There is a moment in many parent’s lives when ambition creeps in disguised as love.
It might start with a conversation at the school gates, or a college ranking glimpsed online. A university name spoken with a faint, involuntary reverence. And before we quite notice what is happening, our hopes for our children begin to take shape not just as wishes for their happiness, but as plans for their success.
I’ve been there, with the added context of having my family name on a world university ranking, as the S of QS. My daughter came home from school last week and said, ‘Daddy, we were talking today about university and your name came up.”
I thought she was then going to ask, ‘Remind me again, what exactly is it that you do?” In truth, she is probably better at explaining to others than I am.
What we hope for when we say we want the best
We want our children to flourish in a world that feels more competitive, more precarious, and more unforgiving than the one we grew up in. We want to equip them, and I certainly want to protect them. We want doors to open rather than close.
And yet, if we pause – really pause – and ask ourselves what we most deeply want for our sons and daughters, the answers are rarely about outcomes.
We hope they will know who they are.
We hope they will be kind, to others and to themselves.
We hope they will have the courage to try, and the resilience to fail.
We hope they will feel worthy of love, regardless of achievement.
These are not college admissions criteria. They are human ones.
As a Director of Fortuna Admissions, I speak with many parents and their children about the road to college. I leave the insider admissions expertise to my wonderful colleagues, who used to work at the top US and UK universities. Instead I spend our call together hopefully helping them to realise how far they have come, and the belief
As families begin to think seriously about university, whether in the US, the UK, or elsewhere in the world it is worth returning to these deeper truths. Because the journey to college is not only a logistical process, it is an emotional one. And how we parents show up during this period often matters more than any strategy or shortlist.
Walking together
One of the books that most captured my heart in recent years is The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse. On the surface, it looks like a children’s book: beautiful watercolour drawings, short sentences, a gentle pace. In reality, it is something closer to a meditation on what it means to grow, to care, and to keep going when the path ahead is unclear.
There is no conventional plot. The young boy meets a mole who loves eating cake, and from there they meet the reserved fox and the stoic horse. The four characters gradually walk through a landscape together, and they talk. They pause. They ask questions. They offer reassurance. They get frightened, lost, cold, and continue anyway.
That is the point.
Adolescence, and the transition toward adulthood is less a race toward a destination than a walk through uncertainty. Teenagers are discovering who they are, while also being asked to perform, decide, and compete. They are encouraged to dream boldly, yet measured constantly against benchmarks that can feel reductive and relentless.
Piano lessons, hockey and math Olympiads vie for a place in their agenda with Model UN and internships or summer school. PSAT makes way for the SAT or ACT, and maybe an Advanced Placement class or three for good measure.
If we are lucky, they quickly clear their plate at dinner as they announce that they still have an assignment to complete for the next day. In this context, a parent’s role is not to map every step of the journey, but to walk alongside them.
The difference between pressure and support
I think that most parents would say they want to support their children. Fewer stop to ask how support is experienced from the other side.
Teenagers are exquisitely sensitive to unspoken expectations. I’m still feeling my way with that one! They can feel the weight of parental sacrifice even when it is never mentioned. They can sense when approval is conditional, even if it is expressed with warmth. They often translate concern into pressure, and guidance into judgement.
I’m not a qualified psychologist, but I don’t think this is because parents are doing anything wrong. It is because love is powerful, and power – even benevolent power – shapes behaviour.
What the best parents do, consciously or not, is create a sense of emotional safety. They communicate, again and again, that love and worth is not contingent on performance. That effort matters more than outcome, and that failure is not a catastrophe but a teacher.
In Charlie Mackesy’s book, one line captures this perfectly. “Asking for help is not giving up,” says the horse. “It’s refusing to give up.”
It’s a message teenagers need to hear, especially in environments that reward self-sufficiency and the pursuit of perfection.
When children believe they are allowed to struggle and still be loved, they become braver. And bravery, not fear, is what ultimately leads to meaningful achievement.
Letting dreams breathe
Many parents carry dreams on behalf of their children. Some are inherited. Some are reactions to roads that they themselves did not take. Some are shaped by cultural narratives about prestige, security, or honour.
There is nothing inherently wrong with this. Dreams are part of how families transmit values and aspirations across generations.
But dreams need oxygen. When they become too tightly held, they can suffocate the very people they are meant to inspire.
Supporting a teenager on the road to university means making space for their own exploration, both intellectual, emotional, and most likely existential – they are teens! It means tolerating ambiguity. It means allowing your child to change their mind, to evolve, to surprise you. They always surprise us.
The paradox is that when we as parents loosen our grip, children often rise higher. When they feel trusted, they take ownership. When they feel seen for who they are, not who they are expected to become, they engage more deeply with the world.
Be patient. As the mole reminds the boy, “Shouting at a flower won’t make it bloom.”
Success reimagined
In conversations about higher education, success is often framed narrowly: admission to a selective institution, a recognisable career path, a reassuring return on investment.
These things matter of course. Colleges can open doors, and they can create opportunity. And take it from the person whose name is on higher education league tables- there is no one best college or university, but there are many wonderful places for your children to flourish and find themselves.
So the Ivy League and Oxbridge are not the whole story.
A successful young adult is not simply one who gets into college, but one who knows how to navigate complexity, build relationships, recover from disappointment, and remain curious in the face of uncertainty.
At their best, universities are not factories for credentials, but environments for growth. They reward independence of thought, intellectual risk-taking, and the capacity to reflect. Ironically, the students who thrive most in these settings are often those who were allowed, earlier on, to be imperfect.
Parents who understand this shift their focus. They stop asking only Where are you going? and start asking Who are you becoming?
Invisible Parenting
A lot of the most important parental influence during teenage years happens invisibly. It is in the tone used when discussing results, and the curiosity shown about ideas rather than accolades. It is how we respond to disappointment, and our willingness to listen without immediately fixing.
These moments accumulate. They form an internal voice that children carry with them long after they leave home.
In The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse, the Horse does not push the others forward. He does not hurry them. He stands steady, offering perspective when the path feels overwhelming. He reminds them that they are enough, even when they are afraid.
That is the model many teenagers need from the adults in their lives: steadiness rather than urgency, presence rather than pressure.
Walking On
Eventually, every child walks on without us. That is the point, and the ache, of parenting.
Whether they head to a university across the world, choose a different path entirely, or take time to find their direction, our influence travels with them. It’s not in the form of an instruction manual, but in the values we embodied along the way.
If we are lucky, what they carry is not fear of failure, but confidence in their ability to recover. They are not anxious and overburdened with expectations, but have clarity about what matters. And without sounding like a ChatGPT response of not X but Y, they don’t feel they are being measured, but enjoy the warm feeling of being trusted.
When we say we want the best for our children, perhaps this is what we really mean. Not that they arrive somewhere impressive, but that they walk their path with courage, kindness, and a belief in their own worth.
The French have a lovely expression for which I’ve not yet found an equivalent in English. They say, ”être bien dans sa peau” – to be good in your skin. I think that works for both parents and children.
So if, along the way, they learn that it is okay to ask for help, to change direction, and to be themselves, to be good in their skin, then we have done something far more lasting than helping them get in to college
We have helped them begin.
