I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy 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 longing for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.