I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

In 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned boys' clothes, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.