I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

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

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

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

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody 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.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I required further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, five years later, 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 was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.