I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

In 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.