I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, a few years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, living in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony 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 connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required additional years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.