I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (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 craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.