What Alumni Hate Most About Private School: Lessons For Parents Considering Private Education
Last month, my 12-year-old son Leo and I stood in the gym of a local private middle school, holding crumbly sugar cookies from the welcome table, while the admissions director rattled off stats about small class sizes and 100% college acceptance rates. Leo leaned over, crumpled his program in one hand, and whispered, “Wait, you went to private high school, right? Why wouldn’t I want this?” I shrugged it off at the time, but that night, over crispy beef tacos on our back porch, I started telling him what I never really put into words before: what I hated most about my private school experience, the stuff that doesn’t show up on any admissions brochure.
I went to an all-girls private high school outside Chicago in the early 2000s. My mom was a single pediatric nurse, got me a half-tuition scholarship, and stretched every dollar to cover the rest. I knew we were poorer than almost everyone else there, but it wasn’t blatant bullying that got to me. It was the small, constant unspoken stuff: the way everyone compared summer vacation stories between semesters, how I’d make up a story about visiting my grandma instead of admitting I was working at the local library to save for a new laptop. Senior year, the school posted all college acceptances on a public bulletin board by the main office. Everyone crowded around after morning assembly to scan the names. I got into the honors journalism program at the University of Illinois, which was exactly what I wanted, affordable, and well-ranked for my major. But when a group of popular girls walked by, one glanced at my name next to U of I and said “oh, that’s a good safety, right?” before they moved on to cheer for the girl who got into Yale. I left that bulletin board feeling like I’d failed, even though I’d gotten into my first choice. That feeling stuck around for a decade.
I started having panic attacks in 10th grade, after I messed up a solo in the school chorus. My mom took me to the school counselor to ask for simple accommodations, like extra time on tests when I was feeling overwhelmed. The counselor told her, “Mia is just lucky to be here. Most kids would kill for this opportunity, she just needs to apply herself more.” That’s the core of what almost every private school alum I’ve talked to says they hated most: the pressure to look like you have it all together, all the time. Struggle isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s framed as a waste of the spot you were lucky enough to get. My cousin’s 16-year-old goes to my old school on a full scholarship now. Her dad drives a public school bus, and she cried at our Christmas dinner last year because no one sits with her at lunch—she brings a homemade sandwich instead of ordering from the school’s $12-a-day catering service. It’s not called bullying. It’s just the culture.
This isn’t me saying all private schools are bad, or that no kid should ever attend. I had a few incredible teachers there, and I got a solid foundation that served me well in college and beyond. But when you ask alumni what they hated most, almost no one says too much homework or strict dress codes. It’s this unspoken culture of performance and exclusion that sticks with you for decades. As a parent, there are concrete, small things you can do to spot it before you enroll, and mitigate it if your kid is already there.
First, when you tour a private school, skip the generic questions about test scores and graduation rates. Ask three specific questions: How do you share college acceptance news with students? Do you post them publicly, or share them privately? How do you support students who get grades that aren’t As? And what percentage of your student body receives full or partial need-based aid, and what do you do to make those students feel like they belong? If the admissions director hedges, or says “we don’t really have that problem here,” that’s a red flag. Last year, I went with a friend to tour another private school, and when she asked the first question, the director admitted they stopped posting acceptances five years ago after multiple students said it made them feel like failures. That’s a good answer.
If your kid is already enrolled, don’t just ask “are you okay?” or “is everything good?” Ask specific questions about the small stuff that feels too silly for kids to bring up on their own. Once a week, ask, “did anyone say anything about what you did over the weekend, or what you brought for lunch?” That gives them space to talk about the icky micro stuff that adds up, instead of waiting until it turns into anxiety or depression before you notice. I also do a casual “normalization check” in our house about once a month, where we say out loud things that private school culture often frames as failure: “Bs are fine. State colleges are great. It’s okay if we can’t afford a ski trip over winter break. No one gets to judge you for what your family does or doesn’t have.” It’s a small thing, but it gives your kid a script to push back against that quiet voice that tells them they’re not enough.
Leo ended up picking the local public middle school, because it has the pottery program he’s been begging for. We’ll revisit the private school question for high school if he wants, but I’m not going to sugarcoat the bad parts if we do. I still catch myself sometimes, over-explaining why I went to a state college, or apologizing for our small house that’s half an hour from the city. It’s a habit that took four years of private school culture to build, and it’s hard to break. All any of us can do is notice it, call it out, and make sure our kids know they don’t have to perform to be worth something.
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