I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual 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 mother of four, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I were without social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded 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 potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.