I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.