I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

In 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I were without social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

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

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. 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 man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.