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What’s the Big Deal About Misgendering and Deadnaming?
How a few simple words can produce existential trauma for trans people and what you can do to help them.
Something like this happens to all of us at some point in our transition:
“You have to give us more time. It’s very hard for us to adjust to this.” This from my mother-in-law, after over a year of me being in transition. When she deadnames or misgenders me, it is often while playing with my daughter. After one extended visit, my daughter started to use the wrong name and pronouns at home. On another visit, I ended up isolating in my room, breaking out into hives, because a place that was supposed to be safe, instead became a minefield of identity-erasure, dysphoria, and trauma.
“I apologize for not updating that document before circulating it to the entire faculty.” This from one of my colleagues, after accidentally deadnaming me to my entire academic department. I know they mean to be supportive, but their support often feels conditional. They remember that I’m a trans woman named Theresa when I’m there to remind them about it, but they haven’t made any effort to adjust their work practices to reflect this, even after 15 months of me asking them to correct their records of me.
“I’m so so sorry, Tess. I don’t even realize I’m doing it. It just slips out sometimes.” This from my mother, who has been so supportive and loving during my transition that I get misty as I write about it. She only slips when telling stories about my girlhood, and I know that she feels mortified when this happens. She’s managed to update her present understanding of me, but the past is so much harder for her. But even though I don’t doubt her love for me, I can’t control my reaction when it happens.
“And then my father looked at me and said, incredulously ‘Are you seriously crying because I called you “he”?’ and I knew he didn’t mean to, but it still hurt.” This from one of my girlfriends. One of the lucky ones. Her parents love and support her, they have accepted her transition and spent the last few years coming to understand that they have a daughter instead of a son. Even the most loving parents can still slip. And even when we know they don’t mean it, we still cry.
