Names, Mispronunciations, and the Burden of Other People’s Discomfort: The Difference Between Asking and Making It Awkward

“I am going to butcher your name.” “I’m not even going to attempt that.” “I knew I was going to get it wrong!” “I had no idea how to pronounce that.” “Can I just call you [nickname]?” “That’s an unusual name.” “I’m never going to remember that.”

These are the phrases that have caused me endless discomfort throughout my lifetime when it comes to people trying to pronounce my name.

And then there are the times when someone doesn’t even attempt to pronounce it. I still remember the substitute teacher in third grade who read through the attendance sheet almost robotically with “Jessica” and “Brian” and “Sarah,” but abruptly paused, looking embarrassed, and chose to skip over my name completely, moving on to call out “Jake.” Being third graders, of course, we knew the order of names by heart, and while I slunk down in my seat, knowing exactly what had happened with no clue about how to handle it, everyone else in the class yelled out, “You forgot Chaitra!” and stubbornly proceeded to help the teacher learn how to pronounce it, without a word uttered on my part. I can still recall the self-consciousness of being entirely supported and completely disempowered all at once.

I understand that sometimes people avoid asking how to say someone’s name because they don’t want to embarrass anyone, but there is a difference between respectfully asking someone to teach you their name and turning their name pronunciation into a public event. Even if you’ve heard someone else mispronounce a name, you don’t necessarily need to announce the correction to the entire room.

There have also been moments when other people unilaterally chose a nickname for me to erase their commitment to learning how to pronounce my name correctly. Upon moving to a new state in middle school, the neighborhood kids determined that I would be called “Shaq,” despite the fact that I didn’t care about basketball or in any way resemble a tall Black celebrity male athlete.

It’s not that I am upset with people for being uncertain about how to pronounce “Chaitra.” I realize it’s not a common name in our geographic area, and I expect that people may need help understanding that it is pronounced “Shay-tra.” What does wear on me is how other people’s responses signal that they’re centering their own discomfort about their uncertainty with pronunciation, with no awareness of the impact it has on the person who has a less-common or not-easily-pronounceable name.

We all encounter names we don’t immediately know how to pronounce. Maybe the name comes from a language or culture unfamiliar to us. Maybe we’ve never seen that combination of letters before. Maybe we’re unsure where to place the emphasis. The problem isn’t in not knowing how to pronounce someone’s name; it’s in how we respond to not knowing.

When someone’s name is repeatedly mispronounced, especially when other people make a spectacle of not knowing how to say it due to their own insecurities, the cumulative effect of these awkward interactions is excruciating. For international and transracial adoptees who are already othered in so many aspects of our lives, this ends up being one more painful reminder of the differences we must constantly claim.

Names are such a personal part of us. For some, they may be the only connection one holds to their first family or culture. Now consider how often this personal and potentially vulnerable part of identity can become a source of anxiety because it is present in every single introduction. At school. At work. At social gatherings. At doctor’s appointments. In extracurricular activities. In meetings. In award ceremonies. From teachers, neighbors, supervisors, colleagues, and strangers. After enough incidents, those of us with uncommon names begin anticipating the reaction we’ll receive before we even introduce ourselves.

Some of us brace ourselves for the impending discomfort. Some of us volunteer a shortened version of our name before anyone even asks. Some of us grit our teeth over the insensitive jokes at our expense. Some of us stop correcting people altogether because we have become accustomed to prioritizing others’ comfort above our own. Regardless of how we’ve adapted to navigate these moments, their harmful nature is pervasive.

So what can you do, if you are a person who has the privilege of an easily pronounceable name in our society, to avoid contributing to that harm?

Simply ASK: “How do you pronounce your name?”

Then try repeating it to ensure you are pronouncing it correctly, and if you still can’t get it after a few tries, ask the person if they can write it phonetically for you.

Don’t announce your anxiety about getting it wrong. Don’t apologize profusely. Don’t launch into an explanation about all of the pronunciations you considered. Don’t monologue about your struggles with pronunciation. Don’t pressure the other person to reassure you that it’s okay. Reactions that center the person mispronouncing the name unintentionally shift the emotional labor onto the person whose name you mispronounced.

It’s a similar premise to getting someone’s pronouns right. You might occasionally make a mistake. The important part isn’t whether you’re perfect; it’s about what you do when you realize you’ve made an error:

“She—sorry, they—will be joining us.” And then move on.

The same principle applies to names. If you mispronounce someone’s name, simply correct yourself and continue:

“Thank you, Chaitra—Shay-tra. I’ll make sure I get that right,” or “I’m sorry, I pronounced that incorrectly. Could you say it again?”

If someone’s name is unfamiliar, you may need to practice. You might write down a phonetic reminder for yourself or quietly repeat the name after an introduction. The responsibility for learning should not always fall solely on the person who has the unfamiliar name. If we can expect people to learn new terminology, jargon, and the names of organizations and places, we can hold them accountable for learning people’s names, too. Pronouncing someone’s name correctly signals respect and indicates you value them.

Take it from someone who has been called “Chiquita,” “Chareeta,” and “Chai-tea”: You don’t have to pronounce every name flawlessly on your first attempt or learn a new language to pronounce a name that is new to you, but making someone feel like their name is a burden simply because it is unfamiliar to you is unwarranted. You can choose to emphasize genuine curiosity over awkward embarrassment, be considerate rather than dismissive, and make corrections without making someone else responsible for managing your discomfort.