I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself 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 soon after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.