I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when 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 unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.