I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I entered the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required further time before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.