The Sensory Mum Guide to Haircuts: Tears, Trauma, and the Occasional Mullet

Haircuts. Two innocent little syllables that fill me with dread. Some parents get “first haircut” photoshoots — we get WWE wrestling matches in the living room and a child who acts like I’ve just announced I’m chopping his ears off.
I’ll be honest: I hate it. He hates it. We all hate it. The word “haircut” in our house sparks instant panic. Isaac bolts, I’m sweating before we even start, and the whole thing ends with me questioning my life choices.





💇‍♂️ Why Haircuts Are a Sensory Nightmare

For autistic kids, haircuts aren’t “just a trim.” They’re a full-on sensory assault.

  • Clippers? Forget it. The buzzing around his ears is like torture. He screams, thrashes, refuses — headphones don’t help because he won’t wear them.

  • Scissors? Slightly less awful, but still chaos. The snipping sound makes him flinch, the feeling of hair falling on his skin drives him wild, and sitting still is basically impossible.

  • Hairdressers? Hahaha, nope. That’s a hard pass.

And let’s not forget the mum stress: school’s starting soon, his hair is wild, and all I can think is “they’re going to ask why I’ve sent him back looking like he lives in a hedge.”

🤦‍♀️ Our Real-Life Chaos (aka: We’ve Tried Everything)

We’ve honestly tried everything.

  • Bribery? Nope. Not even chocolate buttons or screen time could save us.

  • Following him around with scissors? Dangerous. Messy. Useless.

  • Every room in the house? Kitchen, bathroom, garden… all ending in meltdowns and hair tumbleweeds.

  • We’ve tried different times of day, different tools, quiet clippers, noisy clippers, magic clippers (spoiler: they don’t exist), dog clippers, hedge shears... (I Joke)

    Nothing works. Nothing.

And then came the creative phase.

When Isaac was younger, we used to literally drive him around in the car with white noise blaring until he fell asleep. Then the hairdresser would sneak out to the car and chop away while he was out cold. He thought we were mad.  He got a rather large tip anyway.  The car ended up looking like a sheep had exploded inside it — hair everywhere. Did it work? Technically yes, but I still find stray bits of hair in the seatbelt buckle years later.

We also tried having a hairdresser come to the house. That wasn’t too bad actually — until the one who actually came who he liked (my brother’s ex) was no longer an option. Breakups are hard, but losing your one sensory-friendly hairdresser? That’s devastating. Bye-bye, half-decent haircut solution.

So now we’re back to square one: Dad with scissors, me as human straightjacket, Isaac furious, hair flying everywhere… and Isla in the background absolutely howling with laughter like it’s the best show she’s ever seen. Honestly, the sibling commentary makes it 10 times worse.

By the time it’s over, we’re all traumatised, the living room looks like a hair bomb went off, and Isaac’s haircut? Usually uneven, sometimes suspiciously mullet-shaped, but hey — it’s shorter than before.  Bit of gel to make it look like its meant to look that way and its all good!!

💡 Survival Tips (That Kinda Work… Sometimes)

Now, I can’t give you a magical “how to fix this” because — well, you’ve read my story. But here are a few things that have made it slightly less horrific:

  1. Cut in tiny bursts. Two minutes here, five minutes there. Breaks are lifesavers.

  2. Screens are your friend. Sometimes iPad hypnosis gives us enough time for a snip or two. Sometimes not.

  3. Try different tools. Quiet clippers, different scissors, lap pads. (Though clippers near the ears? Still hell.)

  4. Tag team. One holds, one cuts. Swap when you’re both about to lose it.

  5. Good enough is good enough. It doesn’t have to be neat. Honestly, nobody at school cares.

  6. Laugh later. Because if you don’t, you’ll cry into your wine.

✨ Final Thoughts

Haircuts are, hands down, the thing I dread most as a sensory mum. It’s not fun, it’s not cute, and it’s definitely not “just hair.” But you know what? We survive it. He survives it. And that’s all that matters.

So, to the mums reading this with scissors in one hand, a wriggling autistic child in the other, and a sibling laughing hysterically in the background: you’re not failing, you’re not alone, and your kid’s mullet is safe with me.

And if you need tools to keep yourself sane in the chaos — check out my Sensory Mum Journal, Calm Kit, and Chaos Cards. Because haircuts are hard, but at least we can laugh (and cry) together. 💜


Comment and tell me your funny stories so I can feel normal! xxxx

Comments

Post a Comment