I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed additional years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.