I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret 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 revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.