I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

During 2011, a few years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. 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 individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

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

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.