I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.