I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change 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 physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.