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

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically 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, encounter a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded 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 potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. 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, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.