I Thought I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I were without social platforms or video sharing sites to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

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

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.