I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, 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 stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.