I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.

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

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.