For a long time, he avoided getting his hair cut. The sound of clippers, the idea of sitting still, and the fear of losing something familiar always made him nervous.
His hair had grown past his shoulders, soft and straight, and over time, people began to mistake him for a girl. Strangers would say “she” or “your daughter,” and while he didn’t always correct them, it started to bother him more and more.
Still, the thought of getting a haircut felt scary. Every time someone suggested it, he shook his head and held onto his long strands like a safety blanket.
It wasn’t just hair. It was a barrier, a comfort, a part of how he understood himself. When things were hard at school, when friends drifted away, when his parents argued behind closed doors, his hair was there. Constant. Untouched. Chosen.
But one afternoon in early spring, something changed.
He was walking home from school, the wind pushing his hair into his eyes, when a group of younger kids passed by on bikes. One of them shouted, “Move it, lady!” and the others laughed.
It wasn’t cruel—not really. Just careless. But it hit harder than he expected. He stood on the sidewalk a long time after they’d gone, clutching his backpack strap, staring at the pavement.
That night, he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He pulled his hair back, letting his face show fully. His jawline had started to sharpen. His shoulders were broadening. He was growing into someone else—and suddenly, he wanted the outside to match.
The next morning, over breakfast, he said quietly, “I think I want a haircut.”
His mom blinked. “You sure?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Not because of what people say. I just… think I’m ready.”
At the salon, his hands trembled as he sat down. The stylist asked what he wanted. He didn’t know how to explain it.
“Short,” he finally said. “But not too short. Just enough that I don’t hide behind it anymore.”
She smiled. “Got it.”
As the scissors snipped and the weight fell away, he felt strangely calm. Not giddy. Not proud. Just calm—like exhaling after holding your breath for a long, long time.
When she spun the chair around to show him the mirror, he saw someone familiar but new. Still him. Just clearer.
He touched the ends, now just below his ears, and gave a small, surprised smile.
He stepped outside, wind brushing his neck, and this time, it didn’t feel like anything was missing.
It felt like he’d made space—for something new, something honest.
And that was enough