I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself were without social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium 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 understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping 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 unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.