I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I entered the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, 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 display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man 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 scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.