Abstract
I became a caregiver long before I understood what caregiving meant. Growing up alongside my autistic brother shaped how I learned patience, attention, and responsibility in ways no formal training could provide. Many of these lessons emerged quietly through daily life and through observing small sensory reactions that others often overlooked. My brother taught me to notice details. When he pulled away from touch, I learned to slow down. When he became overwhelmed in busy environments, I learned to look for what others did not see—the brightness of lights, background sounds, or textures that created discomfort. These were not behaviors to correct; they were signals describing how the environment affected him.
Years later, when I trained and worked as a barber, I began to recognize how these early experiences connected directly to my work. Haircuts, commonly seen as routine, were often stressful for autistic adults due to sensory factors such as noise, lighting, unfamiliar touch, and rushed expectations. Growing up with my autistic brother did not make me prefer one group of clients over another; rather, it helped me better understand sensory differences and communication styles. This understanding gradually shaped my interest in making barbering more accessible for autistic individuals who often face barriers in routine services.
I did not begin with a formal model. My approach developed through observation and reflection. I slowed my movements, explained each step before touching, reduced noise where possible, and allowed breaks without pressure. One young man had not had a haircut in over 2 years because previous attempts had caused distress. During the first visit, he did not sit in the chair, but he remained in the space observing the environment. I introduced the tools slowly and allowed him to feel their vibration on his arm. No haircut was completed that day, but trust began. On later visits, he gradually became more comfortable. Over several sessions, progress replaced pressure. What might normally take 15 minutes took multiple visits—but each visit ended calmly. That became the real measure of success.
Some of the most important lessons came from mistakes. I once missed early signs of discomfort from a returning client because I assumed previous tolerance meant continued consent. When he pulled away, I realized that consent must always be ongoing and responsive. Through experiences like these, I began to understand dignity not as an abstract idea but as something built through small interactions—being asked instead of instructed, being allowed to pause, and being taken seriously when discomfort is expressed.
I currently provide sensory-aware haircuts in a fixed-location salon in Benghazi, where families often contact me when specialized support is needed. Through hands-on experience working directly with autistic individuals, I have developed practical, client-centered approaches that reduce sensory stress and promote trust during grooming sessions. Based on this experience, I have designed a mobile sensory-aware barber model intended to reduce environmental barriers for autistic individuals who feel safer in familiar settings, such as their homes. The goal of this model is to offer structured, predictable, and sensory-conscious haircuts in environments that minimize anxiety and overstimulation. This mobile service is not yet operational and remains a developing concept.
My understanding of autism comes primarily from lived experience rather than formal clinical training. I share these reflections with humility and with the belief that everyday community services can become more inclusive through small, thoughtful, and practical changes in approach.