I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance 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 momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of 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 simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay 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 am able to.