Blurb：
Wendy’s story begins with her mother’s strict belief that a shaved head is the best hairstyle for a girl—clean, neat, and boy-repellent. Forced to keep her head shaved since childhood, Wendy endures strange stares until she threatens suicide after high school, finally winning the right to grow her hair. But on the eve of college, her mother shaves it all off again, sparking a violent confrontation. Wendy’s screams echo in the bathroom as she grapples with her shattered identity, while her mother justifies the act as “for her own good.” Dad’s weak attempts at peace fail as Mom escalates, threatening to tear up Wendy’s college acceptance letter. Dive into this raw tale of parental control, set against Wendy’s desperate fight for autonomy, her college dreams, and the dark secret of Mom’s past—using pregnancy to trap Dad for his family money. Explore themes of abuse, rebellion, and the painful journey to selfhood.
Content：
My mom always said.
The best hairstyle for a girl is a shaved head.
Clean, neat, easy to take care of.
And it keeps boys from getting the wrong idea.
Ever since I was little,
I’ve had a completely shaved head.
And put up with everyone’s strange stares.
The summer after I finished high school,
I threatened suicide.
That’s how I finally got her to let me grow my hair.
The night before I left for college,
Mom crept into my room while I was asleep and shaved it all off again.
At dawn, a scream ripped through the bathroom.
I clawed at my scalp, stripped bare once more, utterly shattered.
I was crying and shaking like a crazy person.
Mom ran in from the kitchen, still holding her cooking spoon.
She kicked me hard in the side.
“What are you screaming? Trying to wake the whole neighborhood at this hour?”
I stumbled from the kick and hit my stomach on the sink.
I didn’t even feel the pain, I just turned and screamed at her.
“Don’t I deserve hair? Is having hair a crime? Do I have to die right here to make you happy?”
Mom just made a disgusted sound.
“Then go ahead and die. Honestly, I’ve never seen a child who threatens her own mother with death so often.”
Her cold, uncaring voice.
Made all my fury feel useless.
I remembered what happened last time.
The razor blade had already broken the skin on my wrist.
It was so close to where it could have killed me.
Only then did Mom finally agree that my hair was my own business from then on.
I thought I had finally won, right when I was becoming an adult.
That whole summer,
I watched the little hairs start growing on my head.
I dealt with the annoying itching as it grew longer.
I dreamed about how my upcoming college life would be like.
I’d been happy, fulfilled.
I’d thought, deep down, my parents loved me.
Maybe they just hadn’t realized how much my hair mattered to me.
When I completely broke down, they gave in.
Now I understand.
Mom never cared if I lived or died.
She just wanted to give me hope, then take it away herself.
To show me she’s in charge, that I can never get away from her control.
The noise brought Dad in.
He saw my head in the bathroom mirror, he froze.
Then, he shook his head and said to Mom. “We agreed she could grow it out. Why’d you shave it again?”
“So what if I did? It’s better for her!” Mom shot back, righteous.
“She has orientation week at college! All that hair in that heat? And you know how messy she is! When it gets greasy and smells, it’ll be disgusting?”
Dad rubbed the sleep crust from his eyes, trying to make peace like he always does.
“Alright, alright, stop fighting. Your mom is just trying to help.”
“Hurry up and get ready. We have a train to catch. Don’t forget you’re moving into the dorms today!”
“For my own good? What does that even mean?”
Dad’s weak response felt like cold water thrown on me.
I pointed at Mom’s own perfect, shiny dark hair.
“I’m eighteen! An adult! Can’t I have my own hair? If a shaved heads are so great, why doesn’t she shave hers?”
Smack!
Mom dropped the spoon and slapped me hard across the face.
“Wendy, how dare you! After everything I’ve done to you! I carried you, I raised you! I fed you! I bought your clothes! And this is how you thank me? Pointing at me?”
“I’ve taught you since you were small! Good women succeed with their brains and hard work, not their hair!”
“Why, as soon as you get into college, do you only care about your hair? It seems like you don’t want an education! You just want to attract boys! Sleep around for money!”
Mom got more and more angry. She grabbed my college acceptance letter, threatened to tear it up.
“Fine! We’ll cancel the ticket! Forget college! You’ll stay home where I can keep an eye on you! Then I won’t have to worry about you becoming some other woman’s problem!”
It all started back when Dad was dating Mom’s best friend.
Mom wanted Dad’s comfortable family money.
So she trapped him with a pregnancy.
Because of her own past,
Mom always thought,
Every other woman was always after someone else’s man.
Including her own daughter.
Growing up,
Mom was always like this.
The moment I showed any hint of defying her authority,
She’d find what I cherished most and destroy it.
When I was six,
I just didn’t want to eat scrambled eggs because they made me feel sick.
She tore up the math homework I’d worked on all night.
Then she called my teacher and lied, saying I did it on purpose.
It made my strict old teacher so furious and disappointed.
For all six years of elementary school math class, I had to stand in the corner.
In eighth grade,
The first time I pushed her hand away when she tried to shave my head,she ripped up every sanitary pad in the house.
Even when I got on my knees, crying and begging her to stop, she claimed it was “teaching me a lesson.”
She made me walk to school with blood soaking through my pants.
In my junior year of high school,
Because I didn’t want to use the old, used textbooks she bought me,
She stopped giving me any money during the most important school year.
If it weren’t for free lunch at school and help from my teachers and friends,
I might have gone hungry that winter. I was eighteen.
And now, she was doing it again.
She knew this university, this major, was my biggest dream.
The day I got the acceptance letter, I was too excited to sleep.
To get to my dream school,
I had to give in again. I knelt in front of Mom, begging.
“Mom, I’m sorry! I know I was wrong! I wasn’t thinking straight!”
“Mom, please don’t tear up my letter! It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have talked back! I’m really sorry!”
I lost track of how many times I bowed my head and begged.
Finally, she threw the acceptance letter back at me.
Like a merciful queen granting a pardon. “Fine. Go get your things ready.”
My knees ached from kneeling on the tile floor for so long, I struggled to stand.
Instinctively wanting a hand up.
But Dad had already retreated from the conflict.
He was sitting calmly at the table, eating his breakfast oatmeal.
To punish me for talking back,
Mom took all the money I’d saved from my summer tutoring job,
And cut my already meager allowance down to almost nothing.
The worst part was,
She went through my bags and took every hat and scarf I’d packed.
She said I had to walk onto campus with my shaved head, all patchy and bare.
She wanted me to be a joke from the very first day.
The freshman welcome day was crowded.
Everyone stared at my bald head.
I heard whispers everywhere I went.
Some thought I’d lost my hair to serious illness.
Others wondered if I had some skin disease they could catch.
A few just thought I was just trying to be weird and get attention.
But no matter what they thought,
They all stayed away from me.
No matter how many years go by, I never get used to being stared at like that .
I kept my head down as Mom pulled me through the crowd.
She controlled everything – filling out my forms, getting my dorm sheets,
even putting money on my student meal card.
Dad just followed silently behind us, carrying my heavy luggage.
And me? I was just the bald girl, standing there empty-handed while they did everything.
To anyone watching,
I probably looked like their spoiled princess.
Little did they know, this was their usual act.
Playing the perfect, patient parents in public.
So that if I ever tried to speak up against them, everyone would side with them instantly.
After I was registered, an older student showed us to the freshman dorms.
When we walked in and saw my roommates already unpacking,
Mom’s first words were brutally honest.
“Hello everyone, this is my daughter, Wendy. She’ll be your classmate. She’s… not quite right in the head. I hope you’ll be patient with her.”
My new roommates exchanged uncomfortable glances.
They glanced at my bald head, then at my Mom.
All they could do was nod politely.
Taking this as acceptance, Mom cheered up immediately.
Making my bed, she told them every embarrassing story from my childhood.
I pressed my lips together, not knowing how to stop her,
Just repeating in my head,
She’s leaving soon.
Just get through today, and she’ll be gone.
For the next four years, if I work hard enough,
I’ll never have to go back to that house.
Just survive today, and I’ll be free.
But when evening came and all my roommates went out for dinner.
Mom and I were left sitting there, staring at each other.
Finally, I found the courage to ask. “Mom, when’s your train? Isn’t Dad waiting at the station?”
“What train? I’m staying here tonight.”
She sounded so pleased with herself, like she’d won some prize.
“Didn’t you know? I just got approval for a promotion at work. Your campus is close to where my interview is. I’ll stay until after that’s done next week. Perfect chance to see how you’re settling in.”
My heart sank to my feet. “Mom, parents aren’t don’t allow to stay in the dorms. Let me book you a hotel room?”
My voice was barely a whisper.
I was terrified that saying the wrong thing would make her cut off my allowance just like she always did at home.
“A hotel? That costs money! What’s wrong with your dorm?”
“Don’t worry about it! I’ll talk to your school!”
I don’t know what she told my academic advisor.
I just know she got to stay.
And from that day on,
My advisor looked at me with pure disappointment.
The second day was the start of orientation activities.
4 AM.
Mom forced me into my clothes and marched me down to the field.
She said I needed to make a good impression—be early and serious.
The actual activities didn’t start until 8.
I was so tired I could barely stand. The morning sun made me dizzy, and I almost fell several times.
Suddenly, ice-cold water with actual ice chunks hit me from head to toe.
Mom stood under a sun umbrella, holding an empty water bottle.
She said loudly, “Stop being lazy! Look at everyone else working hard! Why are you so weak?”
Humiliated, I forced myself to stand straight.
My vision blurred from the cold water, sweat, and tears.
Everyone looked at me like I was just being difficult.
Nobody knew Mom had made me stand there for four hours before anyone else even arrived.
During our break, to lighten the mood, the instructor asked if anyone wanted to perform.
Mom was sitting among us students, jabbing my shoulder repeatedly.
My whole life, being bald made me want to disappear.
Any attention felt like torture.
As she kept pushing me, I curled inward, refusing to move.
After trying a few times, Mom lost her patience.
Right after another girl finished an amazing routine,
Mom shoved me hard into the center of the circle. I grabbed the edges of my shirt, desperately trying to keep the training cap on my head.
The happy mood vanished the second I appeared.
Mom rolled her eyes, marched into the circle, and grabbed my hand.
“Useless! It’s just a stupid performance! How will you ever survive in the real world? You’re pathetic!”
Mom’s terrible singing, her awkward, jerky dance moves,
Successfully made everyone stare.
The laughter.
The pointing.
The looks of disgust.
The pure dislike…
Every face in the crowd screamed at me to run away.
But no matter how hard I tried to pull back,
Mom’s grip was like iron, pinning me in place.
Forcing me to stand there and take their stares.
Completely broken, I collapsed to the ground, crying uncontrollably.
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