I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

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

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle 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 union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. 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. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change 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 not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared 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 desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.