How to Refer to Your Nonbinary Family Members

I am a “person.” I am a “sibling.” Someday, I might be some kind of “parent.” To my aunts and uncles, I’m usually a slightly awkward pause, followed by a rushed “Wren.” Or, increasingly, I am a “nibling —” the word such venerable institutions as Merriam-Webster and RaisingZoomer.com have described as “a gender-neutral term” used in place of “niece” or “nephew.”

“Nibling” entered our language thanks to Samuel Martin, a professor of Korean linguistics who is credited with coining the term in the 1950s. After decades of obscurity, the word has drawn increasing interest since 2004; according to Google Trends data, searches for “nibling” spike periodically, especially following references in the news, like that time J-Lo shared Draw With Me, a 2020 short film that features her nibling, Brendon.

The first time someone called me one was a bizarre, if not totally uncomfortable experience. “This is Wren,” a no doubt well-meaning relative said, “my nibling,” emphasizing the word in that gee-whizzy fashion usually reserved for singular they/them pronouns. At least it wasn’t the self-congratulatory tone, I recall thinking, right after saying to myself… Wait, what?!

Have you ever been labeled something you didn’t first claim for yourself? Not to mention something you’re more familiar with as a description of what one does to a block of cheese? If you haven’t had the pleasure, I can inform you that it’s confounding, though also largely dependent on context. My aunt meant well, so I didn’t mind. I appreciated the intention.

But still — a nibling? I won’t claim to have as strong an opinion as some on the internet. No, “nibling” (and its up-a-generation compliment, “pibling”) doesn’t make me want to gag, as one commentator wrote it does for them earlier this year. I can assure you, though, that as a trans person living in the era of bathroom bills, health care rollbacks, sports bans, and the omnipresent specter of anti-trans violence, a word I hear roughly every six to 12 months is the least of my worries.

Nevertheless, nonbinary people aren’t going anywhere, and apparently neither is the expectation that we ought to have words to describe specific blood family relations. So the question remains: How do we refer to our nonbinary relatives, especially our parents’ siblings and our siblings’ children?

It should be noted that the explanations that follow are largely confined to words and approaches that exist in English, though that’s hardly to suggest there aren’t ample modes of gender-neutral classification in other languages. To name just a few, there’s tíe (the Spanish version of pibling), pamangkin (the tagalog equivalent to nibling), and zizi (the gender-neutral Italian term for the aunt / uncle relation).

Knowing the importance of exploring this question with an awareness to the many ways familial relations (and the words we use to describe them) operate across languages and cultures, we asked Insider sex and relationships reporter Canela López (they/he) and them. contributor James Factora (they/he) to help us curate a non-exhaustive explainer for navigating this subject.

Before we begin, two disclaimers: First, it’s important to note that guides such as these must not replace more fundamental modes of affirming and supporting the trans and nonbinary folks in your life. Language is always important, but it’ll never constitute the kind of silver bullet mainstream media often makes it out to be. Secondly, this guide is meant to spark inspiration, not dictate action. As a rule, it’s best to avoid calling someone something you haven’t first asked about. Folks’ comfort surrounding how they’re described often changes depending on context, so while some of these terms may work in some situations, they may not in others. Having a quick check-in with the nonbinary folks in your life regarding which words make them feel seen is almost always preferable to barreling ahead.

With these truths firmly in mind, let’s dive in.

Nibling / Pibling

Yes, one conjures the fate of parmigiano reggiano where the other sounds like a citrus-infused non-alcoholic beer brand. But the reality is that these terms are currently among our frontrunners. They are some of the most common options on this list (at least in English), so while they may not be perfect, and they may even feel clunky, they’ve certainly earned their spot. What’s more, as many of us enbies will tell you, it’s probably better to get the strangeness of accurate terminology out of the way so that we can move on to eating pie, or debating climate change. Plus, it seems odd to rule out words like these because they feel weird when we’re already taking as a given the use of gendered familial terms (niece, nephew, aunt, uncle, etc.) at all. Glass houses!

For Canela López, there are upsides to be found in using these terms, especially when “niece/nephew/aunt/uncle are incredibly gendered and fail to describe many relationships with trans people,” they tell them. via email.

López is less sure, though, of whether they’d like to be called by either — at least for now.

“Personally, I don't love to be referred to as a nibling by my tías and tíos simply because my family is entirely Peruvian and speaks Spanish as their primary language. I also struggle with my gender being explicitly perceived by adults who raised me sometimes,” they elaborate. “However, when and if I have English speaking niblings, I really love the term pibling and the idea of a tiny human referring to me as such brings me joy (along with Tíe, the Spanish equivalent.)”

Auncle / Niephling / Neiph / Niephew / Chibling / Sibkid

We’re going to spare our sources the job of weighing in on these less common, arguably goofier possibilities. They are, nonetheless, still floating around the internet, which explains your seeing them here. I don’t know many enbies who bothered to shirk the yoke of binary gender just to be called a “neiph.” That said, I have deep respect for anyone who’s found a home in them; your commitment to engaging the inherent silliness of (gendered) familial terminology impressively exceeds my own.

“Relative”

This option may strike some as a little clinical (fair), or even somewhat vague (yet who even wants to be perceived these days anyway?), but it’s rarely inaccurate, and it sounds okay. I could get into this one myself in certain contexts, especially when it doesn’t feel all that important that someone knows the exact nature of our connection. (Remember: “‘This is Wren,’ a no doubt well-meaning relative said”? It didn’t seem so vital that you knew my exact blood relation to them, right? Promising.)

López agrees, specifying that the approach feels particularly useful when being introduced to a stranger who “isn’t extremely trans competent.”

“I don't mind explaining my transness on the fly sometimes, but other times I just want to chill and eat my food and not have to explain my identity to someone I don't know,” they add, relatably. “‘Relative’ feels like an easy way to get around being misgendered, but doesn't necessarily open the conversation up for more questions.”

Describe the Relationship

Allow me to elaborate by way of an example: Picture me, your loving auncle, introducing you (Slinky) to beloved character actor Jennifer Coolidge.

“Hey, Jennifer! It’s so good seeing you again. There’s someone I’d love you to meet. This is Slinky, my sister’s child.”

Jennifer smiles, clearly recalling our many chardonnay-filled nights, then proceeds to embrace you. It’s an ecstatic moment, made all the more memorable by — you guessed it — completely sidestepping there not being a great English word for our specific relationship.

This option won’t be for everyone or every situation, of course. But let’s be honest — “This is X, spawn of…” is sure to float some boats.

On a more serious note, this strategy can be additionally helpful when communicating with folks whose culture might have different naming practices. As López tells them., “I love it when people describe their relationship to me rather than introducing new language, because it feels accessible to my family members.”

Lean into a Gendered Term

Cissies, this one may strike you as a shocker, but it’s actually my favorite. Not all enbies are necessarily allergic to gendered terms. As a trans femme person, there are times when femme-coded language makes me feel seen. That’s why, personally speaking, I prefer to just be called niece when it comes up, rather than any of the other terms described here. And that, I must say, doesn’t make me any less nonbinary than those who prefer gender-neutral options.

As James Factora elaborates, “nonbinary people and others who wish to not be called by gendered terms contain so many multitudes, so you wouldn’t want to assume just because someone doesn’t identify with the gender binary that they’d be comfortable with a word like ‘nibling’ or ‘pibling.’”

They continue, “I’m nonbinary, but that doesn’t mean I’m uncomfortable with masculinely gendered terms. People have this tendency to assume that if somebody is nonbinary that means they’re gender-neutral, which is the case for a lot of us, but isn’t universally true.”

Create Your Own

At the end of the day, language is fluid, which means if you’re not feeling any of the options provided here (or anywhere), you can try inventing something new. Of course, this sort of consideration doesn’t come without additional stakes and pressures, López points out.

How To Affirm the People in Your Life Who Use Multiple Sets of Pronouns 

Not everyone goes by solely she/her, he/him, or they/them. We spoke to 10 people who use varied pronouns about their identities and how to respect them.

“While new, non-gendered terminology is great for a lot of folks, for me, it also comes with a weight,” they share. “My family members have perceived new language in the past as something that associates my transess with whiteness, which makes it difficult for me to feel comfortable using terms like ‘nibling’ to refer to myself.”

As with any kind of address, comfort and context are key. The way that you, my enby friend, choose to be called ought to be up to you. And whichever decision you make is the right one.

“In a world where nonbinary/trans people could determine what we were called,” López concludes, “we would have the agency to tell our kin whatever we are most comfortable with and have them honor it.”

This may not sound like an earth-shattering revelation, though the heart of it — the right to self-determination — animates so much of what we trans folks strive to attain. Being referred to in an affirming manner these holidays won’t solve everything. Yet for many of us, it’ll constitute an important start.

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