I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, 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 same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem 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 presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.