NEW YORK — When our son got into one of the most elite, “intellectually gifted” schools in New York City, which also happens to be free tuition through high school, you can imagine our elation.

My husband and I took a tiny bit of credit for our genius son, especially since we didn’t raise him to be master of the universe (evil or otherwise). Then we got drunk in the middle of the day to celebrate nailing it as parents.

We thought for sure we were done with school applications until college. We thought wrong.

Turns out, our son did not fit where he was placed.

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Blissfully unaware, on the first day of kindergarten, we exhaled a sigh of relief when the room filled up with 23 other goofballs talking a mile a minute. Our son could let his nerd flag fly and just be himself. We felt sure we were in the right place. This feeling of peace and satisfaction lasted about three months. Then the kids were broken into spelling groups according to ability. The teachers assured us the children had no idea what the groups meant, but even a five-year-old can figure out that the group with words like “dog” and “boat” is different than the one spelling “ichthyology.” I am not making that up. And I’m not ashamed (I’m totally ashamed) to admit I had to look up that word on Wikipedia. By the end of kindergarten, our son had listed off the “smart kids” and told us he was one of the dumbest in class. He'd made his decision: He was stupid. It was official.

As it turns out, gifted kids, defined as "high potential learners," can have heightened awareness and anxiety, according to the National Association for Gifted Children. Our son fit the bill. (He has worried about the meaning of life since he was two years old. Seriously.)

Naturally, we felt his sensitive nature would be nurtured by a group of people who understood him at this school. But neither the students nor the administration prioritized sensitivity. I will never forget the day I mentioned to another mother my concern about lack of empathy and kindness among the students, and she told me: “That’s not the school’s job.” As the years went on, we worried about his progress a little bit and about his confidence a lot. Our son began to raise his hand less and disengage more. Any mention of school or schoolwork brought him to tears. We spent the evenings fighting and eventually crying about homework. But we still told ourselves this was the right place for him. He was gifted, dammit!

By the time third grade rolled around, we entered the year optimistic but armored.

I know “community” and “compassion” can feel like empty platitudes, but we live in a world where kids are shooting each other over feelings of isolation. We live in a world where some kids have all of the academic and financial resources and many others have none. We need to be raising compassionate kids who care about their communities, and, to me, school seems like the perfect place to start.

When a child isn’t terrified to “look stupid” or get made fun of, she will find the courage to raise her hand when she doesn’t understand something. She will take a risk and try something outside her comfort zone. Isn’t that what school is for? Despite our discomfort with our son’s school, and the obvious disintegration of his self-confidence, my husband and I committed to making it work. Walking away felt like a failure on our part. To our disappointment, we realized we cared what other people thought about us and about our son. Parenting in New York City sometimes feels like one giant intelligence pageant — hundreds of parents all fighting for a few spots at Harvard, when their children are still four years old. We rose above it for awhile, but eventually sucked us over to the dark side. That realization was a difficult and unflattering pill to swallow. In the fourth grade, after several whispers from loving teachers and finally listening to our intuition, we looked into a more nurturing, progressive school for our son. Luckily for all of us, our son was accepted to one such school.

Even with the challenge of a new environment and friends, we saw his anxiety almost immediately slip away. School became fun again, learning stopped being a competitive sport. Thankfully, we had the presence of mind to stop and ask ourselves as parents, "AND THEN WHAT?" If our son gets into every AP class, and wins every trophy and eats organic kale and only watches PBS, but is collapsing under the pressure, are we winning? Is he winning? Before you enter the rat race, I urge parents to question what and against whom you and your kids are racing. It doesn’t freaking matter where your neighbor’s kid went to school. It just doesn’t. Please stop comparing, judging and drawing conclusions. The kids feel it. They know it’s happening, and it is hurting them very deeply. If you are privileged enough to be selective about what schools your children attend, please consider how they are learning and not just what they are learning. School isn’t only about cramming as much as possible as quickly as possible into their little brains. I can tell you that since leaving this school, our son is calm and confident. He asks questions when he doesn’t understand something, and, best of all, he raises his hand. I’ll take it.

Editor's note: For reasons of privacy, the author has written under a pseudonym.