The actor revealed his gender identity on Instagram in 2020 with a poignant statement, and he has since talked about his experiences since changing.
Elliott Page talked about his response to individuals inadvertently misgendering him.
Following his transgender announcement in 2020, Page has been transparent about his journey through transition, including the touchy subject of misgender identity.
The celebrity has been outspoken about his transition, sharing on social media images of his top surgery scars and regularly bringing attention to the difficulties faced by transgender persons.
Though Page said that occasionally it can become more unpleasant when someone overreacts to their own honest error, being inadvertently misgendering oneself can be a challenging moment for a trans or non-binary person.
He stated, “In those situations, I know the intent of people close to me in my life who are wanting to get it right,” in an interview with Variety in 2023. I don’t get offended if someone misgenders me.”
“It’s wonderful when someone goes to apologize,” he continued. However, let’s go on to the following phase of our conversation.Let’s move on before this becomes more complicated, concerning the misgendering perpetrator, and involves a different kind of energy.”
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Regarding the best ways for individuals to assist their trans friends, family members, or coworkers, Page emphasized that awareness and empathy are key.
There are numerous resources available to learn more about transgender persons and the realities of our experiences, he stated. Questions aren’t always bad, but there are situations, locations, contexts, and tones in which they should be asked.
In the end, Page’s remarks demonstrate that if being mistakenly misgender was the largest issue trans people faced, the world would be a lot better place.
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Transgender individuals are particularly susceptible to mental health issues, homelessness, and employment difficulties.
Additionally, for some trans individuals, intersectional variables like racism, disability, and class make this worse.
Some health organizations, including the UK’s, have guidelines that imply people should consider transitioning as a means of easing the symptoms of mental health issues like depression.
Consequently, rather of offering care that is gender affirming, they could attempt to “treat” this.
Remorse for gender affirming surgeries is among the lowest of all surgical procedures, much lower than those of common operations like hip replacements.
Transgender individuals who receive care that is gender affirming report significant improvements in their mental health, despite the discrimination and risk that comes with transitioning.
The lesson here is to simply apologize and move on if you inadvertently misidentify a transgender or non-binary individual. Most likely, they are more concerned with other matters.
If you’ve been affected by any of these issues and want to speak to someone in confidence, contact the LGBT national hotline at 888-843-4564, available Monday to Friday 4pm-12am ET and 12pm-5pm ET on Saturdays.
My Husband Went on Vacation..
I thought my husband would be there for me when my mom passed away, but instead, he chose a vacation to Hawaii over my grief. Devastated, I faced the funeral alone. But when he returned, he walked into a situation he never expected—a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. I was at work when the doctor’s number flashed on my phone, and somehow, I knew what was coming. My heart sank even before I answered. Mom was gone. Just like that. One minute she was fighting a minor lung infection, and the next… nothing. My world stopped making sense.
I don’t remember much after that. One moment I was sitting in my cubicle, and the next I was home, fumbling with my keys, eyes blurred with tears. John’s car was in the driveway, another one of his “work-from-home” days, which usually meant ESPN muted in the background while he pretended to answer emails.“John?” My voice echoed through the house. “I need you.” He stepped into the kitchen, holding a coffee mug, looking mildly annoyed. “What’s wrong? You look terrible.” I tried to speak, but the words got tangled in my throat. I reached out to him, desperate for comfort. He sighed and gave me a quick, awkward pat on the back, like he was consoling a distant acquaintance. “My mom… she died, John. Mom’s gone.” His grip tightened for a moment. “Oh, wow. That’s… I’m sorry.” Then, just as quickly, he pulled away. “Do you want me to order takeout?
Maybe Thai?” I nodded, numb. The next day, reality hit hard. There was so much to handle—planning the funeral, notifying family, and dealing with a lifetime of memories. As I sat at the kitchen table, buried in lists, I remembered our planned vacation. “John, we’ll need to cancel Hawaii,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The funeral will probably be next week, and—” “Cancel?”
He lowered his newspaper, frowning. “Edith, those tickets were non-refundable. We’d lose a lot of money. Besides, I’ve already booked my golf games.” I stared at him, stunned. “John, my mother just died.” He folded the newspaper with the kind of precision that told me he was more irritated than concerned. “I get that you’re upset, but funerals are for family. I’m just your husband—your cousins won’t even notice I’m not there. You can handle things here, and you know I’m not great with emotional stuff.” It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Just my husband?” “You know what I mean,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze and adjusting his tie. “Besides, someone should use those tickets. You can text me if you need anything.” I felt like I was seeing him clearly for the first time in 15 years of marriage. The week that followed was a blur. John occasionally offered a stiff pat on the shoulder or suggested I watch a comedy to lift my mood. But when the day of the funeral came, he was on a plane to Hawaii, posting Instagram stories of sunsets and cocktails. “#LivingMyBestLife,” one caption read. Meanwhile, I buried my mother alone on a rainy Thursday. That night, sitting in an empty house, surrounded by untouched sympathy casseroles, something snapped inside me. I had spent years making excuses for John’s emotional absence. “He’s just not a feelings person,” I would say. “He shows his love in other ways.” But I was done pretending.I called my friend Sarah, a realtor. “Can you list the house for me? Oh, and include John’s Porsche in the deal.” “His Porsche? Eddie, he’ll lose it!” “That’s the point.” The next morning, “potential buyers” started showing up. I sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, watching as they circled John’s beloved car. When his Uber finally pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t help but smile. It was showtime. John stormed in, face flushed. “Edith, what the hell? People are asking about my car!” “Oh, that. I’m selling the house. The Porsche is a great bonus, don’t you think?”He sputtered, pulling out his phone. “This is insane! I’ll call Sarah right now!” “Go ahead,” I said sweetly. “Maybe you can tell her about your fabulous vacation. How was the beach?” Realization slowly dawned across his face. “This… is this some kind of payback? Did I do something wrong?” I stood, letting my anger finally surface. “You abandoned me when I needed you most. I’m just doing what you do: looking out for myself. After all, I’m just your wife, right?” John spent the next hour frantically trying to shoo away buyers, while begging me to reconsider. By the time Sarah texted that her friends had run out of patience, I let him off the hook—sort of. “Fine. I won’t sell the house or the car.” I paused. “This time.” He sagged with relief. “Thank you, Edith. I—” I held up my hand. “But things are going to change. I needed my husband, and you weren’t there. You’re going to start acting like a partner, or next time, the For Sale sign will be real.” He looked ashamed, finally understanding the gravity of his actions. “What can I do to make this right?” “You can start by showing up. Be a partner, not a roommate. I lost my mother, John. That kind of grief isn’t something you can fix with a vacation or a fancy dinner.” He nodded. “I don’t know how to be the man you need, but I love you, and I want to try.” It’s not perfect now. John still struggles with emotions, but he’s going to therapy, and last week, for the first time, he asked me how I was feeling about Mom. He listened while I talked about how much I missed her calls and how I sometimes still reach for the phone, only to remember she’s not there. He even opened up a little about his own feelings. It’s progress. Baby steps. I often wonder what Mom would say about all this. I can almost hear her chuckling, shaking her head. “That’s my girl,” she’d say. “Never let them see you sweat. Just show them the ‘For Sale’ sign instead.” Because if there’s one thing she taught me, it’s that strength comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s pushing through the pain, and sometimes it’s knowing when to push back.
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