I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Reality

During 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I were without Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.