I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, 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 desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.