I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I were without Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs 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 yearning for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I required further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.