I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.