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

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned boys' clothes, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.