I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, 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 identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. 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 individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.