I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.