I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or YouTube to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.