I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have online forums or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.