I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself were without social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, 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 needed additional years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.