I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. 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 knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.