I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, living in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.