I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

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

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed several more years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.