The Real Achievement of Sorority Rush (and It's Not Bid Day)
I was not prepared to watch my daughter go through rush, especially from hundreds of miles away. I was not in a sorority, so my only frame of reference until now was my older daughter’s experience, which unfolded in 2020, during the height of Covid. Every conversation and every glimpse of hope or disappointment happened through the impersonal lens of Zoom.
Before it began last week, I tried to support her without passing along my own anxieties. But rushing at a university with 14 chapters is a gauntlet: it means being told, “We don’t want you,” or “You don’t belong here,” thirteen times before it’s all over. Each “no” adds a fresh layer to the heartache of the week-long process.
People love to celebrate the sparkle of Bid Day: the hugs, the t-shirts, the new friends. But what is overlooked—in pictures, in all the smiling posts—is the private cost of the days leading up to it. There were days I heard my daughter question through her tears her worth after being dropped by houses she had hoped to call "home." It takes energy and resilience to re-inflate hope each morning, put on a brave face, and try again. As her mother, knowing how hard she works to be kind, involved, and genuine, it broke my heart to know that she felt dismissed or invisible, even for a moment.
The pressure to say the right thing, wear the right outfit, and be “enough”—it was palpable. No matter how many times one reassures these young women of their value, the process chips away at self-confidence and causes real, lasting wounds.
When my daughter finally found her chapter, I saw her joy—a genuine, radiant joy—in being welcomed and embraced by her new sisters. The relief and exhilaration of acceptance, of finally belonging after so much uncertainty, is very real and truly wonderful. Yet, as her mother, I cannot forget the road that led there, or the toll it took. Rush is a crucible: it reveals strengths, but also inflicts pain, and the latter deserves acknowledgment.
What I want for both my daughters is a world where young women know with certainty that their worth is far greater than a single group’s opinion. I hope that with time, the wounds will heal and the friendships born from sisterhood will endure, but I also hope we will remember and honor the quiet tears, the painful rejections, and the resilience it takes for our daughters simply to show up, day after day, until they are chosen. That strength, as much as any banner or t-shirt, is the real achievement of rush.
