see if there was anything I could do to change the outcome. ("Stepping in as a parent tells your child you don't have faith in their abilities.")
...
Just as I was ready to act on a promising tip, I had the sense to check in with Allison.
"I will write a letter to the university, promising to put down the deposit as soon as you are accepted. I'll also ask your school's college counselor to write his own letter to vouch that I would do this."
She thought about it.
"No. They didn't want me. I want to see who does."
I admit I was hurt that she didn't want to go along with my plan. I had made the inquiries, done all the agonizing for her, and thought she would be grateful for my devotion.
Having studied envy, I know now that I made an even bigger mistake. I was acting on "proxy envy," envying on behalf of Allison. I compared her to her peers and envied what they had and she didn't. I justified my behavior because I was doing what was "best for her."
In reality, I was more concerned about my own status as a parent. Since parents don't get report cards, the competitive college admissions game becomes what Will Storr would call a "status game." Acceptance of your child into an elite school gives parents a badge of honor they can't get through other means.
What's worse, I wasted time being angry and scheming when I could have treasured my limited remaining time with her. I was preoccupied with a future version of her instead of cherishing her in the present moment. I wanted things for her she didn't even want. And, I should have known better.
Thankfully, Allison found for herself what I failed to give her, the wisdom and confidence to see that there are so many other wonderful schools she could go to. In the end, Allison didn't get into Northwestern. She attended the University of Michigan. She is proud to be a Wolverine and insists it's the best university in the world. She possessed the courage to reject her parents' path and forge her own.
Stacy S. Kim, Ph.D., is a coach to high-achieving women and parents, and the author of Envy: Why Wanting What They Have is the Key to Getting What You Want.
Piece adapted from Envy: Why Wanting What They Have is the Key to Getting What You Want by Stacy S. Kim, Ph.D. Copyright © 2026 by Stacy S. Kim, Ph.D. Reprinted with permission of Balance Publishing, an imprint of Hachette Book Group. All rights reserved.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.