I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.