I Believed I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying 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! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.