Going into my senior year there were two things I feared most in the world: dying and not getting into any colleges. They say you have to face your fears, and I guess they were right about one of them.

In the span of two and a half weeks, I opened my email to rejection and waitlist notifications dribbling in. I barely held it together until my mom came into my room with tears in her eyes and two small envelopes in her hands on March 28. That was the night it all ended. And I didn’t get a single acceptance. Me, Maeve, the academy kid, the one who unabashedly raises her hand and uses the word “unabashedly” didn’t get accepted into a single college

So what is one to do after that news? Cry. Cry some more. Hug your parents who maybe need to cry even more than you do. And then, somehow, go to sleep.

During the next few days, I spent time scrolling through Facebook posts of everyone committing, wanting to be thrilled for them but unable to lose the pit in my stomach. But, you know, I had all of the political posts to distract me.

And then it struck me- the one person I could truly relate to was Hillary Clinton. She worked her entire life, almost never making the wrong move, so she could get the one thing she wanted. And then the universe said “suckah” and threw a Cheeto-colored explosive which starts with “T” and rhymes with “slump” in her path and everything went straight to crap.

I’m not sure if she found the “sad song station” on Pandora in the weeks after her loss like I did, but it seemed to help me. Listening to people soulfully lament their lost loves didn’t make me forget about the crushing weight of all the uncertainties I face, but it did let me grieve.

After a week I figured it was time to take everyone’s (by everyone, I mean like two people) advice and write a handwritten letter to each school I was on the waitlist of. So I sat down and opened up a notebook to draft. First, I wrote the letter I thought everyone wanted me to send- the one that says “you’re my first choice” and “if you let me in I’ll go to you” while somehow not being desperate and subtly bragging about some meaningless accomplishment.

But then I started to write the letter I wanted to send, the letter about how, even after all of this, I’m still proud of everything I put in my applications. Even as far down as I am, I’m not going to lie and promise every school they are my top choice.

I wrote the letters and I read over the two options. There was one page of sucking up, playing the game I despise and schmoozing. Then there were three pages of honest, if brutal, truth.

Somehow, after sealing the envelope on the last one, I couldn’t help but feel free (and some wrist cramping). I am still weighted by a nearly intolerable number of uncertainties. This was one of the worst things that ever could have happened to me, but now I’m free because I no longer have to bear the weight of fearing it.