I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.