I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

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

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.