I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment 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! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition 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 physician shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.