I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself were without social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition 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 an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue 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 since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.