I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, 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 personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.