I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.