I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

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

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.