I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Reality

During 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially 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 medical professional soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.