I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the United States.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.