I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.