I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.