I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, a few years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.