I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom 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 brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing men's clothes.

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

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.