Misgendering Myself

It's been a few years since I accidentally misgendered myself, but when I first came out, it happened often enough that it was genuinely upsetting. And it was weird when it happened—this jarring disconnect between my mouth and my brain, like my autopilot had briefly taken over and steered me into a ditch.

I'm bringing this up because I think there's a dangerous assumption lurking in some people's minds: if trans people can misgender themselves, it must not be that big a deal when other people do it. Let me be very clear—that's not how this works.

It's More Common Than You'd Think

Self-misgendering is remarkably common, particularly early in transition or during periods of stress. A quick scan of trans forums shows thread after thread of people describing the same experience: referring to themselves with the wrong pronouns in conversation, catching themselves mid-sentence, feeling that strange combination of embarrassment and dysphoria.

It happens most often in casual speech—telling a story about myself, referring to past experiences, or just talking quickly without thinking. My mouth would produce "she" before my brain could catch up and correct it to "they." It was always incredibly jarring for me, and confusing for everyone else. “How can I expect anyone else to get it right when I can’t?” I would think.

The Mechanics of Habit

Here's the thing about language: it's deeply habitual. For however many years a person spent alive before coming out or transitioning, their brain built neural pathways around a particular set of pronouns and gendered language for themself. They practiced those pathways thousands of times. They became automatic, requiring no conscious thought.

When you transition, you're not just adopting new pronouns—you're trying to overwrite decades of linguistic muscle memory. It's like learning to write with your dominant hand after decades of being forced to use the other. The new way might feel more correct, more you, but the old pathways are still there, worn smooth by repetition.

This is why self-misgendering tends to happen when a person is tired, distracted, or speaking quickly. The conscious mind is focused on the content of what you're saying, and your mouth falls back on autopilot. The old pattern slips out before you can catch it.

What It Actually Feels Like

When I misgendered myself, it felt like biting my tongue while eating—this sudden, sharp wrongness that yanks me out of the moment. There was always a split second of confusion (did I just say that?) followed by a wave of dysphoria.

And here's what's crucial: it felt even worse when I did it to myself than when other people did it. When someone else misgendered me in those first months, I could sometimes write it off. It sucked, and it hurt, and it took me literal years to start actually standing up for myself, but I could excuse a mistake—they're learning, they're trying, it's an adjustment. When I did it, there was no such cushion. It felt like my own brain was betraying me, like some part of me didn't believe in my own identity.

That's the opposite of what people assume when they learn that trans folks sometimes misgender themselves. They think it means we're uncertain, or that it doesn't really matter. But the distress I felt when it happened proved exactly how much it did matter. The mistake didn't invalidate my identity—it just showed how much work it takes to align language with truth when you're undoing years of practiced wrongness.

Why This Matters for Providers

Healthcare providers need to understand this dynamic for a few reasons.

First, if a patient accidentally misgenders themselves in your office, don't take it as a sign of uncertainty about their identity. It's a sign they're in the process of rewiring deep linguistic habits, which is hard work. It doesn't mean they need more "assessment" or that they're not "really" trans.

Second, the fact that someone might occasionally misgender themselves doesn't give you permission to be sloppy with their pronouns. Your misgendering is still harmful—potentially more harmful because it comes from an authority figure and reinforces that old, wrong pattern they're trying to break.

Third, understand that this is often a temporary phenomenon. As time passes and the new pronouns become habitual, self-misgendering typically becomes rare or disappears entirely. It's part of the transition process, not a permanent state.

The Bigger Picture

Self-misgendering is one of those experiences that reveals something important about how gender works in our brains and our language. It shows that gender identity isn't just about how we feel in abstract—it's also about rewiring the concrete, practical ways we move through the world and talk about ourselves.

It demonstrates that transition is a process, not an instant transformation. We're not just changing how others see us; we're changing deeply ingrained patterns in ourselves. That takes time and patience and grace.

And most importantly, it shows that mistakes—even our own mistakes—don't invalidate who we are. They're just part of the messy, human process of becoming more fully ourselves.

These days, I never misgender myself. The new pronouns are as automatic as the old ones once were. But I remember what it was like when that wasn't true, and I remember how much it mattered to me for other people to get it right, even when I got it wrong.

What other assumptions about trans folks do you wish you could clear up, for yourself or colleagues? Hit reply—I'd love to know what's coming up in your work.