I Believed I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.