Elliot Page reveals how he responds to people who misgender him

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.

Wealthy Neighbor’s Son Shattered My Window with a Ball — They Declined to Compensate, but Fate Struck from an Unexpected Source

I marched outside, the offending baseball clutched in my hand like a grenade. Baron Bigshot was in his driveway, polishing his luxury car with the care most people reserve for newborns.

“Hey!” I shouted, storming up to him. “Your son’s baseball just came through my window. It nearly hit my daughter!”

He barely glanced up. “Oh? And you’re sure it was my son’s ball?”

I thrust the blueberry pie-lathered ball in his face. “Unless baseballs are falling from the sky now, yes, I’m pretty sure.”

He sighed like I was some peasant interrupting his important car-polishing duties. “Look, Ms…”

“Angela. We’ve been neighbors for three years.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Right, right. Angela. Do you have any proof it was my Billy’s ball?”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Proof? There’s pie filling on it!”

“Ah,” he nodded sagely, “so you admit you tampered with the evidence.”

I felt my eye start to twitch. “Listen here, Baron Big—”

“I beg your pardon?”

I took a deep breath. “Mr. Worthington. Your son broke my window. He could have seriously hurt my daughter. The least you could do is pay for the repairs.”

He chuckled, actually chuckled! “My dear, do you know how much that would cost?”

“Probably less than one of your car’s tires,” I muttered.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate your tone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a birthday party to prepare for. Important guests are coming, you understand. Out of my property!”

He said that. Yep! No apology. No NOTHIN’.

As he turned away, something in me snapped. “Oh, I understand perfectly. I understand that you care more about your fancy party than the safety of your neighbors!”

He spun around, his face red. “Now see here—”

But I was on a roll. “No, you see here! Your son has been terrorizing this neighborhood for months. We’ve all been too polite to say anything, but enough is enough. You need to take responsibility!”

“I suggest you leave now before I call the police for trespassing.”

Defeated and furious, I trudged back home, the sound of his expensive sprinkler system mocking me with every step.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of cleaning up glass and comforting a still-shaken Penny.

As evening fell, the sounds of Baron Bigshot’s party drifted over. Laughter, clinking glasses, and what I was pretty sure was a live band.

I was just about to close the curtains (what was left of them anyway) when I saw something odd. A group of young men in masks, all wearing football jerseys, was marching up Baron Bigshot’s perfectly manicured lawn.

“What in the world?” I murmured, pressing my nose against the wooden window sill divider.

Suddenly, they all raised their arms, each holding a football. And then, in perfect synchronization, they let loose.

Footballs rained down on Baron Bigshot’s party like a sports equipment hailstorm. I watched, mouth agape, as chaos erupted.

Guests screamed and ducked, champagne flutes shattered, and Baron Bigshot himself stood in the middle of it all, looking like a man who’d just seen his worst nightmare come to life.

As quickly as it started, it was over. The football players high-fived each other and jogged away, leaving destruction in their wake.

I was still trying to process what I’d seen when there was a knock at my door. It was Mrs. Stewart, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“Did you see that?” she asked, barely containing her glee.

I nodded, still stunned. “What… how…”

She winked. “Let’s just say my nephew’s football team owed me a favor. Thought our dear neighbor could use a taste of his own medicine.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, tears streaming down my face. “Mrs. Stewart, you’re a genius!”

She patted my arm. “Sometimes, dear, karma needs a little push.”

The next morning, I was enjoying my coffee when there was a furious pounding at my door. I opened it to find Baron Bigshot, looking decidedly less baronial in his rumpled pajamas.

“YOU!” he sputtered, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You did this!”

I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the moment. “Did what?”

“Don’t play dumb! The football attack! It ruined everything!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And do you have any proof it was me?”

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, clearly recognizing his own words being thrown back at him.

I leaned against the doorframe, feeling surprisingly calm. “You know, Mr. Worthington, sometimes life has a funny way of teaching us lessons. Maybe this is yours.”

His face turned an impressive shade of purple. “This isn’t over!”

As he stormed off, I called after him, “Oh, and Mr. Worthington? You might want to consider investing in some wooden planks for your windows. I hear they’re all the rage these days.”

I closed the door, grinning to myself. Penny looked up from her coloring book, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“Mommy, why was that man yelling?”

I scooped her up, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Oh, sweetie. He just learned a very important lesson about being a good neighbor.”

Well, folks, there you have it. Karma works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it? Sometimes it’s swift, sometimes it takes its sweet time, and sometimes it needs a little nudge from a well-meaning neighbor with connections to a high school football team!

So, tell me, have you ever had a neighbor from hell? A Baron Bigshot of your own? Drop your stories in the comments. After all, misery loves company, and nothing brings people together quite like tales of nightmare neighbors!

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