I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself were without Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing 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, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.