I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I were without Reddit or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, Boy George wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline 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.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

I required several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.