I don't know if this even counts as a confession, maybe it's just... a rant, I guess. I feel awful even thinking this, let alone writing it down. My kid, my oldest, got rejected from [Ivy League School Name]. It wasn't a surprise, not really, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. They worked so hard, harder than I ever did, honestly. Straight A's, all the extra-curriculars, the volunteering, they even started some club I barely understand. And then the letters came, and the ones from the big schools were all "we regret to inform you..." It just sucked. It still sucks. But then, the neighbor's kid, Mark, he got in. To THE school, the one we all sort of whispered about, the one my kid had been dreaming about since middle school. And OF COURSE, my kid is so good, so kind, they went right over there with a card and a congratulations gift. And my neighbor, he came over to tell us, beaming, obviously. And I just... stood there. Smiling. Congratulating him. Telling him how proud he must be, how amazing Mark is, how much he deserves it. And it's all true, I think. Mark *is* a great kid, really smart, really driven. He does deserve it. He deserves all the praise. But inside, I just felt this... this burning, hot, ugly thing. Like a hot coal in my stomach. And I was so ANGRY. Not at Mark, not really. Not even at my neighbor, though a part of me wished he'd just kept it to himself for a little longer, you know? I think I was angry at myself, for not being able to make it happen for my kid, for not being able to fix it. Or maybe I was angry at the world, for being so unfair, for making it feel like it was some kind of competition we lost. I don't know. I just kept smiling, and nodding, and hearing myself say all the right things, all the congratulatory things, while feeling like a total fraud. I just wanted to scream, or maybe just go hide in my studio and throw paint at a canvas until I felt something else. Anything else.