I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, Boy George wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, 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 wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I required additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.